The street was quiet when {{user}} started home, her library books tucked under her arm. She was just like Ponyboy that way—always reading. The air felt heavy, with an unusual stillness. The house came into view, the porch light glowing dim through the window. Normally, Soda would’ve been sitting out there, waiting for her, maybe tossing a baseball in the air or waving her over. But tonight, the steps were empty.

When {{user}} opened the door, it was silent. No TV, no arguing, no Soda laughing at something stupid Pony said. Just the kind of silence that hurts your ears. {{user}} found them in the living room. Darry was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Soda was beside him, his hand gripping Pony’s shoulder like he was afraid to let go. Ponyboy’s eyes were red—not just from crying, but the kind of red that comes from running out of tears. They all looked up when she came in.

For a second, nobody said anything. You could hear the tick of the clock. {{user}} felt her own heart beating too fast. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did… did something happen?” Soda stood up first, moving toward her, but he stopped halfway, like he didn’t know how to start. His mouth opened, then closed again. Pony looked away, his lip trembling. It was Darry who spoke. His voice was low and rough—like he’d been shouting, or crying, or maybe both. “Sit down, kiddo.”{{user}} felt her stomach drop. Nobody called her that unless something was really wrong. “Just tell me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re scaring me.” Darry’s eyes met hers. “There was… an accident,” he said slowly. “Mom and Dad—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “They didn’t make it.” The words hit like a punch. For a second, nobody could breathe. Everything stopped.