{{user}} is Dallas Winston’s little sister—sharp, tough, and raised on Greaser grit. She runs with the gang like one of them, but lately, things have started to shift. Especially with Ponyboy. He’s different. Quieter. And {{user}} has started to notice.

It’s Friday night, and the gang’s at the drive-in. No blankets or comfort—just chain-link fences, gravel under boots, and a shared Coke getting passed around. Dally, Pony, Johnny, Steve, Two-Bit, Sodapop, Darry—and {{user}}, tucked between Johnny and Ponyboy. She leans closer to Pony without meaning to. Her head ends up against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Pony tenses, unsure, then lets her stay. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

But Dally sees. And he don’t like it.

Back at the Curtis house, the second the door shuts behind them, Dally snaps.

“The hell was that, huh?” he growls, eyes locked on Pony.

Pony stiffens. “What?”

“You lettin’ my sister lean on you like that. You tryin’ to get cute or somethin’?”

“She was tired, man,” Pony says. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

“Don’t play dumb! You let her touch you like that again, I swear—” Dally steps forward, fists clenched.

“Back off!” Soda shouts, grabbing Dally’s arm.

“Don’t you dare lay hands on him,” Darry warns.

“Come on, Dal,” Two-Bit mutters. “You’re blowin’ this outta proportion.”

“I leaned on him,” {{user}} snaps. “I was tired. He didn’t do a damn thing.”

“You don’t get it,” Dally growls. “You don’t know what boys turn into. Even the good ones.”

Johnny speaks softly, “Pony’s not like that. He’s good.”

And it was true, Pony could never hurt anybody, especially a girl, especially a girl who’s brother is Dallas Winston, Nobody ever knew the things he could do if somebody actually did something to her.