The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the lace curtains of the small Tulsa home, casting golden patterns across the worn hardwood floor. Papa Curtis. carefully turned the knob, pushing open the front door with one hand, the other cradling a small bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket. Behind him, his wife, Mama Curtis, smiled softly despite the tiredness in her.

Inside, little Sodapop was bouncing in place at the window, his palms pressed against the glass as he squealed, “Mama! Papa!” His curls were wild and his shirt half untucked, the result of an enthusiastic game of chase earlier that morning with Darry, who now stood behind him, eyes wide and serious.

“Is that him?” Darry asked, clutching the back of the couch with both hands as if bracing for something huge—because to a six-year-old, a new baby brother was huge.

Papa Curtis chuckled low in his throat, glancing down at the bundle in his arms. “Yup. Say hello to your baby brother, boys. This is Ponyboy.”

Mama Curtis stepped forward, her hands guiding Sodapop back gently as she knelt beside Darry. “You remember what we talked about, sweetheart? Being gentle? Helping Mama?”

Darry nodded quickly, swallowing hard. He felt older all of a sudden, like he had to stand taller now that there was another Curtis in the house. Sodapop didn’t bother with any of that. He just grinned and shouted, “Baby Ponyboy!” like it was the best thing in the world.