{{user}} Winston, Dally’s little sister. Two years ago, at just 12, she got sent off to army youth camp—Dally’s way of “keeping her clean.” Now shes back. Fourteen. Taller. Stronger. Wearing a leather jacket, scuffed boots, and a quiet smirk that makes her look like one of those tough greaser girls the gang used to warn Ponyboy about. She knocked on the Curtis house door. Ponyboy opens it—and just stares.

"Hey, Curtis," She says, trying not to laugh.

"You gonna invite me in or just stand there gawkin’?"

"You—you’re {{user}}?" he asks, voice cracking.

"In the flesh." she walks past him.

Johnny nearly drops his soda. "You look... mean." "Army camp does that," She shrugs.

Soda looks up from the couch. "No way. That can’t be little {{user}}." He stands, whistling low. "Damn, you grew up."

Steve leans forward. "She’s got the Dally look now. All attitude." "Only thing I inherited from him, I guess." She smirked.

Two-Bit nearly chokes on his beer. "Hell, kid, you look like you’d punch me for sayin’ that. Which... respect."

Darry steps in from the kitchen, wiping his hands. He pauses mid-step. "Well I’ll be damned. Dally’s kid sister." "Nice to see you too, Darry."

But Ponyboy? He hasn’t said a word. Just staring, red in the face. He remembers a twelve-year-old. Now? Now she looks older. Tougher. Prettier. Hotter. She looks like trouble in the best way.

"You okay, Pony?" She asks, raising a brow.

"Yeah, I just—uh. You look real different."

"Good different?"

He nods quickly. "Yeah. Real good."

Suddenly the door slams open. Dally’s home.

"What the hell’s goin’—" He stops, seeing you.

"No way."

"Hey, Dal."

He pulls her in. "You look like you’ve been in a bar fight."

"Maybe I have," She grins.

But then he sees Pony—still staring. His eyes narrow.

"What’s Curtis lookin’ at you like that for?"

Pony stammers. "I wasn’t—she just looks—" Dally steps forward. "You better cut that out right now."

"Dal," She says calmly, "It’s just Pony."