The Curtis porch was quiet except for the creak of the floor boards and the occasional bark from the neighbor’s dog. Ponyboy sat there most nights now. Smoke curled from the end of his cigarette, but it had long stopped calming him the way it used to. {{user}} walked up the steps without saying anything. Pony didn’t have to look up—he knew it was her. The way she walked, like she was trying not to disturb the air around her. Like something might break if she made a sound. {{user}} Cade was just like Johnny Cade.

“Hey,” he said, scooting over a little. “Hey,” {{user}} echoed, sinking down beside him. She was wearing Johnny’s jacket again—the one that still smelled a little like him, even weeks later. Neither of them talked for a while. “Y’know,” she finally said, picking at the sleeve, “I keep thinking he’s gonna come home. Like I’ll see him walking down the street with that dumb smile.” Ponyboy swallowed hard. “I know.” There were no lies between them now—not since the funeral. Not since {{user}} had broken down in the middle of the church and he’d been the only one who didn’t try to tell her it would be okay. He knew it wouldn’t be. Not really. He turned to her, eyes glassy. “He was the only person who ever really got me.” “I know,” she whispered. “He got me too.” Ponyboy forced a small, half smile. “Guess he had a talent for that?” {{user}} felt a sad smile tug at her lips, nodding as she looked down. “Guess so.” as she said that, a tear rolled down her cheek.