The halls were mostly empty by the time Ponyboy finally shoved his books back into his bag. The sun had dipped low enough that the light coming through the classroom windows looked dull and tired, like it had been waiting too long. He hadn’t meant to stay after. Mr. Syme had just mentioned the extra credit test so casually, like it was nothing, and Ponyboy—being Ponyboy—had stayed to study, then stayed to take it, then stayed because he kept second-guessing every answer.

By the time he stepped outside, the air was cooler, the kind that crept under your collar. His stomach twisted when he checked the time. Darry would already be home from work. Sodapop too. He should’ve called. He should’ve found a phone. But it hadn’t seemed that serious until now, walking alone with the sky going dark.

The house looked the same when he got there—quiet, lights on inside—but something felt off. Ponyboy pushed open the gate slowly, the metal creaking louder than usual. He barely had time to step onto the porch before the front door flew open.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Darry was suddenly right there.

Ponyboy barely got the door shut behind him before Darry was on him, one hand gripping the front of his jacket, the other slamming the door closed hard enough to rattle the frame. Darry’s face was tight, jaw clenched, eyes sharp and furious in that way that always made Ponyboy feel about two inches tall.

“I—I stayed after school,” Ponyboy said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “There was a test, I didn’t know about it, and—”

“You didn’t know?” Darry snapped. “You didn’t think to tell us? You disappear for hours and don’t say a word?”

From the living room came a groan and the sound of someone shifting. Sodapop was sprawled across the couch, shirtless, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’d been half-asleep. He pushed himself up when he saw them, blond hair sticking up, confusion melting into concern.

“Hey, hey,” Sodapop said, sitting up fully now. “What’s going on?”

Darry didn’t let go of Ponyboy. His grip wasn’t hurting—at least not much—but it was enough to keep him pinned in place, heart hammering in his chest.