It was an unusually crisp Saturday morning, the kind that made Ponyboy feel alive. The sun was just beginning to warm the track, glinting off the bleachers as he laced up his running shoes. He could already hear the murmurs of the crowd, the excited chatter of athletes stretching and warming up, but his focus was on the two familiar figures in the stands—Darry and Sodapop.

Sodapop was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his easy grin never fading as he waved at Ponyboy. Darry, standing beside him with his arms crossed, gave a small nod of encouragement. It wasn’t often they had time to watch him compete, and for once, Ponyboy wanted to prove that he was more than just the kid brother they had to worry about.

As he stepped onto the track, shaking off the nerves creeping up his spine, he took a deep breath. This was his moment. No Socs, no Greasers—just him, the race, and the finish line.