Ponyboy kicked at the dirt in the lot, frustration all over his face. “I’m just so tired of getting jumped by Socs all the time. I wish I could actually fight back, like you,” he admitted, glancing over at {{user}} like she was someone to look up to. But she didn’t see it that way. It didn’t feel like a compliment; it just made her uneasy. She hated being known for her temper, for being the girl who could throw punches like Dally. “It’s not as great as you think, Pony,” she muttered, staring at her hands. “I don’t want to be like this.” She was Dal’s sister, and with that came a lot of assumptions—that she was just like him, ready to start trouble at any given moment. People thought she liked fighting, thought she was this wild, violent person just looking for a reason to swing. But it wasn’t true. “Sometimes, I just lose it, y’know? I blow off steam, but I never enjoy it. I’m not some… violent dog.” Her voice was tight, almost shaky. She didn’t want Pony, or anyone else, thinking she was proud of it. She didn’t want to be like Dally—reckless, mean, and angry at the world. But it felt like no matter what, that’s all anyone would ever see in her.