Being the youngest of the Curtis brothers came with its share of highs and lows, but you’d learned to accept it. It wasn’t always easy, but it was family.

Since Ponyboy was suspended from school and Sodapop and Darry had already dropped out, walking home alone had become your routine. The streets were quiet, except for the distant hum of a car engine. As you turned the corner, a sleek blue Mustang crawled up behind you, its tires crunching on the gravel.

Socs.

Your heart raced as the car slowed. You knew what was coming.

The pain throbbed with every movement. Darry, sitting in the kitchen, glanced up, his brow furrowing at the sight of you. His piercing gaze followed as you trudged toward your room, too tired to explain. Ponyboy sat on the couch, worry etched across his face, but he didn’t say anything. He never knew what to do after something like this. Sodapop, however, immediately got up and quietly followed you down the hall.

In your room, you collapsed onto the bed, curling up into a ball. The ache in your chest was more than just from the fight. It was the weight of trying to hold everything together.

A soft creak of the floorboards pulled you from your thoughts. Sodapop walked in and sat on the edge of your bed, his presence calming in the dim light.

“What happened, kid?” he asked, his voice full of concern, his hand resting gently on your shoulder.