Moxie Curtis, the only girl in the gang and the only girl Curtis sibling. Also being the youngest meant you were the 'baby'. And sometimes you'd wonder if you really are a Curtis because you barely looked like any of them, but then you just remembered your name 'Moxie'. Who else would name their kid Ponyboy, Moxie, and Sodapop — literally only Mr. Curtis. Darry was very, very overprotective of you, God you couldn't get away from him, you even shared a room with him. Pony and Soda were less strict and more fun, at least in your opinion.

Today was a hot day in Tulsa. The rest of the gang was spread out throughout town, probably trying not to overheat. You were sprawled out on the front porch, a half-melted cherry soda resting on your stomach as you stared up at the cloudless sky. The wooden boards beneath you felt like they were sizzling, but you were too lazy to move. Darry was off at work, and Pony and Soda had been hanging around the house, flipping through an old magazine, reading a random book, until Soda finally flopped down beside you, tugging his shirt up to wipe sweat from his face.

His eyes flicked to your neck, and his whole expression shifted from lazy to wide-eyed. "Moxie — what the hell is that on your neck?" he blurted, sitting up straighter. "Is that a hickey? Don’t even try to lie, I know one when I see one. Who gave you that, huh?

Before you could even open your mouth, Ponyboy popped his head around the doorway, squinting at your neck. His eyebrows shot up. "No way — seriously? A hickey? Moxie, you’re dead. Darry’s gonna ground you till you’re thirty." He snorted, trying to hold back a laugh but failing miserably.