“Alright, Darrel, easy on the clutch,” Papa Curtis said, gripping the dashboard like his life depended on it.

“I am going easy!” Darry snapped, though his hands were white from gripping the steering wheel. The old pickup truck sputtered and jerked forward, bouncing over a pothole in the dirt road. From the backseat, Sodapop and Ponyboy were howling with laughter, bouncing up and down as the truck shook. Ponyboy’s little legs kicked the air, almost hitting Sodapop in the shoulder.

“Watch out for the mailbox!” Mama Curtis shouted from the porch, waving her hands frantically. “Don’t crash my tomatoes, boys!”

Darry’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to mess this up. Learning to drive was supposed to make him feel grown-up, responsible, in control—but right now, he was barely holding onto both the wheel and his pride.

“Darry, look out!” Sodapop cried, nearly falling over as the truck lurched again. Ponyboy squealed with delight, gripping the back of the seat for dear life.

Papa Curtis chuckled, leaning back in the passenger seat. “Relax, Darrel. You’re doing fine. Just don’t spill the beans if you hit anything. That’s the family rule.”