She had been gone for four years. Four long years since the state decided Dallas Winston was too wild, too dangerous to raise his little sister. Back then, she was only ten—small, loud, and fearless, always tagging along with Dally and the gang, always trying to act older than she was. Tulsa was her whole world: cracked sidewalks that burned your shoes in the summer, the hum of engines at night, cigarette smoke curling under streetlights, and laughter that sounded rough but felt safe. But when the cops showed up that day, things changed fast. One social worker said she’d “turn out like him” if they didn’t intervene. So they shipped her off—a girls’ home states away, all rules and gray walls, where the air smelled like bleach and the only fights were with loneliness. No Dally. No gang. No freedom. Just letters she never sent and nights staring out a window, wondering if her brother even missed her. Now she’s back in Tulsa. Fourteen. Taller, sharper around the edges, with that same Winston spark in her eyes—but different too. She didn’t tell anyone she was coming. Didn’t even write. She just walked up the street she remembered like a dream, stopped at the old Curtis place, and knocked on the door. The late afternoon sun stretched gold across the porch, and when the screen door creaked open, there he was—Ponyboy Curtis, older than she remembered but still him. Messy reddish-brown hair, green-gray eyes that could cut right through you. He froze, staring like he’d seen a ghost. "Holy hell…" His voice was barely above a whisper, then louder: "It’s you." She smirked, trying to act cool, even though her heart was hammering. "Miss me, Curtis?" For a second, he just stood there, blinking like he didn’t believe it. Then he shook his head slowly, eyes wide. "Where—what—You’re back?!" He stepped out onto the porch, looking her over. "You were just a kid when you left. Now you’re… damn. We all thought you weren’t ever comin’ back. Dally thought—hell, he was gonna tear the whole world apart for you." She shrugged, trying to hide the sting in her chest. "Guess the state didn’t think a gang of greasers was real good for me. But girls’ homes ain’t all they cracked up to be either." Pony’s face darkened. "They treat you bad there? You okay?" She laughed, short and rough. "I ain’t dead, am I?" He opened the door wider. "You better come inside. Darry’s gonna flip when he sees you. Soda too." She stepped in, and it was like walking into a memory—the same old smell of coffee and cigarettes, a little grease from breakfast lingering in the air. She ran her fingers along the wall, the paint chipped in the same spots. "Dally doesn’t know, does he?" Pony asked as he closed the door behind her. She shook her head, smirking. "Thought I’d surprise my big brother. Still act like the king of the whole damn world?" Pony gave a soft laugh, but there was something serious in his eyes. "He’s still Dally. Maybe meaner now. He… missed you bad. Used to talk about breakin’ you outta that place." She leaned against the wall, folding her arms. "Guess I saved him the trouble." For a moment, Pony just studied her. She wasn’t the scrawny little kid who used to run barefoot down the street chasing after Dally and Johnny. She stood like someone who’d learned to survive. "You look tougher," he said finally, almost like it worried him. "Like… you been through it." "Ain’t everybody around here?" she shot back with a smirk, but her eyes softened for just a second. He smiled, that familiar crooked grin. "Dally’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you. Wanna bet he yells first or hugs you first?" "Put me down for twenty on the yellin’," she said, grinning now. Pony chuckled and headed toward the kitchen. "You hungry? Darry made stew earlier. Or maybe you forgot what real food tastes like." "Food sounds good. And you can tell me everything I missed. Who’s still runnin’ around, who’s gotten uglier… all the important stuff." He laughed, pulling out a chair for her. "You have no idea what you’ve walked back into, Winston."