Hi. This is the first story I've written in a while, so I apologize if my style is a little rusty. The next chapter will be much longer, but I wanted to post this intro before I lost my nerve and decided it wasn't good enough. I hope you enjoy it.

"Yeah, I'll catch ya later, Curly! I gotta get home," I called over my shoulder as I jogged towards the door. I had to get home to clean the house before the annual social worker's visit. I'm not so much worried about them anymore; they don't seem to want to pull Darry and me apart in 'this hard time'.

That's what they called it the last time they showed up. 'This hard emotional time.' Darry's biceps coiled so tight I thought for sure he was going to lay that social worker out. He gets very touchy whenever anyone mentions something even remotely related to Soda or the war. He also hates when people act all pitying about it. I guess he figures if people start pitying us, we'll start to deserve it, which would mean bad things for Soda's health. He's superstitious like that.

I ran most of the way home, due to the fact that Two-Bit didn't show up to take me home like he said he would. When I got there, I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox, hopped over the fence, and was inside without really stopping to get my balance. I skidded into the side table next to Darry's chair and knocked over the lamp on top of it, scattering mail and homework all over the floor in the process.

Great, I groaned, standing up and righting the table again before starting to pick up the mail. I managed to wrangle most of my papers into a sort of pile before I heard the buzzer going off on the dryer- Darry must have done laundry before he left for work- and jumping up to retrieve and fold it.

After I finished the laundry, I got so distracted cleaning the kitchen and making tacos for dinner- Darry's favorite- that I forgot about the mess I had made in the otherwise immaculate living room. Just as the tacos were finishing, I heard Darry's truck pulling up outside, followed by the slamming of a door and his heavy footsteps on the creaky porch. And then-

"Ponyboy, dammit, I thought I told you to clean, man!" he muttered as he kicked off his work boots.

"I did!" I called, confused and a little indignant.

"Well then what are all those papers doing on the floor?" he called out as he headed to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

Groaning again, I took the taco meat off the burner and set it on the counter before heading over to the small pile of papers sitting just inside the door. I scooped them up and separated the mail from my homework, setting the homework on the coffee table and the mail on the table just as Darry emerged from the kitchen, plate of tacos in hand.

"I cleaned the kitchen when I got home from school. Sorry about the papers, I just sort of forgot they were there," I muttered as I picked up a taco.

"Don't worry about it, little buddy. Thanks for cleaning the rest of this place. It's shinier than those medals you got last week." He chuckled and pointed at the mantle as my face turned bright red. I still hadn't managed to get him to take those damn medals from my last track meet off the mantle. Two-Bit heckles me about it every day, but Darry won't put them away.

We talked for a little while about school and work and then he turned to the mail. Phone bill, electric bill, car magazine for Soda (that one made him flinch a little), and the sewer bill. I could almost see the gray hair sprouting from his scalp. There were two envelopes left- one a dirty, battered envelope, one crisp and very official looking. I figured it was something about a scholarship; we get those a lot. I picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen as he tore open the fancy envelope.

Just as I was setting the plates down, Darry let out the most unnatural noise- somewhere between a moan and a sob- and I turned around to see him clutching the thick cardstock paper, face completely ashen. I dropped the plates and darted to his side before they shattered on the hard floor.

"Darry? Darry, what the hell? What happened?" He didn't look up at me, just handed me the letter wordlessly.

Mr. Darrel Curtis Senior,

We regret to inform you-

With those 9 words, I felt my world collapse.

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