I drew in a hurried breath, watery eyes fixed on the framed photo I held in my hand. It was a photo of Bob and I, leaning against his blue Mustang on our second date. His arm was draped around my shoulders, the rings he had always admired glistened on his fingers in the sunlight. We were laughing, our cheerful smiles frozen in time. That was a little over a year ago. Today was the one year anniversary marking Bob's death.

I wiped away the tear that began to descend down my cheek, leaving a shimmering trail from my eyes to my chin. I replaced the photograph back on it's adopted spot on my nightstand, sniffling slightly and rubbing the newly accumulated tears from my eyes. Standing up, I quickly shuffled to the bathroom across the hall and shut the door behind me.

I sighed and bent over the sink, elbows on either side of it, tears splattering on the shining porcelain. Shaking, I glanced at the mirror, the reflection of a reddened, blotchy-faced teenager meeting my gaze, I ran my fingers through my hair and pushed myself up from the sink, forcing a small smile.

"Sherri," my mom called, "it's time for dinner." Her voice was softer today, sympathetic.

"I'm coming, Mom." My voice quavered slightly. I forced another smile and opened the door, slowly making my way downstairs.

Mom was standing at the bottom of the stairs, showing me an earnest smile. I flashed her my faux-paus smile momentarily and walked past her into the dining room, sitting down. Mom pulled up a chair next to me, taking my hand and rubbing small circles on the back of it with her thumb in an attempt to comfort me. She pulled my head into her chest, and I returned the hug gratefully. I sighed and pushed myself up after letting her stroke my hair absentmindedly for a few minutes I lifted a fork from the table and shifted the food on the plate that sat in front of me, chin resting on the heel of my hand. I moved the food around the plate for several minutes, not eating.

"I'm going to bed," I stated hoarsely, scooting away from the table and my untouched food. Mom nodded, watching me leave the room with a sympathetic smile glued to her face. I slowly climbed the stairs, one after another, and shuffled into my room, flopping onto the bed. Knees fused to my chest and pillow encased in my arms, I sobbed quietly.

I looked up from my pillow at the clock ticking away at my wall. It read 11:59. Mom had gone to bed about an hour ago - at least I had heard her shuffling around - and I felt cold and lonely.

I thought about Ponyboy, and how maybe I could go over to his house. Maybe he was remembering how tonight a year ago, he had almost died. He had almost died because of Bob, and Johnny had stabbed him. Maybe he was asleep, though. It was midnight. Then again, I had promised myself for the uptienth time that I was never going over there again. I had told the Greasers' that, too. Ever since Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston had died, that greasy hood Tim Shepard had been hanging around the Curtis house more and more, making passes at me with every chance he got.

I sighed and stood up, shrugging away the possibility that the Curtis' brothers were asleep, or that Shepard would be there, and walked over to my door. I peered out of the crack between my door and the threshold. All the lights in the house were extinguished, and nothing was moving or making a sound. I looked over at the clock once again - 12:07 - then at my oversized sweatshirt that hung limply off my shoulders. There was no way I was presentable enough to even sit in my front yard. I sneered, deciding not to bother changing, and slipped out my door and into the hall.

Silently, I snuck down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. When I reached the bottom, I stopped and turned, checking if there was any possibility that I would get caught.

I stepped outside. The air was brisk, seeping coldly through my thick, baggy sweatshirt, stinging my nose and freezing my watery eyes. I wrapped my arms around my chest and began to walk. The wind blew my tangled hair behind my back, lifting limply up and down as I walked forward.

As I walked, I passed places filled with memories. The lot. That's where I became a greaser spy. Jay's. That's the dingy old Soc hangout Bob had taken me on our first date. The park.

I stopped and fixed my eyes on that horrid fountain. The water flew from the tip, slapping upon itself and glistening in the moonlight. I dragged myself over to the fountain, pausing at the edge and staring at the dark, permanent stain on the blue-green stone. I was a fixed reminder of what had happened that night. When I had heard the story of what had happened, it made me hate Bob. I had always told him not to drink, it would get him into big trouble some day. I had told him that, and look where he ended up. I hated him, I knew that. I loved him, though. I knew that, too. I sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the sparking water.

Who knows how long I sat there? A minute? An hour? A lifetime, even? It wouldn't make any difference. I could stay there forever. Just sitting, just staring.

I stood up and gave the fountain one last look and dashed back to the sidewalk. I continued to walk until I saw the silhouette of the Curtis House sitting on the corner of that old, run-down street. I paused, wondering if it was such a good idea to be out here alone, on the wrong side of the tracks, past midnight. Looking around cautiously, I took another step forward towards the Curtis House.

Noticing I was slouched over slightly from fatigue and depression, I straightened my back and held my head high. I should be stronger than this. I thought to myself. I am stronger than this.

Back straight and head high, I smiled a watery smile, walking up the steps of the Curtis House. This lights were on, and I saw people moving inside. One of them looked like Two-Bit, laughing hysterically. I lifted my hand, which was balled into a fist and half-concealed by me oversized sweatshirt. I paused, my arm dangling in the air and an inch from the door.

What if they don't want me here? I thought. It was the first time I had thought about that possibility that night. As I lowered my arm, someone opened the door.