I saw a shooting star for the first time on November third. It was past midnight when the streak of blue and green shot across the sky, lighting up my face and shining in my eyes. Ponyboy was laying beside me on the ground, arms underneath his head and knees bent upward. We were occupying a vacant lot. The younger boy and I had spoken for the first time in a long time after accidentally meeting at The Dingo. Ponyboy had been alone, and smirked as he approached me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and greeting me like an old friend. It had made me want to roll my eyes since he'd been treating me so coldly for such a long time, but I got over it quickly and before I knew it we were laying side-by-side in the lot. Pony had told me he wasn't really allowed at the lot, but that didn't seem to matter all that much on that night.

A cigarette was between my lips as I stared up to the sky. Smoke filled my lungs and as I breathed it out, I watched the delicate cloud lift toward the sky before quickly being blown out of existence by the light wind. In that moment, I felt content in a way I hadn't since Mark had left. It felt good.

Without speaking, Ponyboy reached out and took the cigarette from me, taking a long drag. His eyes looked more cloudy than I'd ever seen before as he gazed at me, the cigarette still pinched between his pink lips. I just chalked it up to whatever he'd been doing before we met up, though. The Dingo wasn't really a classy place, especially if you're a hood, which Pony was. He'd also told me he had been at Buck's beforehand, which just left even more possibilities for what he'd been doing. I didn't think Pony was the kind of kid to shoot up or smoke anything other than good ole cigarettes, but then again I didn't know him all that well.

"Do you think Mark misses us?" His voice came in a quiet whisper, but shocked me all the same. It left my ears ringing as I winced. I didn't like talking about Mark, but Ponyboy sure did. He talked about Mark just about every time we spoke.

I sighed before answering the younger boy's question. "I know he doesn't miss me." That much was true, I knew Mark hated me. "But," my voice rang out again as I saw sadness creep onto Pony's features. "He probably misses you. You two were close weren't you?"

Curtis turned his head away from me quickly, but I still caught the heavy blush that spread quickly across his cheeks. Even his ears looked pink and red in the glow of the moon. Deciding I shouldn't ask, I turned my head back to the sky.

Blades of grass lapped at my body, licking at my exposed arms and neck, making me itchy. Plants that had grown up from the soil over the summer were now brown and dead, shriveling under their own weight. The few leaves that were left on the trees above us were mostly brown. The color reminded me of dirt and I wondered momentarily how people found Fall pretty.

"I miss him a lot, you know?" Ponyboy's timid voice cut through the silence between us. "Whenever we were together, it felt like me an' him against the world. But now he's gone. And it's just me against the world. And him against a prison cell." It took me a few moments to realize the quivering in his voice was due to him crying.

For a moment, I wanted to run away. I didn't want to face the torment my decision had caused my sort-of-friend, but I had to. I knew I couldn't run away from it. So, instead of running, I just turned to the younger boy, sitting up as I did so. "Ponyboy," I said, voice shaking. He looked up at me, eyes red and cheeks puffy and snot all over. He looked terrible in all honesty. I wanted to comfort him, but I couldn't form the words. A lump grouped together in my throat and tears threatened to sting my eyes. I had to look away. His broken expression shook me to the very core. Deep down, I missed Mark too. I missed his laugh and his smug grin and the way he did whatever he wanted without ever caring about the consequences, but I would never admit it. Especially not to Ponyboy Michael Curtis. Because I knew that I didn't miss him nearly as much as Ponyboy did. And I knew I didn't love him even a fraction of the amount Ponyboy did. I thought in that moment that it would've been better if they were brothers, instead of Mark and I. Pony never would have turned him in. Pony probably would've just looked the other way, smiling the whole time, simply just because he loved Mark to blindly.

"You sure love him a lot, huh?" My voice was quiet and grim as I spoke. I jumped when his head snapped toward me, glaring as tears dropped down his face.

"Of course! He was my friend!" The younger boys voice was shrill and high as he shrieked at me, face red. "If you loved him too you never would have done what you did! You didn't care about him at all!"

I tried to shush him, to calm him down, but it only made him more upset. And before I knew what was happening, he was on top of me, hitting me repeatedly. Ponyboy was always a lot smaller than me, both in weight and height, but he was also a much better fighter than me. At least that's what I heard. He got in a few good hits to my face before I grabbed his wrists, yanking him roughly as I stood up. He shrieked at me to let go, but I knew if I did I would only be greeted with more hits.

"What is wrong with you?" I growled, gripping his wrists tightly in my hands. He had very thin arms, and I worried slightly that squeezing him too tightly would snap his wrists clean in half. I couldn't worry about that in the moment though. "Curtis!" I barked out, my voice echoing off the nearby houses. "What is your problem?"

While I was speaking, Ponyboy twisted his body and riled himself free from my grasp.

"Why did you turn him in, Bryon?" The boy in front of me practically screamed at me, the stream of tears coming down his face finally slowing down. "Why did it matter so much? So what he was dealing? He was your friend! Your brother! And you just turned him in to the cops without a second thought! He never would've done that to you."

My body trembled with rage as the auburn headed boy in front of me continued to yell. I clenched my first, itching to just hit him. So, I did. I reeled back my arm and punched Ponyboy as hard as I could. He fell down onto the ground, and I almost thought that was the end of it until he screamed, tackling me to the ground. In a blur of movements, Ponyboy was on top of my chest, delivering blow after blow to my face. I knew I was going to have two black eyes. I grabbed him by his throat and shoved him off of me, sending him sliding through the dry grass and dirt. He was back on his feet in no time, trying to run up and hit me again but I grabbed his fist with one hand before it could make contact, and punched him the stomach with the other. He went down with a grunt, and I kicked him once for good measure before speed walking away. I didn't win the fight, I knew that. But my face hurt enough as it was and I didn't want to be totally humiliated by some kid.

I got some weird looks on my walk home that night, but I didn't really care. I just picked up my pace. I arrived home close to 2:30 in the morning. My mom was asleep in her room. I sighed as I walked into my bedroom, holding a washcloth against my nose in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood. I was sure Ponyboy had broken my nose due to how sore it was. But my whole face hurt, so it was hard to distinguish one pain from another. I fell asleep soon after getting home, propped up on my bed, cloth still pushed against my face.