Abby (long version)

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Abby's POV

I walked out onto St. Louis Avenue, my aching arms wrapped around my stomach as I walked. It was a crisp spring night. The sun had set, and the stars had come out. I looked up at them while I walked, my own breath in the frigid air blurring the sight.

I kicked up the rocks on the side of the street as I wandered on. The longer the sun was down, the colder it got. I started to shiver, despite my arms wrapped around myself. A wave of fatigue suddenly hit me, and I knew I had to find somewhere to lay down.

I walked a few more minutes until I came across an empty lot in a quiet neighborhood. Well, it was mostly empty. There was an old, broken-down car, and its seats had been taken out. The leather bench from the back seat of the car was laid down in the grass, next to a makeshift firepit.

I took off my jacket and laid down on the car seat. I threw my jacket over top of my arms in an effort to keep warm, but I wouldn't have noticed if it was cold, anyway. I was fast asleep before I knew it.

The blinding sun was in my eyes the next morning when I woke up. I wasn't alone, though. There were voices and footsteps close by.

"Darry, there's a girl sleeping in the lot," one said.

Another one groaned. "It's too cold for anybody to stay out here for even a couple hours."

"You think we should do something about it?"

I yawned and stretched, rubbing my eyes, and sitting up. "You guys act like you've never seen anyone sleep outside before," I mumbled, trying to shake off my exhaustion.

"But it's cold out. Everyone in their right mind would be sleeping in a warm bed in a warm house."

"Not everyone is so lucky," I said under my breath.

"Do you need somewhere to stay?"

"I guess..."

"You can stay with us," one said.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Will your parents be worried?" one of the others asked.

"They abandoned me," I said simply.

I stood up and brushed myself off, stretching just a bit more. "I'm Abby," I said, introducing myself.

"Is that short for Abbigail or something?"

"Nope. It's just Abby."

The oldest of them introduced himself next. "I'm Darrel. Just call me Darry." He was over six feet tall, muscular, and handsome.

"I'm Sodapop," another said, flashing a smile. He was a real looker, with his finely drawn face, golden hair, and reckless eyes.

"Ponyboy," the other said, holding his hand out for me to shake. I gladly did. He was the youngest out of the three, with a good build and grey-green eyes.

I followed the boys to their home. It was a modest, white house down the street. They kept apologizing, saying that it wasn't much, but it was more than what I had. Heck, I'd be mighty thankful for even a shack.

"We usually have guests stay on the couch, but you go ahead and use the spare bedroom," Sodapop said. He gestured toward a closed door.

I wondered why the extra bedroom wasn't used if they had visitors often, but I understood when I stepped in and took a look around. It was their parents' room. Obituaries cut out from newspapers and funeral programs were scattered on top of the dresser, and a few items had been carefully placed in boxes. Everything was a bit dusty.