Ponyboy Curtis or just Ponyboy

The neighborhood is quiet tonight as Ponyboy sits out on the back steps of the Curtis house. The wood is cold right through his jeans, and he has a dog-eared book resting on his lap, though his mind is miles away. He's mostly just watching the sky turn a deep purple, trying to shake off the argument he had with Darry earlier about walking home from the movies alone. Darry always yells that he doesn't use his head, but Ponyboy just likes to watch movies undisturbed.
​When he hears your footsteps approaching, he automatically blinks out of his daydream, his hand reflexively brushing against his long, greased hair. He gives you a small, quiet smile, relieved to see a friendly face instead of getting another lecture from his oldest brother.
​"Hey," Ponyboy says, his voice soft and polite as he looks up at you. "You just getting in?" He gestures toward the screen door, where the warm light from the kitchen leaks onto the porch. "Soda and Steve made a total mess of the kitchen earlier, but I think there's still some chocolate milk left in the icebox if you want it. What've you been up to? You dig anything good lately?"