hell and back 
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Back at the tents, the group walks up to find a scene that could've been pulled straight from a horror movie. A body, limp and lifeless, is being carried on a stretcher by two EMTs, their faces grim as they navigate the debris-laden path towards the ambulance. The storm's aftermath has brought more than just destruction; it's brought a harsh dose of reality to their beachside adventure.

They make their way over and sit next to a group of teens. The girl next to John B, a blonde with a smear of dirt on her cheek, glances over at them with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Who's that?" he asks, nodding towards the stretcher.

The girl shrugs, her voice firm. "Scooter Grubbs," she says, her eyes never leaving the scene. "He was out during the storm."

The blonde girl then pulls out her phone. "Check out this pic I got," she says, her voice a mix of awe and horror. The screen flickers to life, revealing a gruesome image that makes Myah's heart stop.

It's Scooter, his eyes open wide in a silent scream. The picture is blurry, but it's clear enough to see the terror etched on his face. Myah feels bile rising in her throat, and she gags, turning away so her face is now towards JJ's. She's never seen anything so horrific, and she wishes she could unsee it.

JJ looks at the picture, his face unreadable, but his eyes betray a flicker of something. Concern? Sadness? Myah can't tell. He's always been good at hiding his feelings. "What kind of boat did he have?" he asks the blonde girl, his voice calm despite the chaos around them.

The girl looks at him like he's just asked what the weather was like on Mars. "Somehow, that dirt bag copped a brand-new Grady White," she says, her voice laced with a hint of impatience. "Everyone's out looking for it."

The group exchanges a look of 'omg' that could be heard in the quiet whispers of the ocean. The implications of their discovery sink in, like a stone thrown into a still pond, the ripples spreading outwards in waves of understanding.

John B nods his head, the gesture barely perceptible, but it's enough. It's time to go. The wheels in their heads are turning, the gears of their minds locking into place. They stand up, sand sticking to their legs like the sticky residue of a secret they're not quite ready to let go of yet.

"So now what?" Kie asks, her voice a mix of concern and nerves.

Myah takes a deep breath, her eyes still on the retreating ambulance. "I have a shift at the restaurant," she says, the words a lead weight in the air. "I'll catch up with you guys at the Chateau later."

John B nods, his eyes still on the ground. "Be careful," he says, his voice tight with worry.

"Always," Myah says, her voice a promise she's not sure she can keep. She turns and starts walking back towards town.

The restaurant is a beacon of light in the storm's aftermath, the big wood sign on the front that says, 'The Wreck'. Inside, the smell of fried seafood and grease fills the air like a warm embrace. Kie's mom, Anna, is behind the counter, her face a picture of exhaustion mixed with relief when she sees Myah.

"Thank goodness," she says, not bothering to hide the desperation in her voice. "You're the only server for the next hour, and it's busy. Go change, please."

Myah nods, ducking into the back. The employee bathroom is cramped, but she takes a moment to scrub the sand from her face, trying to wash away the image of Scooter on that stretcher. She pulls on her apron, the smell of the sea clinging to her skin mixing with the grease of the kitchen.

When she emerges, the restaurant is bustling with the usual mix of locals and tourists, all eager to fill their bellies with the comfort food that only comes from a place called 'The Wreck'. She takes a deep breath, pushing aside the thoughts of treasure hunts and dead bodies, and steps into her role as a server, her smile as bright and forced as sky outside.

But as the hour ticks by, the waves of customers begin to ebb, leaving behind a deserted dining area. The clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversations fades into the background, replaced by the hiss of the fryer and the occasional ding of the bell that signals an order up. The once-packed restaurant is now as empty as the beach had been before the storm.

That's when she walks in. A blonde girl, her hair a wild tangle of sea salt and sunshine, strides through the door with the confidence of someone who's seen the world and lived to tell the tale. She scans the room before her eyes lock on Myah, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Hi Myah!" she says, her voice a mix of surprise and satisfaction.

Myah's heart sinks. It's Rachel. The last person she wants to see right now. Rachel's eyes travel from the apron to the empty restaurant, a question in her gaze. "I didn't know you worked here," she says, her tone light, but her eyes are shrewd.

"Yep," Myah says, her voice tight. "What can I get you?"

Rachel's smirk widens as she takes a seat at the counter. "Just a soda," she says, leaning back with a sigh. "I heard about Scooter. Terrible, isn't it?"

Myah nods, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yeah," she says, her eyes flicking to the soda machine. "Real tragedy."

Rachel's gaze follows hers, a knowing look in her eyes. "You know," she says, her voice a little too casual, "I was thinking I should try again with JJ."

Myah's hand freezes mid-pour, the soda fizzing over the brim of the plastic cup. She turns to Rachel, her smile frozen on her face. "Really?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and disinterest. "What makes you say that?"

Rachel's eyes gleam, a hint of challenge in her gaze. "Oh, you know," she says, her voice a purr. "It's just a feeling. Besides, with everything going on, I think he needs someone to be there for him."

Myah hands her the cup, her grip tight enough to leave fingerprints on the plastic. "You know," she says, her voice a mix of sweetness and steel, "I think he mentioned that he's seeing someone already."

Rachel's smile falters, a hint of annoyance flitting across her features like a storm cloud passing over the sun. "Is that so?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"Yeah," Myah says, her voice a little too cheerful as she wipes the counter. "They seem pretty serious."

Rachel's eyes narrow as she stands up, closing the distance between them. "You're lying," Rachel says, her voice a low murmur that's as threatening as a shark's fin slicing through the water.

Myah's heart hammers in her chest, but she meets Rachel's gaze, her own eyes as unwavering as the lighthouse beam that guides ships home. "Am I?" she asks, her voice a blend of innocence and challenge.

And then, before she can say another word, Rachel's fist collides with Myah's eye, sending a burst of pain that lights up her world like a Fourth of July firework. She stumbles back, her vision swimming like a school of confused fish, the soda spilling across the counter and onto her apron.

"Oh, bitch," Myah yells, her voice a mix of pain and fury. Rachel's smirk turns into a sneer as she takes a step back, her own hands balled into fists, ready for round two.

Myah charges towards Rachel like a bull in a China shop, her eyes blazing with the fire of a thousand suns. Rachel's punch had been unexpected, but Myah's not one to take things lying down. She's a Pogue, for crying out loud, and Pogues fight back.

The restaurant's kitchen is a blur of stainless steel and shadow as Myah's fist meets Rachel's nose with a sound that echoes through the room. The impact sends Rachel reeling backward, her hand flying to her face in shock. Myah's heart races, adrenaline coursing through her veins like a wild river.

The two girls stand toe to toe, their breaths coming out in ragged pants, like bellows stoking the fires of their anger. Rachel's hand is still cradling her nose, blood trickling down like a macabre necklace. Myah's eye is already swelling shut, a dark bruise forming like a storm cloud. The air crackles with tension, thick as the humidity outside.

And then the door to the kitchen slams open. Kie's dad, Mike, barrels in like a tornado on a mission. "What the hell is going on here?" he roars, his eyes darting between Rachel's bloodied nose and Myah's swollen eye.

Myah looks at him, her chest heaving with anger. She says nothing, just yanks off her apron and storms out, the fabric fluttering behind her like a battle flag. Rachel's sneer turns into a grimace, and she grabs a napkin, pressing it to her nose.

"It was just a misunderstanding," Rachel says, her voice nasal and pained. But Mike's eyes are on Myah's retreating back, and he doesn't look convinced.

"Rachel, go home," he says, his tone firm but not unkind. Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but something in Mike's gaze shuts her up faster than a cork in a champagne bottle.

Myah walks to the Chateau, her bruised knuckles and black eye a testament to the battle she's just survived. The salty ocean air feels like a slap in the face, a reminder that she's not in the clear yet. Each step is a battle against the pain, but she's a Pogue through and through, and she's not about to let Rachel see her weak. The wind whispers secrets in her ear, carrying tales of the treasure that waits for them, but all she can think about is the storm that's been brewing in her heart since she first laid eyes on JJ.

When she gets there, she slams the door hard enough to shake the very foundation of the houseboat. The sound echoes through the night, a declaration of war against the silence that's been following her like a shadow. The living room is a minefield of rumpled couches and half-empty beer bottles, it feels like home to the girl.

John B's door opens with a creak and out spill her friends like clowns from a car at a circus. They're all looking at her with eyes that are a mix of worry and confusion. "What happened?" Pope asks, his voice low and serious.

"It's nothing," Myah says, her voice tight with pain and embarrassment. But Kie is already at her side, her eyes scanning the damage with the precision of a doctor assessing a patient.

"Myah, your eye," Kie says, her voice laced with concern as she gently touches the swollen skin. "You look like you face planted with a wall."

"You should see the other girl," Myah says with a smirk, her voice filled with a hint of pride. Despite the pain, she can't help but feel a twisted satisfaction at Rachel's bruised nose.

John B and Pope exchange a look of 'Oh, boy' while Kie's eyes widen with shock. "What happened?" John B asks, stepping closer, his voice a mix of concern and bewilderment.

"Rachel," Myah says through gritted teeth. "She came into the Wreck, had the nerve to throw a punch."

John B's eyes darken. "Why?"

Myah shakes her head. "It's complicated."

Kie gives Myah a knowing smile, while plopping down on the couch next to her. "Hey, we're throwing a kegger tonight. You wanna come help?"

Myah nods, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, sure," she says, trying to ignore the ache in her face. "But first, can I get some ice?"

John B disappears into the kitchen, returning with an ice pack. "Here," he says, his eyes searching hers for any sign of regret or fear. She takes it with a small smile, pressing it to her swollen eye. "Thanks," she murmurs, the cold a welcome relief.

...

KATE SPEAKS!

PARTY TIMEEEE🥳🥳