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SCREW YOU,
LAUREN ROUTLEDGE !
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"What do you mean they're coming by tomorrow?" Wren came back in from tossing a trash bag into the recycling can, having spent the last hour collecting all of the bottles and cans throughout the entire house.

"I mean— DCS said they expect to see Uncle T here. Tomorrow," John B restating the obvious, one hand running through his hair and another touching his mouth, in thought, "Thanks for cleaning up, by the way— didn't have to do that."

JJ laid on the couch, tossing a ball in the air and catching it repetitiously, "She's been running around the chateau like fuckin' Sonic, man."

"You wouldn't believe the amount of condom wrappers in—"

"Ew! Gross, Wren—" JJ interrupted, grimacing, "Who would do such a thing? That's next level nasty, dude. You know, my money's on Pope."

Kiara scoffed at that, while snacking on some grapes, "You're only saying that because he's not here to defend himself."

"Kie, do you think we can hit up The Wreck, try and get my old job back to support these imbeciles?" Lauren swapped the topic, knowing that was her main priority on her to-do list for the day. Summer approaching, and kids spending their days in the restaurant, they surely could use some extra hands, she assumed.

Clapping her hands and rubbing them together, the Carrera girl sprung up, more than ready to get out of the boys' hair. Besides, a little girl-to-girl catching up didn't sound like a half-bad idea, especially when her life was constantly surrounding John B, JJ, and Pope— she had missed her best friend, after all. "Now that's a plan— c'mon."

Just like that, the two girls ditched the boys, setting off on a walk to her parents' work. In order to get there, Kie and Wren made their way through a glimpse of Kookville— one of the largest, most elborate homes belonging to the Camerons. They fit the rich-bitch stereotype best of all, parents included. Often acting like charitable people, but only so they could seem like the ideal, good samaritans.

Rafe and Sarah pissed the Routledge girl off the most, undoubtedly. Millions to their names, and practically royalty— the thrones and all to prove it. Lauren didn't have a bone to pick with the Cameron girl when they were younger; Sarah was just like any other Northsider, and that was that. Kie had a phase of testing the waters and trying to adapt to the Kook life, leading her to become close Sarah, for a hot minute. Wren had been invited to her parties for the most part, solely because she was a rich kid, and quite frankly, all Kooks got invited to Kook parties. At one point they were even friends, probably around the same time as Kie had befriended her.

That's when the great 'Kie and Wren vs. Sarah' feud began. Lauren wasn't as passionate about her hatred— she expected nothing less than that garbage treatment (and felt the same about all North side kids, anyway)— but it was enticing to hold a grudge with Kiara for a while. Holding grudges, causing mischief, and having a field day with them was very much a Pogue thing to do, as it was.

"Yo— hey!" a voice— one that they were both rather unfortunate to admit they recognized— called out to them.

Of course, it couldn't be a straight shot to The Wreck, now could it? Many other Kooks were a lot less obnoxious, but Rafe Cameron's voice was cringeworthy to the girls. You know how many people wince and shudder at nails running down a chalkboard? Well, Rafe Cameron was the chalkboard in that sense, his voice the nails making that putrid sound in the first place.

"Just keep walking— act like you can't hear him," Lauren spoke under her breath, but Kiara only shook her head. The boy was like an itch awaiting to be scratched, and it wouldn't disappear until it was satisfied. All Figure 8-ers were like that; wanting nothing more than to make the lowlifes fume. None of them knew how to stop, not until they got their desired reaction.

"Lauren— that you?" he cut the two off, darting to the sidewalk in front of them.

With a roll of the eyes, and her expression coming across as nothing but unimpressed, "In the flesh. You're back from college for the summer, I take it," Wren surmised, gliding her palms into her back mom jean short pockets, "I'd say that means you can drop the whole frat boy look, Rafe."

"You haven't changed at all, Laur," his lips pressed into a thin line, pretending to not act bothered at the jab; his ego was flaming through the roof 24/7, and someone tampering with it wasn't something he treasured, "I'm glad."

Clicking her tongue at the top of her mouth, Lauren scanned him up and down, "You haven't changed either," a pause, "And I'm not glad about that."

"No, no— you loved me, when we were little," he nagged her, wagging his finger and generally just grasping at straws. He was wrong, and they both knew that. Hell! Kie was even well aware of that simple fact.

"In your dreams, Cameron," her face wrinkled in the slightest, just imagining how things would be if that were the case, "Camille wanted me to love you, and I just humored her for shits and giggles, on occasion."

Kiara's mind lit up with a thought, that her friend probably wasn't aware of. Adding harmless fuel to the fire, her favorite! "You know Rafe dropped out, right?"

"Kie, come on now—" Rafe sighed loudly. Another thing for Lauren to bust his stones with. Did she have to mention that? She was already doing just fine without that piece of information, truthfully.

Trying to hold back laughter but ultimately failing, Wren closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. "Sorry, sorry— I'm just trying to piece this together. How'd Ward swallow that pill, Rafey?" The girl knew how that conceited jackass could be, and hearing the news of his oldest son, the one that was in line to inherit his business, drop out from his freshman year?

Now that— that would be priceless!

"Goddamn, I'm fuckin' pissed now. I would've paid decent money to see that one play out! You gotta warn me next time you prove yourself to be a disappointment around your old man!"

By that point, Kiara was near tears— she missed how Wren would run her mouth like there was no tomorrow. She never failed to hit all the key points effortlessly; it was her forte, if you will. Keggers were where she really advertised that talent, but it was, in no way, limited to just there.

Watching Rafe slowly get progressively more and more bent out of shape was always fine entertainment. A redness would heat up his neck, and the redness would creep its way to his face, making him look like he had sun poisoning. Every damn time. He tended to blow up, and the girls were each mentally counting down the seconds until he had an outburst.

It was never too bad— nothing neither of them couldn't handle. A stubby middle finger was kindly sent their way, maybe a fuck you if he wanted to spice it up. Sometimes less, sometimes more. Surely, it wasn't going to be much longer until he went off, in 3....2.....

"You know, screw you, Lauren. Dirty Pogue!" he barked, teeth bared and eyes making a strong, unmoving contact with Wren's. "Always picking a fight. You should keep walking before I cave your goddamn face in."

"You're the one who stopped us in the first place, asshole!" she raised her tone in return, "And for the love of god, come up with a new insult! Didn't sting the first time, nor did it the other two thousand. You know the daddy issues one I pull on you?" Wren lowered into a whisper, "I pull it cause I know it burns. It's like taking candy from a baby."

"Where's your dad?" his pitch heightened, chest puffed out as he rebuked.

She snorted at that, while Kie stood off to the side, phone in hand catching it all. A fun memento: 'Wren picks fight with Kook King on her first day back.' "Not here, that's for damn sure. Also, next time you go to the hairdresser— tell her I said she sucks. You'd think you Kooks could afford something other than a bucket of bleach to your head."

That same signature blush was spread across his face, and it was not to be mistaken for sunburn. "Let's go," Kiara then nudged her best friend, and the two picked up a light jog.

"Later, Cameron!" Wren turned to lazily salute, to which he only had a snicker on, as well as a tomato-red face mingling with the sweat on his temple, due to getting so worked up— he couldn't win against Wren. Not when she was the most carefree of them all, not giving two flying fucks about any hurtful comment a Kook could muster up.

Kie's smile had yet to leave her face, which wasn't necessarily uncommon, yet Lauren felt the need to mention it. "What?"

"Nothing," she shook her head as they wandered through town, "I just missed you, and I missed that, back there," she momentarily glared behind herself, although Rafe and his mint-colored polo were long gone by that point.

"Same," Wren released a hefty breath she hadn't even taken note to holding— she wasn't lying when she agreed, "Forgot how fulfilling it is to get under Cameron's skin."

"Where'd you go to?" Kiara suddenly blurted, her visceral thoughts winning an internal battle and being announced abruptly.

     Not this again.

Anything, but this again.

"Mainland," Wren stated the obvious, flatly— that was no surprise, and, to be fair, it was a very vague response. Realizing how questionable she had said that, her tone lightened, becoming more cheerful, instead, "Nowhere special, to be honest."

Arching a brow, Kiara couldn't arbitrate how she felt about that response; for a girl as boisterous and impromptu as Lauren Routledge, why did she answer like that? "Really? No good Wren adventures? Friends— nothing?"

Shoulders straight and rapidly shaking her head in abatement, her reply remained immutable as she contemplated a solid cover-up. "Didn't have my partners in crime— I think it would've been way better if you and the other Pogues were there to share it with me," she slyly slipped out, making Kie scoff gently. Lauren's brain thought back to her reunion with the others, and their reactions. "JJ seemed off."

Look contorting into a less enthused one, Kie then seemed like the one that had to formulate a lie. Irony at its' best— both of the girls could tell something was off with the other, but neither of them could piece the puzzles together. "Hungover, for sure. Was a late night."

     No, it wasn't.

They didn't even party.  

Coming into view came The Wreck; yet another crucial part of Outer Banks culture. Wren seriously pitied those who visited the city and left, without having ate there at least once.

Not as many stopped in for lunch as they did dinner, meaning the restaurant was not at the day's peak, ideally for them. What it meant, was that both Anna and Mike had a few minutes to spare for the teenagers.

"Mom— Dad?" Kiara called out, sticking her head in the kitchen after they had ventured inside. A rag in her hands being tossed around, the girl's mother emerged into the eating area, her eyes widening and a smile upturning.

"Laur," the woman gasped, for it had been an excessive amount of time since she had seen the girl. Compared to John B, JJ, and Pope, seeing her was ameliorating. "You don't understand how nice it is to see you, really. How've you been?"

"Good! Good..." Wren trailed off, struggling to find any other words to describe how she was doing without it being a lie. "I had a question to ask you, actually, and if the answer's no, don't feel bad to—"

"You want a job?" Anna interrupted, knowing which path the chestnut-haired girl was leaning towards. "It's actually— really convenient you say that, you see, we just lost one of our best servers; she moved. But now, we gained one again," the adult placed a set of comforting hands on Wren's shoulders, taking in the friend of her daughter's that she was most fond of, overall. Bad for her, the woman knew how Camille was, and generally how the sixteen-year-olds life had treated her as of late. She felt for the girl, truly. "You want your old hours?"

Her mouth opening in the slightest, Wren tilted her head at Anna's remembrance. "Absolutely— wow, thank you."

Her old hours, meaning: Just come in whenever you have spare time. Or, if it happened to get busy, and they call her in.

A total perk of being Kiara's best friend.

———

Pogue life never slept; there was never a night that went by in the summer where you saw John B on his lonesome, basking in the quietness of his friends' lack of presence. Maybe during the school year Pope and Kie didn't spend as much time being spontaneous, but only because school mattered to them.

Now— John B and JJ, however?

Okay, John B actually wasn't a half bad student prior to things turning to shit— A's, B's, and an occasional C if it was a rough course. But once one bad event unfolds after the next, who really maintains that positive outlook? Not many, that's for sure. When there's a missing parent on the mind, a teenage boy would not be focusing on his factoring homework for algebra two. Big shocker there.

But JJ was a shitty student, and that was that. On the days he actually chose to show up and not skip, gym was his strong-suit, if you were to even consider that an actual class. Other than that, he couldn't state two things he had learned the previous year.

School months made adventures and activities more sparse, as unfortunate as it was. But summer?

Pogue's thrived in the summer— they always had. Something about the sun's blinding rays casting down on them, and the fact that there were zero responsibilites to tend to, essentially, it was their time to shine. June, July, and August's definition was spontaneity. What the next day held was usually unknown, and that's what made those days so downright great, usually.

That evening, it happened to be a bonfire. A small, quaint, local one, in the boneyard. One of the best beach-like settings, which happened to favorably be secluded. The only time it happened to get any attention, whatsoever, was at keggers.

But other than that?

Other than that, it was Pogues' territory. Lucky for them.

Being unbothered was the best— tourons weren't cognizant enough of the terrain to choose to visit there. Once again, they only lingered there if they noticed something was going on, or even an excessive amount of teenagers making their way discreetly through the pathways to get there, to party, and do underage, illegal things. What a joy.

"She screwed with Rafe, big time," amusement thickly laced Kiara's words; bashing on a Kook brought an undeniable adrenaline rush without fail. Pulling out her phone, she spun it around, for the fellow group members to get a laugh at the video.

Pope exaggeratedly sighed, adjusting his bucket hat so it'd shield his eyes from the piercing sun, meeting his dark brown eyes, "You recorded it? Are you ser—" he suddenly cut himself short, Pope finding himself absorbed and engrossed in what insult the girl was going to fire out, next.

With the video turning shaky, as they slowly picked up speed to get away from the humongous home, the entire group bursted out into a deep laughter.

"That's good shit, I'll hand it to ya," JJ raised a beer, to clink it with Lauren's.

"Thank you very much, kind sir," their bottles made contact, a high-pitched clinking sounding. "Cheers," Wren beamed, speaking in an absolutely shitty British accent— she had never been the best at impressions.

"That was terrible," the Heyward boy slid his black sunglasses onto his face, shaking his head jocosely. "But, you are a Pogue."

"Pogues don't leave the OBX," JJ muttered under his breath, with transparent intentions of the girl hearing it. "Leave everythin' behind."

Kie sharply snapped her head the boy's direction, ceasing him, "JJ—"

Momentarily, Wren allowed her head to fall, eyeing her feet, buried underneath the smooth grains of sand. He didn't get it— none of them did, and she couldn't disclose that information. Because, the girl had no clue as to what she had missed, and the truth would only give the Maybank boy another reason to hold a grudge against her.

While the five— or four, technically— sat coolly around the fire, blissfully enjoying the faint, melodic crashing of the waves, Lauren's head shifted to the left, where John B sat at a ample distance, eyes fixated forward, staring blankly at absolutely nothing. Wren knew that look, he was deep in thought.

"Booker," she left the others, situating herself on the dune, next to her cousin. His reasoning for being in a trance only lead towards one plausible justification: DCS. "We're gonna figure it out, alright?"

"You can't promise that,"  John B murmured, arms resting on his knees, "If he's not there tomorrow, which he won't be— I'd say I'm pretty screwed. And you're no better."

An idea popped into Wren's mind, "What about Peterkin?"

Out of all of OBX's cops, Susan Peterkin was the one that happened to be in their corner, so it seemed. She always had been, especially when it came to the never-ending catastrophe that was the Routledge's, in general. "She can only do so much, Sage. You know that."

"If shit goes south tomorrow, we'll leave," Lauren determined, leading herself to believe that that was their most ideal option— if it came down to it, and there wasn't another choice, that is.

"I'm not like you, I can't just leave," he didn't hesitate to decline. Wren wouldn't of been lying if she said she hadn't expected that response out of him. John had always been the type; if it involved leaving the OBX, he didn't want in.

He got homesick easily— Wren remembered the time that Uncle Teddy had used some of his wife's money to take them on vacation, and John B couldn't stop thinking about how JJ and Pope were probably spending time together, without him.

The slight jab didn't sting all that much, in actuality. Not only because it was their sibling-like relationship protruding, but because he wasn't necessarily lying.

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