AFTER about a week of relaxing, the Pogues decided it was time to cash in the gold. 

Relaxing, of course, was generous. In the last year, there's been little time for real relaxation—even on Poguelandia, there was anxiety simmering inside about being trapped on an island forever. Between the gold, cops, and parental tension, the Pogues have been consistently on the move for the last year or so. 

Not anymore, though.

Despite the blood, sweat, and tears, as well as years in the making, that went into El Dorado, Eden needed a few days to heal, and the rest of the Pogues wanted a break too—which was greatly boosted by the fact that Tom opened his doors to the three who were homeless, ensuring them somewhere to rest every day. So, it was easy for the group to decide to push the gold back just a few days. 

With the three Pogues with homes retreating back after Isla's service, Sarah, John B, JJ, and Eden spent the next few days doing nothing but resting in Bexley estate. Eden's room became home, the four only retreating out for more snacks, the bathroom, or chores—Tom wasn't forcing them to work, but it didn't take much for the three guests to offer to help. 

While not near healed in a week, Eden feels much better after doing nothing. She takes everything prescribed, lets Sarah help her with wound care, and sleeps when her body tells her too. Her friends assist whenever she asks, as does her father. She's still sore and aching, but it's  tolerable. 

For a few days, the Pogues are normal teenagers again. But, the gold was still there, sitting in the Heyward home, heavy and real, and as much as Eden enjoyed her friends living in her house, it was only so long before that would have to stop. They were eighteen, after all. 

The rest of their life couldn't exactly start until they dealt with the gold.

So, after making sure Eden got her morning pills, Tom drove his daughter and her three friends to what used to be the Chateau, where they found the Twinkie—which, Tom revealed, he salvaged after the cops found it at the side of the road near Kitty Hawk and took it to the salvage yard. 

It felt good being back home in the Twinkie—without the Chateau, the van was the last real thing John B. had. The four Pogues got cozy and retreated to Heyward's shop and the Carrera home to retrieve Kiara, who was let out on the fake insist that Eden was grieving hard, and Pope and Cleo, who came out with the sack of gold.

 From there, they went to exchange their gold for money. 

Of course they could keep the gold, and trade the nuggets away until they had all they wanted and an empty sack, but, Pope said it would be better to trade it for money—clean, real, money. Something that couldn't be traced back to a centuries-old legend, and something that wouldn't weigh them down, literally or figuratively. 

Finding the gold was one thing, something the Pogues knew well, but getting away with it? That was something else entirely—a step the Pogues had never gotten too. So, they listened to Pope, for once, and went the exchange route. 

Pelican Gold Trust was nearby and, dressed to impress, the Pogues piled into the place with their sack of gold. They were led into a room with a few different important people, one of which sat down and pulled out a scale. Another man brought in paperwork. 

The silence in the exchange room was deafening.

Eden sat between John B and Sarah at the polished table, her fingers slowly but anxiously toying around the chain with Isla's ring at her neck. John B. hunched forward slightly, one elbow on the table whilst his other arm dropped down below it, hand resting on Eden's knee to stop it from bouncing. Sarah seemed calm and kept her eyes locked on the men, but it was more a practiced facade than anything. 

The remaining Pogues stood behind the table, just as tense. JJ's jaw was clenched and his arms were perched in front of him—Eden, remembering something of Kook modesty, told him not to cross his arms. Kiara mimicked his posture, politely smiling, while Pope and Cleo glanced at one another with hopeful yet anxious eyes.

Across from them, men in suits murmured and examined the golden samples, weighing, inspecting, pulling out tiny vials of acid and dropping them onto slivers and nuggets. The harsh fluorescent lights above made the room feel colder than it was—like everything sacred about what they'd done was now being broken down into parts and percentages.

Every test, every written statement, made the group more anxious. This wasn't just them handing over their gold—it was them handing over all they had. All they worked for. Risked for. Lost for. 

And now, a few guys in overpriced suits could look them in the eye and tell them none of it was real. 

Injured on not, Eden's sure she'll punch someone if that's the case. Even though they were providing real gold, the fear lingered heavy in her—because they were teens. Because they were Pogues. Because, the Kooks always won.

After a half hour of silence, the tests stop. The men and women all nod at one another, leaving the Pogues all glancing hopeful looks. This was it. 

"Twenty pounds." The man in the middle of the table sets a nugget onto the scale, confirming how much one weighed. 

John B. whips around and stares at JJ, who fights back a shit eating grin to his brother. They both look back at Eden, who nods at them to just wait a second more—there still wasn't a final verdict. 

The man weighing then picks up a Thermo Scientific Niton with gentle hands and holds it over the nugget atop the scale. It beeps a few times before he announces, "98.5%....." 

The Pogues all hold their breaths.

 ".....gold." 

There's a pause, warmth growing in all of the Pogues' chests. The group all looks at one another, happy and knowing—this was their victory, after all. Eden nudges John B.'s knee, urging him to speak, to stay professional. 

The Routledge asks, "And that translates to...." 

"This is money." The man admits, almost in awe of the situation—seven teenagers with millions of dollars of real gold in their hands. "A whole lot of money."

And just like that, it was done.

Years of searching, blood, betrayal, tears—and now, a transaction.

It was anticlimactic in the most relieving way, and Eden has never felt better. 

"Yes!" JJ is the first to break, unable to resist the warmth of reward inside of him. His exclaim breaks the rest of the Pogues' professional facades, all seven of them exclaiming and reacting with utter teenage excitement.

 Cleo bursts into a cheer, a loud cry of happiness. Pope starts clapping, urging  the other businessmen and women to do the same. Kiara presses her palms against one another and rests them on her lips. Sarah is immediately on her feet and without warning, grabs onto Eden's hands and squeals. Eden can't help but let out the same girlish squeal back. They did it. 

John B. shakes the hands of all the men, kissing the main on the knuckle. JJ shakes Sarah's shoulders, the Cameron laughing in pure happiness and disbelief before going to shake hands of those closest to her. Cleo and Pope embrace. JJ moves to Kiara, grinning, and shakes her shoulders, too.

"Thank you so much, sir." Eden shakes the hand of the main man, a genuine smile on her face. She hasn't seen her friends so happy in months, and seeing that means more to her than any of the money they just won. "Thank you."

She can barely get the words out before she's tugged away by John B., who pulls her into the biggest bear hug. It hurts, but Eden doesn't complain. She just holds her brother back, smiling and warm all over.  

They made it. 

Paperwork was signed. Numbers were written down. Names were given. Tom came in and helped them run all the arrangements, trained in the knowledge of finance and business—quietly, he even assisted them in handing over a small chunk of their new found cash in the name of JJ's restitution.

By the end of the day, the gold was gone, replaced with accounts, bank routing numbers, and debit cards—real-world tools, and real-world power. The kind that couldn't be stolen back by rich parents with bad intentions.

That day, the Pogues walked out of Pelican Gold Trust not as ragtag kids with fake stories, but as survivors with something to show for it. Finally.

How much to show for it, though, was still in the air. 

It took a few days for all the money to transfer over to a joint account Tom helped create for the seven kids. Those few days were spent within Bexley estate, conspiring about how much they would have, how they'd split, what they'd do—Pope calculated numbers to please all their curiosities, but that only lasted so long. They wanted to know the truth. 

Which is why the Pogues all stand in front of the ATM, jostling around for a better view like their lives depend on it.

A small convenience store at the end of the Cut was where the Pogues ultimately decided to go when seven cards arrived in the mail. The place was dimly lit, with a half-working air conditioner. The perfect place to discover their new joint balance.  

"Moment of truth," John B. stood directly in front of the ATM, shoving his card into the slot. His fingers drummed on the sides, anxious. "Alright," 

The rest of the Pogues huddled around the Routledge, desperate to read the screen for themselves. Eden ends up pressed in front of Kiara, easily earning a close spot with her injury—no one wanted to jostle her—and her height. 

"Pin is zero-zero-zero-zero." John B. says as he jabs the number into the keypad repetitively. At his words, the rest of the group looks at each other, incredulous.  "Enter." 

Sarah is the first to speak up. "You're kidding." 

"What?"

Kiara stares daggers. "Tell me that's a temporary pin."

"Well, I just thought nobody would guess that—"

"Oh, bless your heart." Eden sarcastically drawls—she'd love to say she can't believe her brother did this, but it was John B. She's more so in disbelief that her father let him go through with the pin idea. "But seriously, did my dad actually let you go through with that pin?"

John B. whips his head back at her. "He trusted me with the ATM set-up by myself—"

"Horrible decision."

"Who else would've been in charge—"

"Pope." Eden spits, glancing at the Heyward behind her. "Literally Pope."

"Yeah, it should've been me." Pope quickly nods, before leaning forward to chastise his friend. "You need to change that immediately."

Sarah groans. "John B." 

"You made the wife unhappy." The Bexley rings, shaking her head at her best friend. "Great job, John." 

John B. looks at his shoes. "I'm sorry..."

There's machinery beeping, and the Pogues watch as a small receipt slides out. 

 "Here it comes." Is JJ's only warning before he lunges a ring-clad hand out for the ticket. "That's me, that's me—"

John B. reacts first, jumping to grab the slip from his hands. The rest of the Pogues surround the Maybank and the Routledge, voices rising as they all reach for the small paper. Eden veers out of the way to not get hit—she doesn't give a fuck who reads it. 

"Hey, hey!"

"Let me read it! Let me read it!"

"Hey! Wait!"

"JJ—"

"—Let me read it!"

"Hey!"

"Oh my God!"

"It's not even then money—it's just the receipt!"

Eden watches her friends fight amusedly for a few moments, before clearing her throat. "Ahem." 

The chaos stops abruptly like a record scratch. The six arguing teens all turn around to face the shorter girl behind them, who stares at JJ and John B. with an expectant, and maternal, stare. She outstretches her hand, palm up, and slowly beckons the boys over. 

Knowing the look, John B. quickly steps away from JJ with his hands in the air, leaving his brother alone. Eden slides her gaze to the remaining boy, turning her expression to one more pointed—one even JJ couldn't ignore. 

The Maybank tries his best to ignore her, but is ultimately defeated and, with a sigh, begrudgingly walks over and hands her the now crumpled receipt. 

Eden takes it with an innocent smile. "Thank you." 

With ease, Eden weaves through friends and steps up to the ATM,  the Pogues immediately stampeding to crowd around her—moths drawn to a flame. The Bexley un-crumples the paper, but keeps her eyes up. They all needed to find out together. 

"Okay," Eden breathes, easing out the crinkles in the paper. "Our joint account balance—"

John B. interjects, "After paying JJ's restitution." 

 The Bexley repeats. "—after paying JJ's restitution, is—" 

"—at 10:04 a.m on Tuesday—"

Eden whips around, "Shut up, John B!" 

"Okay. Yes. Sorry." John B. nods quickly, removing his chin from her shoulder so as to not get smacked.  "Shutting up, now." 

The Bexley offers him a tight smile before turning around to the paper again, smoothing it out once more. 

"Okay, let's try this again. Our joint account balance is....." Eden's eyes scan over what's written on the receipt, and her heart lurches to her throat. "....one-point-one-million, seventy-two thousand, five hundred and forty-nine dollars."

Holy shit is the only coherent thought in any of the Pogues' heads. 

JJ pales. "You said mil'?"

"Million?" Pope guffaws. 

John B. looks over Eden's shoulder at the slip. "Um..."

"With an 'M'?"

"M-i-l-l-i-o-n. Million." Eden spells, throat dry as she double checked what the balance was. "We have one-point-one million." 

Pope faces the Bexley, shrugging. "That'll do it."

"That'll do it." John B. repeats with a hesitant nod.

Chaos erupts between the seven. Screams and cheers echo through the small convenience store. Pope lunges for John B., the two boys embracing with grins. Kiara backs herself into a corner, muttering a small 'What!?' and putting a hand over her mouth. Cleo reaches out and grabs onto Eden's hand, Sarah grabbing onto her other, and the three girls are quick to start jumping up and down, giggling and screaming with utter delight—the ache in Eden's side is long forgotten, as is the receipt as it falls out of her grasp and to the floor. 

Pope moves in to where the three girls jump, "Oh my God!"

Sarah breaks away from Eden and Cleo, throwing herself into her boyfriend's arms. Eden meets John B's eyes as he holds the Cameron and just nods at him—everything they went through was so worth it now. 

 "That is the craziest thing I've ever seen on a piece of paper, man." The Heyward retrieves the receipt from the floor and shoves it into John B's chest.

John B. placed his hands on either sides of the Heyward's face. "I know, I know, I know—"

As if they didn't just get the money, the Pogues immediately start planning what they'll do with all their money. A bounce house is mentioned, a water slide, the ability to go on real dates and buy Canadian mussels. 

It's all loud, rapid-fire, half-serious and half-joking as they jostle around each other, riding the high of possibility.

Eden hears none of it. She blinks out of the moment, scanning the crowd instinctively, then stepping back from the ATM. She looks around, ready to throw around JJ's neck like she always does when they win big, but he's not there.

Looking around, she finds the boy leaning against one of the store fridges, chugging a beer like there's no tomorrow. When he finishes, Eden frowns at the distant gaze in his eyes—like he's miles away from all their excitement. 

She can't help but go over to him.

JJ's head falls forward slightly as Eden stops in front of him, eyes trailing up from the floor to meet hers. The buzz of the others fades behind them, laughter and plans melting into background noise.

"You know," Eden starts, tilting her head, voice empty of the usual snark. "You've been a Kook for a while now."

JJ raises a brow, but she doesn't give him time to interrupt.

"Living with me, eating food that wasn't expired, sleeping in my bed—" She ticks off with her fingers. 

JJ lets out a weak, almost invisible huff of air; a laugh, barely there. Still, there's a tight feeling in his chest that doesn't match everyone else's warmth.

"Kook life hasn't been that bad, right?"  Eden continues softly, eyes narrowing as she studies his face. Being Kook didn't mean they had to change a single thing. "We're not doing anything different, J. That—" she gestures towards the slip in Pope's hand. "— just makes it all official."

"Yeah, so you can smile, you know." Kiara joins the two teens, glancing at her boyfriend—when she saw Eden talking to him and how far away he was, she knew something was up. "This doesn't mean we're Kooks. Just means we have a little money, now."

"Exactly." Eden hums, opening the fridge and grabbing a can of beer for herself. Opening the tab with a small click, she takes a sip. Bitter trailing down her throat, she smiles at the Maybank. "Which means that you can pay for this." 

JJ scoffs, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you're kind of a millionaire now." 

"We are. Which means you can pay for that yourself." 

"Very Kook of you, J." Eden rolls her eyes, before grabbing JJ's empty can and bringing both his and her own up to the counter to ring up with their new one-point-one million. 

What do you do with millions, exactly? 

That's the question the Pogues are trying to figure out.

Most who had that much money were older, with businesses, and reasons to have so much money. Those people had places and things to spend their millions on. Those people aren't eighteen without a single thing to their name, and with no idea on what to purchase—they aren't kids from the Cut. They aren't like the Pogues. 

The gold—the money—had always been a dream to the group. Something that kept them motivated despite the betrayal and tears of their missions. But now, it was real, sitting in their back pockets, burning holes, and none of them had any idea what to do with it.

For another day after the big discovery, the Pogues do relatively nothing.

They roam the Bexley estate like normal, if not a bit more energetic. They talk in circles, high on what's possible, tossing around ideas that range from ridiculous to half-plausible. It's all loud and rapid-fire, half-serious and half-joking—but there's something underneath it. That unspoken feeling that none of them want to say out loud yet. What now?

They've been chasing the gold so long, they never stopped to really figure out what comes after catching it.

The next day, the group finds themselves at the old Maybank property. Circling up in the overgrown grass of where one of them used to live encourages a real conversation, despite the excitement buzzing through their veins. 

Eden sits in the grass, back against a molting tree behind her. She glances between her friends as each of them pop up with different ideas on how to spend their new-found fortune. Having always had money, the Bexley decides her friends should speak on their wants before her. 

"Okay, wait, wait, wait, wait. Hear me out." JJ interrupts his friends' aimless chatter—despite trying to be realistic, the group quickly retreated back into their usual habit of spit-firing. "Rally truck with yellow LEDs to replace the Twinkie for right now." 

"Nope." John B. immediately vetoes.

Cleo hums in opposition. "Yup." 

The Routledge shakes his head. "I'm not getting rid of the Twinkie."

"Like someone would buy that piece of shit." Eden spares a side glance at the Maybank boy—if selling the Twinkie was supposed to bring them in more cash, she doubts it would.

JJ looks at the vehicle. "Yeah, you're right. Sweet girl's on her last, last, leg—"

John B. narrows his eyes at his two best friends. "Fuck you two, seriously."

"Okay, no selling the Twinkie, but, give her solar panels.....maybe?" Kiara pipes up, a giddy grin on her face. "If it's in the budget?"

"And a bigger boat!" Cleo adds, earning finger guns of agreement from the Carrera. 

"I love the HMS though." Eden whines. 

JJ starts up again, "Okay—"

"No. Guys, hold on. Hold on." Logical as always, Pope stands up, ready to correct the group. Did the ideas sound good? Sure. But, did they really work as hard as they did to get the millions just to waste it all away one stupid purchase as a time? Did their ideas prove that they could handle this money—prove that Pogues could be something, with the opportunity? 

Scholarship or not, he was smarter than to let his friends do that. 

"It's...it's not like we can all go off and buy houses or anything." The Heyward says, causing the smiles' to slowly disappear from his friends faces—leave it to Pope to be sensible.  "I mean, split between all of us, that's about, two hundred and eleven thousand dollars. Minus what we owe Barracuda Mike."

"I mean, he gave me a bag of weed after helping me and JJ." Eden shrugs, recalling her final moment with the drug dealer. "Maybe it was a peace offering." 

"Yeah, let him try and come take this," JJ says, trying to up the mood again by broodingly stepping forward. "I'll mess him up."

"I'm....just gonna say it." John B. lifts his hands up in a weak defense. "I don't want to piss off the drug dealer."

"Listen, if we divide this up, we're all gonna blow it." Pope finalizes firmly.

Eden's sure she wouldn't blow through her pile. Sarah would surely keep John B. in line, having grown up with money, and Pope wouldn't let Cleo spend a dime over. Kiara might get close, but even she would realize when they got low. JJ, however, was a different story.

"We're as in....." Eden watches as all of her friends look back at the Maybank in unison, clearly sharing a train of thought. She nods accordingly, "....okay, yeah, that's what I thought." 

"Wow, okay." JJ seems appalled at the six sets of eyes locked on his figure, and his tone rises in defensiveness. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know why." Eden sends the blonde a sarcastically sweet smile, before pushing herself up to her own feet with a sharp exhale. "Pope is right, though. If we want to keep the money, we need a real plan. Something we all can agree on."

"Like what, rich girl?" Cleo urges.

"Obviously, Isla came from old money. But, my dad worked his way up from nothing, just like you guys. He didn't spend every paycheck right off the bat—he made investments, and got involved in stocks and bonds as he got further and further up the food chain." the Bexley explains, best she can—finance wasn't exactly her thing. "He could probably explain that so much better, but basically, he made money off of his money."

"Exactly, Eden." Pope nods in agreement, "So, maybe, if we pool our money together, we can create something with actual economies of scale."

Eden nods, repeating, "Money off money." 

Kiara squints against the sun, asking, "Create something? Like what?"

Pope starts. "You remember the island?"

"Duh." The Carrera deadpans. 

Sarah scoffs, "Of course."

"I mean, it was our own island and we built everything from basically nothing, right?" The Heyward boys glances around at his friends. They already had experience in this—they just didn't know it. 

Kiara gives in. "It was perfect."

"The best life." Cleo gushes.

"That whole island just to ourselves." Sarah reminisced for a moment, briefly picturing that month again. As unusual of a situation as it was, they were happy. Free. The Cameron almost wishes she was still there, sometimes. "All of us together."

John B. glances at the ground, nodding with a light smirk. He knew where Pope was going with this. 

"I think we can have that again. Right here." Pope reveals the small idea he's been thinking off all night—when everyone else was spewing pointless purchases, the Heyward was thinking of the long haul. "JJ's property is going up for auction, right? So let's buy it back. I-I mean look around." The boy spins in a circle, arms outstretched. "A lot of land. Deep water access."

As he speaks, the rest of the Pogues glance around at the property they sit at. Sure, it's rundown, and in need of many fixes and touch ups, but Pope isn't exactly wrong—there's potential behind the rotting wood and cracked paint-job. It's in the perfect spot.

"Unless any of you are planning on going back to school, we're gonna need a place to work, a place to stay and live. I think we can have both of those things here." Pope continues—he doubts Tom Bexley wants three Pogues and his daughter living off his money forever, and it wasn't too long until Heyward and the Carrera's put Kiara, Cleo, and him to work if college wasn't an option. Why not do it together? Pogue style. "First things first, we get the land, right? And then over there—" The Heyward points into the distance. "—we could build, like, a.....a surf shop." He gestures to the marsh. "And then maybe we can make our own dock!"

The ideas, as much spit-ball as they are, are pleasant to the Pogues.

Kiara nods in full agreement. "This place needs a dock." 

"Ooh, what about a boat and tackle shop?" John B. offers.

"Yeah, duh," 

"Exactly! And—and who knows these waters better than us?" Pope exclaims, glancing between his friends. "JJ, you can get a new boat and run a fishing charter. We can all live and sleep in the house...."

"So....the Chateau 2.0?" Eden smiles at the thought. Of course, nothing could compare to what the Chateau was to the Pogues, but this sounded like it could get close. "But without the fan that falls, and the—"

John B. sends the Bexley a look, "Let her rest in peace, please." 

Laughter bubbles around the circle, and a mutual warmth grows between them, the kind that comes with shared dreams and possibility.

"I'm in, though." The Routledge nods towards the house, corners of his lips upturning. "Chateau 2.0 or whatever we want to call it."

"Poguelandia 2.0." Sarah corrects, eyes bright with the kind of hope she hadn't let herself feel in months. She wraps her arms around her knees, smiling. "And me too." 

"Same here," Cleo adds with a firm nod. "Ain't no reason we can't turn that place into something good."

"Yeah," Kiara echoes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Let's make it ours."

All eyes fall on Eden next, like they always do when something real is on the table. She senses it before she looks up, but instead of giving her usual answer, she glances sideways at the blonde standing beside her. 

"Maybe JJ should get the final say this time." Eden offers softly. "It is his house, after all."

Everyone goes quiet for a beat, glancing at the Maybank. Eden looks at him knowingly. Hidden within her words is 'You don't have to say yes if you don't want to. Even if this is for us', because while to the rest of  the group, the Maybank property was simply that—property, run down and waiting to be taken care of—to JJ, it was more. Much more. 

This place was JJ's hell—there was a reason why he lived at the Chateau. It's a a place of slammed doors. Fists. Bruises. Cruelty. The horrors of his past are in those walls, as is the echo of Luke Maybank's fists against JJ's skin.

Who said JJ wanted this? Who said he wanted to go back?

Yet, there's a part of her, soft and stubborn, that sees something else too. The what-if.

What if they bought it and made it theirs? What if they rebuilt it—not just with wood and nails but with love, safety, laughter. What if they finally made it into a home for JJ? A real one, with his real family?

Eden likes that version of it better, and glancing at JJ, who has a soft smile on his face, Eden can see he's thinking of the alternative, too. He could make this place home, something outside of Luke.

"Yes." The Maybank says, fully certain. "Hell yes."

"Well, in that case, count me in too." Eden gives JJ a reassuring smile before nodding to Pope. 

A beat passes before everyone erupts in excitement, leaping up with laughs and cheers.

They were all going to build something good here. Together.

Buying the house came first, though. 

Returning to the Bexley estate, Eden was thrilled to tell her father their new idea, which he fully supported—he wanted his daughter to be happy again, and if this is what did it, so be it. 

Naturally, he offered to help. Financially, logistically—whatever they needed, he was there. A silent way of making up for all the years he spent distant and ignorant. But the Pogues, stubborn and proud, were determined to do this themselves, and declined any extra money or assist. They wanted to build something of their own.

Still, Tom made it clear: the doors to the Bexley estate were always open. They could stay as long as they needed. As before though, the Pogues were set on moving out, ready to claim this next chapter as theirs—and he respected that.

So instead, he helped in the way he was allowed to. He sat them all down at the kitchen island, explaining how auctions worked—what to look for, what to avoid, how to gauge market value. He walked them through taxes and inspections, drilled them on bidding strategies. Pope, ever the note-taker, scribbled furiously, hanging on every word.

The Heyward kept a close eye on public notices, waiting for the auction announcement. And when the day finally came, they were the first ones at the courthouse.

An auctioneer stands at the top of the courthouse steps, bellowing out the auction rules. Eden half-listens, more so focused on sizing up their competition—most are Kooks, though with the Cut slowly becoming nothing more than short-term rentals for Tourons, the Bexley isn't surprised in the slightest. She's more so glad her father isn't here doing the same. 

With this, Eden can see the disadvantages her and her friends are at—not only are they Pogues, but they're young. And while they had Tom's lessons tucked in their back pockets, they were up against people who'd been in the business for years. No one was going to hand them a win.

But the Pogues had something those people didn't. Motivation.

Every other person outside courthouse steps was here to make a profit. The Pogues were here to build a home.

"Listen up. Here's the plan." Pope murmurs under the voice of the auctioneer, glancing between his friends. "We go up in one dollar increments, alright? It's gonna take a while, but we're gonna need to save every sent we have for construction."

Eden scoffed, arms crossed as she leaned toward him. "If we wanted to pinch pennies that badly, we should've just taken my dad's money."

Pope doesn't miss a beat. "We wanted this to be ours, remember? This is how we do it. "

Eden sighs, but doesn't argue. He was right—this had to be theirs. All of it. Even if that meant crawling their way to the finish line, dollar by dollar.

"Pope's on point." Kiara nods along, before sparing a side glance to the blonde behind her. "Jayj? Got it?"

"Mm—alright." JJ scratches the back of his neck, fighting the urge to say no. 

The Heyward spares a final glance at the Maybank. "Don't change the plan."

"....it is the foreclosure sale of fourteen Rogers Point Road." The Pogues all turn back to face the auctioneer as he sets down a cardboard picture of the Maybank property. "Now this is the old Maybank place. Now, the bank has an opening bid of eighty-thousand dollars."

 "Here we go." Pope spares a reassuring glance to the group, John B. patting him on the back. 

"I have eighty-thousand. Looking for eighty-one. I've got eighty-thousand going once—"

The Heyward raises a hand. "Eighty-thousand and one dollar." 

"Okay. One dollar more at eighty-thousand, one dollar—"

"Eighty-thousand-five-hundred." 

Eden cringes as she hears the number rang out from somewhere behind them. She glances at her friends and notices similar expressions on their faces—Kiara is whispering something reassuring to JJ, who pokes his tongue against his cheek in annoyance. God, she hopes Pope knows what he's doing.

"Eighty-thousand-five-hundred." The auctioneer points his pen at whoever gave the offer. "Eighty-thousand-five-hundred. I'm looking for ninety. Eighty-thousand-five-hundred. Eighty-thousand-five-hundred is going once—"

Pope raises his hand, but the voice that echos isn't his. 

It's JJ's. 

"One hundred-K flat out. Right here." 

All heads turned towards the Maybank, who stands at the end of the line with his hand lifted in the air. What the fuck was he doing? 

The auctioneer calls out. "One hundred thousand dollars right here to the gentleman in red—"

"Well, that wasn't a dollar." Eden murmurs, glancing up at Pope—the Heyward looks betrayed by JJ's offer.

"No, it wasn't." Pope grits out, turning to face the Maybank. "Hey, hey—what are you doing?!"

"Just the knock-out punch." JJ says, like it means anything—they had a plan, and he was blatantly ignoring it. "Knock-out punch and we're a wrap."

"That's not the plan—"

"I got the shit done."

Cleo shakes her head. "No," 

Motioning for JJ to cut it out with his hand, Pope repeats, "That's not the plan." 

"I've got one-hundred thousand dollars right here, is going once!" The auctioneer glances for any other offers. JJ's face is smug as the auctioneer is left with silence—he'd just won them the house.  "One-hundred thousand is going twice—"

"One hundred and fifty-K." 

The smugness is wiped right off JJ's face.

There's an audible murmur from the crowd at the offer. All of the Pogues look to their side to see a man with graying hair and golden sunglasses standing. Eden recognizes him as Dale Zeasy—resident Kook and asshole. 

"One-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars from Mr. Zeasy." The auctioneer called out, rather pleased. "Good to see you, Dale, at one-fifty."

"Good to see you, Rog." Dale nods—it's clear he isn't new to the idea of auctions. As he speaks, he moves away from his spot and weaves through the crowd towards the Pogues, instead. "Just give me a minute here, would ya?"

Eden watches as he does so, unable to hide the scowl that appears on her face. She knows men like Dale—hungry for power, willing to do whatever it takes, especially if they get to hurt people in the process. Even better, if they get to hurt Pogues.

He's the exact type of man who'd want to steal this from them, and the exact kind of man JJ would have a thrill outbidding. It's a horrible combination—Eden can already sense how this is going to go. 

Dale takes a stance right next to JJ, voice quiet but grim. "You know, uh....The Cut's gonna be Figure Eight in a few years. You walk away now, and you won't have to scurry off with your tail between you legs, and I'll, uh....give you a little taste on the back end." 

The Pogues all glance at each other at his words, lips pursed. Eden has the urge to ask Dale if he knew who he was talking too—as much as this purchase was solely the Pogues', she was still a Bexley. Isla dead or not, she doubted Dale would fuck around with that. 

But, JJ puts a hand up to the side, silencing the girl before she can even speak—he didn't have to glance at her to know what she was gonna do.

The Maybank takes matters into his own hands. "Dale, was it?"

Dale hums. "That's correct."

"That's not happening, hoss." JJ claps his hands together before cracking his knuckles—Eden doubts it intimidates Dale in the slightest. "Let's play ball."

Eden's lips thin. So much for one dollar increments. 

It was barely a second before JJ and Dale started bidding head to head. They flew out fast, and went high.

"One-seventy."

"One-seventy-one."

"One-ninety."

"One-ninety-one."

"Two-ten."

"Two-eleven."

Each call was sharper than the last, laced with venom and pride. The auctioneer was practically beaming, but the Pogues were not. At all.

Pope had his head in his hands by the time they crossed four-hundred thousand. Cleo rubbed his shoulder, sympathetically, while staring daggers at JJ. Kiara stared at that auctioneer, almost trying to ignore what her boyfriend was doing. John B. stared at Pope, waiting for him to do something, whilst Sarah looked at the Routledge, urging him to make a move. 

Eden stands in between the Heyward and Routledge, eyes fixed on the two bidding men—Dale kept egging JJ on with comments about what the Maybank property could be in his hands, and JJ fighting back by bidding higher and higher, competitive nature getting the better of him.

It's stupid that the Maybank hasn't stepped down—by the looks of Pope, it's clear he should have ages ago. But, Eden doesn't move. She can't. 

She knew better than to try and stop him. She knew what the fire in his eyes meant. To JJ, this wasn't just money. This was pride—this was war. 

And Dale knew it, too. 

"You know what this land could be, don't you?" Dale spoke between bids, casually leaning back like he wasn't about to spend three-quarters of a million dollars. "Dock expansion. Vacation rental. Hell, I could get three condos built here and have a waiting list out the door."

JJ didn't respond. Just raised a hand. "Six-eighty."

"Six-ninety."

"Seven."

The crowd murmured again—seven-hundred thousand. For an old, rotted-out, foreclosed Maybank shack. It was ridiculous. Bidders around them had long since backed off, all of them too stunned or too entertained to intervene. By seven-hundred-seventy-five thousand, it was just JJ and Dale. 

Kook vs. Pogue.

"I've got seven-hundred-seventy-five-thousand dollars, and I'm looking for eight. I've got seven-seventy-five going once—"

Finally, Pope leans in. "This is way over our price range."

"Can one of you two make him stop, please?" Sarah begs, anxiously glancing between the Routledge and Bexley—if JJ would listen to anyone, it's them. 

Eden glances up at her brother, holding her hands up in defense. "I'll let you handle this one."

John B. exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. "Of course."

Pope pushes the Routledge. "Get him out of here."

"Hey, hey, hey—" John B. steps in front of JJ, pushing his arm down before he can lift it to secure the next bid. 

JJ ignores, peering over his best friend.  "Just let me—just let me handle this."

"Please. It's too much—"

"Let me handle this, dude!" The Maybank shoves his brother away, arrogance getting the best of him. "I got it! I've got it!" As the Routledge grabs onto him again, the blonde slides to the side to be seen. "Seven-hundred-seventy-five-thousand and ten dollars right here, sir!"

The crowd audibly gasps once more. The auctioneer points to the Maybank, bellowing, "Seven-hundred-seventy-five-thousand and ten dollars to the gentleman in red!"

"Oh my God!" Pope cries out. 

Eden nods in regret. "I should've taken this one." 

"That's too rich for my blood, Rog." Dale admits, petty yet impressed. 

Despite the anger simmering off his friends, JJ can't help but smugly smirk at Dale's words. 

"Seven-seventy-five and ten, seven-seventy-five and ten, bidder, bidder, looking for eight."  The auctioneer calls out, scanning the crowd—or more so where JJ and Dale stood—for another hand. 

Eden stares at Dale's hand, watching as it tenses at his side, but doesn't raise. 

"That's seven-seventy-five going once...."

Nothing.

"....going twice."

Nothing. 

"Last and final call!"

Nothing. 

"Sold! Right here to the gentleman red! Congratulations!" 

Collective sighs of relief and groans run through the Pogues. Despite having just won the house, Eden doesn't feel the weight on her shoulders being lifted. They had the house, but at what cost? The immediate loss of most of their savings? 

The courthouse steps erupted into judgmental whispers and murmurs, glances of disbelief being thrown at the Pogues—no one could believe the Pogues paid as much as they did for a house like that. Little did they know, all but one of the group couldn't believe it, either.

JJ pats John B. on the shoulder before turning around. With a curt nod, he offers Dale his hand, and the two men shake.

"The most expensive property in The Cut," Dale drops his hand, adjusting his suit jacket. "And it's not worth it."

"Well it is to us, sir." The Maybank replies, smile not dropping from his face. "Now, if you can scurry off to your side of the island, and stay there, that'd be appreciated."

With an unimpressed scoff, Eden breaks away from her friends and struts to where JJ is standing. Shooting Dale a warning of a glare, she grabs JJ's arm before he can mouth on again and tugs him away, nails digging in just enough to get his attention. 

"Stop," the Bexley grits.

 "I get shit done." JJ slides out of her grip with a small smirk. He moves over to John B, ignoring his blank expression and pats him on the back. Wrapping a quick arm around his brother, he pats him on the chest, too. "We got it. That's all that matters. Whoo! Alright!"

He skips over to the auctioneer who offers an, "Congratulations, young man!"

"Now, where do I sign?"

"Thirty-three percent above market value." Pope says, voice grave. They should be celebrating, yet there's no excitement in any of the Pogues' expressions. "Wildly overpaid. That's, like, all the money." 

Pope's words hang heavy in the air, the weight of reality sinking in for everyone. The thrill of what should be victory is dulled by the stark truth—this was no carefree win, but a gamble that had drained them nearly dry.

The Pogues stand in front of the property that now belongs to them. 

Before, Eden had looked at the house and seen hope. Now, with their pockets practically emptied, she sees everything else.

The yard is a jungle, overgrown with weeds. The entire house is dirty from years of no care, and months of emptiness. Different things are worn, chipped, cracked, or rusted—it needs work done.

Work that will cost them money they don't necessarily have anymore, and certainly won't after purchasing and renting out supplies to build the surf shop—the house was just where they were going live. Everything else was what they needed the money for. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," JJ tears away the yellow tape from porch door. "I christen thee Poguelandia 2.0."

He marches up the rickety porch and yanks the second strip of yellow tape off the door leading into the house. But instead of barging in with that usual JJ flare, he pauses, and looks down at the caution tape in his hands. The excitement dims—just for a second.

Eden and John B catch the flicker in him. Without needing to say a word, they exchange a glance and follow him up, just in case. Just to be close, like they've always been when it counts.

After all, they couldn't stay mad at JJ forever. 

JJ looks towards his two best friends, pushing down his feelings. The house no longer had to be a dreaded hell—he could make it his, now; a place with his true family, full of laughter and warmth and everything that made him happy. He could make it home. 

So, tearing the caution tape up, the Maybank states. "Let's turn this piece of shit into our home."

John B. offers a smile, despite the disappointment running through him moments before. "Let's do this."

Eden steps beside them, eyes on the broken windows and the warped porch boards, then back to JJ. "I guess if anyone can pull this off, it's us."

The three of them stand there for a second—shoulder to shoulder, with a small bit of hope in their chests, because no matter how bad it looked now, this was theirs, and that was enough to start.

The Maybank holds out both of his hands, Eden and John B. offering out their own to do the Pogue handshake with each other.  The Bexley can't help but smile at her boys as she snaps, finishing it. 

As he snaps, JJ brings his hand up to salute the group. "We're home, y'all."

He opens the door wide and watches as his friends file in one by one to their new home. 

mara's misc!

me when i'm actually writing??

given this week is my last technical week of summer due to band camp (sad, i know) i felt it was right to give ya'll an update. i do have another chapter done and ready, but i think i'll save that for when i really go back to school, which is in two-ish weeks. 

BUT starting tomorrow, i'll have band camp for the next 2 weeks from 8:30-3:30, and on top of that next week i also have tech week for the musical i'm currently in (fame jr, if anyone's wondering), so i won't be home all day the way i have been for most of the summer. (yeah no idk how i'm gonna wake up before 8 tomorrow for camp but i'm cooked).

obviously next update will be the one with all my schedule shit so you guys can just understand what i'm working with here BUT i'm clearly not going to be as free anymore, so if updating this book wasn't hard enough now, i doubt it'll get easier. just stay with me guys 🙏

however i am thrilled to say that i have gotten over the chapter i was dreading (the montage of them building the house). so i do hope that motivation wise, i'll be able to move now that i'm slowly cruising through the whole 18 month time stuff.

hope you enjoyed <3 see you back with chapter 88!