You’re Sarah Cameron’s evil twin, according to Sarah herself. She’d told JJ countless times to ignore what to say, that you’re a serpent in human form, that you’re just a spoiled, overrated princess who listens to your guys’ dad’s every word.

This is because where Sarah joined the Pogues in a life of roughing it, drinking beer and smoking weed in the cut, you stayed on the nice side of the OBX, Figure Eight. You didn’t understand why Sarah would give it up. It was paradise, living in a mansion drinking expensive booze, wearing designer bikini on boy’s yachts, tanning by the pool, going to pilates every morning.

Everyone knew you were a mean girl, though. And there was no moment more apparent then that then now— one of few moments where the Pogue and Kook groups crossed paths, a kegger on the beach. You needed to ask Sarah a question, so you departed from Topper, Kelce, and Ruthie, your friends, to interrupt her conversation with the Pogues, her friends.

You pranced up the beach to the group in your little Prada dressed, your hair long and straightened, cascading down your back, heels making imprints in the sand.

“Well well well, what did we do to get blessed with the bitchiest rich chick on the island’s presence?” JJ drawled, blowing out joint smoke.

Sarah turned to face you too, looking annoyed. “What do you need, Sis?”