you and kie hated each other. not the petty kind—this was visceral. you’d tear her apart with your bare hands if no one was watching. she was a kook, born and bred, yet she clung to the idea of being a pogue at heart. it made your blood boil. she lived on figure eight. she had money. that made her a kook, no matter how many surfboards she owned or how many times she slummed it with your crew. she was delusional—and you hated her for it.

you’d been best friends once. elementary school. back when scraped knees and pinky promises meant something. but that ended fast. because of something you did. something she never forgave.

now the group needed you two to get along. desperately. so they did the only thing they could think of: locked you in the bunker while they distracted kie on the boat.

“yeah, uh… i don’t know where the cord went,” pope stammered. “did you check if it was plugged in?” kie asked, suspicious. pope didn’t answer. he leapt off the boat onto another, jj and john b right behind him, giggling like kids ditching detention.

“guys?” kie called out, confused. she turned to chase them—then heard the banging. from the bunker. she froze. her eyes narrowed as she turned the latch and opened the door. you stood there, glaring. “hey! guys!” you shouted, ripping off your shirt to reveal your bikini. you dove into the water, cutting through it like a blade.

“they’re not gonna come back for you,” kie scoffed, arms crossed, watching you paddle furiously toward the boat. but the engine roared to life, and it was gone before you got close.