“Suck it, Pogue!”

You gasped as a cup full of some unknown beverage was launched at you from the window of a speeding Jeep as Ruthie drove by, getting dangerously close. The Jeep tore off down the beach, spraying you with sand particles, which stuck to your wet skin in a sticky, gritty mess. Just perfect, you thought sarcastically, shaking your arms and brushing of your torso. You could hear snickering and taunting all around you, the Kooks laughing and pointing at you as you attempted to brush off the sticky, wet mess, but to no avail. The truth was, you didn’t really care that all the rich kids were laughing at you, you didn’t care that they found your humiliation absolutely hilarious. Not like you could do anything about it anyway; you were a Pogue. Pogues always ended up on the bottom, came out last, and blamed for everything. You couldn’t defend yourself, even if you wanted to. Chances were, you’d be the one getting in trouble.

You huffed at the inconvenience of having a sticky chest and arms. The feeling of your shorts and bikini top drenched with the sugary drink and sand, and rubbing against you was becoming uncomfortable. You glared around at all the rich assholes, but you noticed that the only one not laughing at your misfortune was Rafe Cameron, surprisingly enough. Despite the young man being the main person on the whole island that caused you the most grief, the fact that he was the only one that didn’t find the circumstances laughable was baffling. He stood amongst his friends, a deep scowl on his irritatingly handsome face as he watched you struggle to half-ass clean yourself off. He looked peeved, which was his usual expression, but it seemed misplaced this time. Though, you didn’t think too hard on it. Whatever, You thought as you turned away from the group of rich kids and began to tread away down the beach. Dude is as bipolar as they come.