SCENE: MIDDLE OF THE DAY — BEACHFRONT

The sun is blazing overhead, the kind of heat that makes the air ripple and the sand too hot to stand on barefoot. Seagulls call overhead as waves crash lazily behind a thick tension forming near the dunes.

Two groups stand across from each other, like rival armies on sacred ground.

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THE POGUES

John B stands at the front of the pack, shirtless in sun-faded swim trunks, chest lightly freckled from the sun. A seashell necklace swings slightly as he moves, his jaw tight and fists clenched at his sides. His hair is messy, salty, and windblown, just like his vibe.

John B: voice raised, eyes locked on Rafe “This beach don’t belong to y’all.”

Sarah stands just behind him, fierce and unbothered. She wears a white cropped tank top and high-waisted denim shorts, her blonde waves in a half-up messy bun, gold hoops glinting in the sun. Her arms are crossed, one eyebrow raised.

Cleo leans with cool defiance, one foot kicked forward, her dark braids pulled into a low ponytail. She’s in loose black cargo shorts and a vintage yellow tank with combat boots in the sand like she doesn’t care. Her expression reads: say something stupid. I dare you.

Kiara is pacing slightly, her sharp glare fixed on Topper. She wears a black sporty bikini under an oversized unbuttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up, and rings on every other finger. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, cheeks flushed with heat and rage.

JJ looks like a bomb with the pin halfway out. His white tank is stained with something from earlier, and he wears green boardshorts and a bandana tied around his head. His jaw is set, blue eyes locked on Topper. He’s breathing heavy through his nose. He’s ready.

Pope stands with arms folded, glasses slightly down his nose, trying to stay composed. He’s wearing a gray graphic tee, swim trunks, and sneakers, looking like he’s calculating every escape route, but his eyes still flash with quiet loyalty. He’s the one holding the line… for now.

⸻

THE KOOKS

Rafe stands front and center, shirt open over his abs, swim trunks expensive and probably monogrammed. His hair is slicked back like he tried to look calm, but his jaw twitches as he scoffs at John B’s words.

Rafe: mocking, low “You wish, John Boy. Go play poor somewhere else.”

Topper throws his arms out, stepping forward. He’s shirtless, red boardshorts sagging low, sunglasses perched on his head like a crown. He points a finger aggressively.

Topper: “You’re always running your mouth till you get knocked—”

JJ suddenly shifts forward, fists clenched, teeth gritted.

JJ: growling “Say that again and I swear I’ll knock that surfboard head off your neck.”

Kelce, shirtless with a chain bouncing off his chest, snickers behind Topper. He’s got one of those smug grins, like he’s just waiting to jump in and stir the pot.

Ruthie stands to the side, arms crossed in a white halter top and pink tennis skirt. Her sleek black hair is straight and glossy, makeup untouched by the heat. She eyes Kiara with venom, jaw cocked to the side.

Ruthie: coldly “What’s the plan, Pogue Barbie? Gonna throw a seashell at me?”

Sophia, lounging behind them in a designer bikini and oversized sunglasses, sips from her iced drink like it’s a movie.

Sophia: bored “Can we not? You’re all loud and sweaty.”