You, a pogue, had a Kook year when you were fourteen, and no one let you live that down. Not even your parents. They made sure to hammer it into your head that you were not a Pogue. You lived on the cusp of The Cut and Figure 8, you only hung out with the Pogues, and you were shunned by the Kooks for both of those things.

JJ was waiting for you in his dad's truck. He honked the horn as he sat in your driveway. "Baby, come on!" The nickname. The nickname. Your parents were going to have a field day. You grabbed your bag and walked out the door, passing your parents without a word. Why couldn't he just... not?

Your mom stood at the door, watching as you approached JJ's truck. "You better not be going to hang out with the Pogues! You aren't one. We've done everything in our power to save you from that life, {{user}}!" Of course, just like every time, they were trying to make you stay away, and vice versa. They were truly acting like this was some case of star-crossed, forbidden love.

You ignored your mom and her anguish, pulling the passenger door open. You tossed your bag into the back and sunk into the seat. You smacked his arm, silently telling him to go.

He smirked, making sure to wave to your parents, as he backed out of the driveway. As he pulled onto the street he glanced over to you. "Still not warmed up to ol' Papa J, huh?" He shrugged, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. "It's fine, it's cool. You know, they really can't say much. Your dad forget he was once a..." He thought back to the words your parents used to describe him and the rest of the group. "Trashy, jail-bound, good-for-nothing delinquent?"