Chapter Text
THE OUTER BANKS; PARADISE on earth. It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses.
Because of that, there is a big divide. Figure-eight, the rich side of the island; home of the Kooks.
Then you have the south side, the cut. Where everyone lives who isn't a descended of an inhumane 'legacy' aka the working class.
Although we all have to work there are still some differences. Some have one job, some need more. But we're all the same. No one here judges you, we praise the hustle and welcome failure.
The crew contains of John B, the visionary, the guy with rose-coloured glasses.
JJ, he is hands down the funniest, most loyal and fearless person I know. Honest answer, that guy isn't scared of anything. It's kind of admirable.
You have Pope our scholar, if anyone in our group would do a 180 in their lives and go full Kook one day by a brilliant money-making idea. It's him, no doubt.
Lastly, you have Kiara, we all call her Kie. She is the activist, the moral high ground. By looking at her face you can always tell how far you have stray from what is right.
Surprisingly her parents are doing well off — the part that they are well off is not a surprise, they took the tourist route and ran with it, little jealous I wasn't born before to think of that — which means she doesn't live on the cut.
Kei is a pogue, but she has the privilege of living on figure eight, having a safety net others don't. Ironic really, as she hates the safety nets.
Anyway, they own 'The Wreck' Outer Banks most loved restaurant and total tourist bait. It's predominantly Fish and Crab, which I guess is also fish...
Since spring break I've been working there a couple days a week. Earning a little extra cash. During school times it's pretty okay, it's the holidays when people get moody and bitchy.
Just like now; "And don't forget my ice!" the man yelled after you walk away.
Forcing a smile on, you nodded at the man, "I won't." you denied. Biting your tongue down you refrain yourself from adding anything on to that statement like 'I won't promise not to strangle you.'
"I got this one, Lake, you just take table eight." Mister Carrera, my boss and Kei's dad, reassures.
And so you did, busting tables catering to whatever the Kook's or Tourons tell you to do.
To be honest, the Tourons aren't bad, just a little oblivious to the hierarchy, which can be annoying.
"Only a couple more hours and it's summer." you mumble to yourself.
A couple more hours passed and than another more but summer has finally and officially started.
"Your dinner; a thank you for the extra hours, I really thought Randy would show up."
"It's fine and thank you, Mister C." you wave off, taking the bags.
Walking to the car, Kei drives you home. The ride went as it usually did, blasting The Neighbourhood while singing on top of your lungs along to it.
Holding your hand, "When I wake up!" she screams, squeezing your hand glancing between the bumpy road and you.
"I'm afraid!" you scream along, holding the face mic up for her, "Somebody else might take my place!" you scream in unison.
Keeping it up, the two of you arrive at your humble home. It was comparable to a lower-middle-class home.
Thanking Kei while stepping out of the car. Picking the food up from the back before jogging up the porch, "See you tomorrow!" she waves.
"Bye!" you call, waving the bag at the girl while walking into your home.
We are the pogues and our mission this summer is to have a good time. All the time.