Chapter Text
The wooden handle of the hammer twirls between her adroit fingers. If her parents had it their way—which they usually do—the sandy-haired blonde would be twirling a baton at the front of a parade instead of a rusty old tool in what was basically a large shed in the Cut. She wouldn't be working at all, much less at such a laborious job outside of Figure 8. They'd probably be happier if she was slinging pastel ice cream scoops into waffle cones like all the other kook girls her age are doing this summer, if they're even working at all, but here she is, spending her days using her hands to help Mr. Brown with his business.
Tree houses, play houses, sheds, swing sets, dog houses, chicken coops—you name it, and if it's made of wood, they make it.
AJ bobs her head to beat of the song playing in the background. Thanks to the hammer's long handle, she's able to use her baton twirling lessons from when she was younger to use, except she has to put a little more force behind her fingers as she pushes it along since the weight is extremely unbalanced.
The conversation between Mr. Brown and the pogue begging for a job just outside the wide door to the shop is drowned out by the soft Elton John—AJ's current favorite artist. Last week, it was Bruno Mars, and a few weeks before that, it was Queen. Mr. Brown doesn't mind her ever-changing taste in music, but he never hesitates to skip a song that scrunches his nose. Or, rather, he never hesitates to ask AJ to skip the song.
He's not exactly tech savvy.
Crocodile Rock comes on, and AJ bites back a grin. At this point, she can't control the way her head bops or her hips sway. It isn't sensual, like her older sister Mackenzie's dancing. It's...free, no thoughts or cares given. Simple, smooth, subtle, but also not held back.
She just lets the music move through her body.
As much as she'd like to just jump up on the table and cancel the orders of bird houses she's working on, she's getting paid to use her hands, not her hips.
Not that she needs the money. Laura Harris, her mother, is a renowned journalist for the Coastland Today. Bruce Harris, her father, is a lawyer at the most trusted firm across the OBX. Well, more like across Figure 8 since the prices aren't exactly pogue-friendly.
So, no, AJ isn't spending her summer sweating and inhaling saw dust for the pay check that would make most kooks scoff. She just loves working with her hands, and what better way than making wooden structures and figures with the nicest man on the Cut?
Okay, so she hasn't really had all that much contact with people from the Cut other than the pogues at school, but Mr. Brown seriously is one hell of a man.
For one, Mr. Brown hauled wood and tools for a monster treehouse in the Harris backyard six years ago when he only had a measly scooter and mini-trailer to transport everything. A ten-year-old AJ watched the middle-aged man working in her favorite climbing tree from her large bedroom until deciding that he was probably hot as fuck working in the sun. She stood on her pink stool to pull a glass cup from the cupboards, then scooted the stool over to the sink to reach the water from the filtered tap. Her brother Henry, who was eight (and a half!) at the time could reach the sink, but even back then, AJ was short and stout. Nevertheless, she persisted and eventually made her way out of the house and across the green yard barefoot until she reached the bottom of the Angel Oak.
"Hey Mister!" she had called out, successfully spooking the shit out of Mr. Brown.
The man fumbled with the tool in his hand and shot a wide-eyed glance down the tree. When his dark brown eyes landed on the tiny blonde girl holding up a water glass with a gap in her teeth when she smiles, his head titled. "Is that for me?"
"Yep!" She beamed as he started his descent. When his boots landed on the grass, she handed him the glass. "I get really hot in the sun, and when I get hot in the sun, I get thirsty, and you were in the sun, so I thought you might be thirsty, so I got you some water."
After swallowing, he let out a breathy laugh. "Appreciated, little missy."
Her little red, sunburnt nose scrunched. "My name's Addison Joyce, not missy."
"Addison Joyce, huh?" He downed the rest of the water. Wiping away the droplets above his upper lip, he said, "You go by AJ?"
Her pigtails sway as she shakes her head.
Mr. Brown smiled and said, "It suits you. Plus, it's easier to remember." He looked at the empty water glass, swirled the little droplet at the bottom around, then handed it back to the little girl. "Thanks for the water, AJ. You should probably head back inside before your mommy and daddy start to worry."
AJ nodded. "Okay, but what's your name?"
"Mr. Brown!" Bruce called from behind, snapping both the man and the little girl's attention to him as he strode up to them. With a hand on AJ's back, he asked, "How's the treehouse coming along? I hope Addison Joyce isn't disrupting you, I told her not to get in the way of any of our workers."
Something about the sentence made Mr. Brown's lip curl in a way that seemed strained. "Nah, she just got me some water is all. Now I'll probably be able to get this tree mansion done in half the time."
He winked at AJ, who smiled.
Bruce nodded. "Right, well, she won't be bothering you again." He looked down at his daughter and gripped her shoulder. "Come on, sweetie, let's go back inside."
Mr. Brown's brow furrowed, and his mouth opened, but then he clamped it shut and settled for a smile when AJ glanced up at him before turning to walk back to the house with her father.
Despite her father's best efforts, AJ brought out a water glass to Mr. Brown every single day he stopped by the house to work in the tree. Eventually, when the support beams were in and there was something for them to sit on other than the mossy branches, AJ started to stay and watch him build. He'd share stories, and she's blabber away about whatever was on her mind. She gave him water and snacks, and he taught her how to hammer in a nail. Bruce and Laura took turns calling out AJ's full name, scared that their second oldest daughter was lost, before she would roll her eyes and jump out of the tree to greet them. They always grabbed her by the arm to drag her back inside to practice twirling or singing, but she always found a way to slip out of the house to help Mr. Brown the following day. Eventually, they gave up. They had more pressing things to do other than worrying about AJ.
Like worrying about her older sister Mackenzie, or younger twin siblings Hannah and Henry.
It only took three weeks for Mr. Brown to finish the tree house, but he would still come around to the Harris property every now and then for various projects across the span of six years. Whenever AJ happened to spot his darker skin amongst the paler tones of the other workers, she'd make sure to pop over and try to help him out if she could. And, if not, then to share a story or two.
When AJ turned fifteen, she decided she'd work for him, officially. Laura and Bruce were confused why she'd even want a job in the first place. For one, they're rich. Secondly, it wasn't a glamorous job by any means. It meant sweat, sometimes blood, and strength.
Fortunately for AJ, she isn't quite built like her two sisters in the sense that they're dainty and skinny. While they rely on cardio, diets, and meal-replacement juices to get them through bikini summers and dazzling pageants—which is fine; they can do whatever they want to do—AJ isn't built like a model. She's short, for one, and has soft curves instead of toned edges thanks to the ice cream parlor in the Cut that's only down the road from the shop. Mackenzie's nickname for her has always been "stumpy," which never died, much to AJ's dismay.
All the adventuring and manual labor she has done has given her muscular shoulders that her mother frowns at because "it makes you look like a linebacker, Addison Joyce. Cant you at least try to eat and train like your sisters?"
So, AJ has the strength to be in the field of work she's in, even if that means she has to hear her mother's complaints about her figure, Hannah's comparisons, and Mackenzie's irritating nickname.
AJ doesn't mind the way she looks. Sometimes her family's words make her feel like shit or like the black sheep in the family, but really, she couldn't give two shits about how soft her stomach is. It doesn't stop her from having fun, and it certainly doesn't stop her from wearing the form-fitting tank top and jean shorts she has on now.
If her mother saw her, she'd have a conniption and send her to her summer closet to pick out a dress that would both hide her manly shoulders and also make her look more feminine.
Whatever. AJ'a fine in a tank top and jean shorts, and besides, it's hot as hell outside. The outfit may make her look more like a pogue than a kook, but she can't exactly do a lot of manual labor in a skirt and a frilly crop top.
Not that she's hating on the girls that do wear that shit. By all means, it's their right to wear what they want. AJ just doesn't like that most of them wear that to make other girls jealous or for boys' attention.
She's definitely not bitter about the fact that she has never had a single guy's attention. Nope. Not at all.
Crocodile Rock fades out, and Don't Go Breaking My Heart replaces it.
"This is my song," she says, reaching across the work bench to pick up her phone to crank the volume up. She turns back to Mr. Brown and, noticing that the unemployed pogue is gone, points at him and cheers, "Sing it with me, Mr. B!"
"Nope." He walks past her with a smile on his lips and a shake of his head.
"Come on, I know you know the words."
"I really don't."
AJ jumps up to the bench and spins her hammer around to sing into the bottom of it, pointing out at the nonexistent crowd.
"Woo hoo! Nobody knows it!"
"Get back to work, AJ."
"When I was down, I was your clown!"
Accepting his fate, Mr. Brown sighs and slumps into his chair at his work bench. "I get fox next time."
"It's the aux."
"Whatever it is, I get it next time. It's about time you listened to some blue grass." He gets to work on a wood carving Ward Cameron ordered for midsummer.
AJ finishes out the chorus before jumping to the ground and returning to the birdhouses, keeping the beat in her foot and head. Her lips purse like a duck and she does a little shimmy at the "don't go breaking my, don't go breaking my."
Once the song passes, Mr. Brown glances up from the wood carving and says, "You took voice lessons, right?"
"From when I could talk up until I was thirteen," AJ replies without looking away from measuring a plank of wood. "Why?"
Mr. Brown shrugs. "Just figured you'd be a better singer."
She whips around, one hand on her heart and her jaw dropped. "You wound me, Mr. Brown. I thought you were my friend."
"I'm your boss."
"Again with the wounding." AJ turns back to the task at hand and shakes her head. "If you don't be careful, I might have to quit."
"Oh no."
It's said with such sarcasm and mockery that AJ throws a little wooden cube from a leftover cut. It bounces off the man's shoulder harmlessly, but he still acts like he's been shot.
•
The best part about the end of the day is the bike ride through the Cut. AJ has her license, but her parents took away her car privileges after she was brought home in the back of Sheriff Peterkin’s cruiser for trespassing.
In her defense, she didn’t realize anyone owned the seemingly abandoned mansion on the other end of Figure 8. She was just trying to get away from her suffocating house by adventuring like she did when she was younger, but apparently she scared the shit out of some poor guy who had just bought the place to renovate it.
Anyways, she still doesn’t have her car, but she honestly doesn’t mind riding her bike. It gives her a chance to really breathe in the fresh, salty air around the ocean, and to appreciate the natural beauty that she doesn’t see a lot of on Figure 8. Even with hurricane Agatha rolling in, the place truly is paradise on earth.
The worst part of the bike ride is when she crosses the bridge onto Figure 8. Sure, it’s her home, but the air just shifts whenever she’s on that side of the island. Everything is more orderly, more in line, more strict. Not a blade of grass is out of line. The dogs wear stainless collars and the cars visit a car wash at least once a week.
Not to mention the fact that she rides by people from school.
It’s bad enough being the black sheep of her family, but that also happens to translate into her school life. At least during the summer she can pretend not to know any of them.
It’s not that she’s bullied or anything at school. She’s just a floater, is all. No concrete friend group, no concrete status other than “kook” stapled to her last name. Hannah and Henry, despite being freshmen last year, are quite popular at school. It doesn’t come as a surprise; Henry’s the star of basically every sport, and Hannah’s practically a carbon copy of Mackenzie.
Mackenzie graduated last year, but she’s still connected with all her high school friends since no one really leaves Figure 8 unless it’s for a vacation. She’s engaged to her boyfriend since middle school—Chad Stevenson—and they’ve already bought a house just a block down from their house.
As soon as AJ graduates high school, there’s nothing holding her back from moving off the island. She’ll probably find a place somewhere near a coastline—she loves the ocean too much to sort from it—but it’ll be much farther away than just a block from their house.
AJ parks the bike in the garage before heading inside, ice cream cone from the place in the Cut in one hand and her phone in the other.
Her sneakers squeak against the glossy tiles as she walks across the foyer to the grand staircase. Before she can make it, she passes the kitchen and happens to grab the attention of her three female family members hanging around the island counter.
“Again with the ice cream?” Laura says, exasperated.
AJ’s steps slow, and she backpedals a little to lean against the kitchen doorframe.
Laura’s got a glass of wine in front of her, whereas Hannah’s on her phone and Mackenzie is flipping through a Home & Garden magazine.
“It’s sooo good, it’s this new flavor—“ AJ cuts herself off to lick a long stripe of melting ice cream off the cone.“—and it’s chocolate pistachio.”
Hannah makes a look of disgust and turns back to her phone.
AJ motions to Mackenzie with her ice cream. “I feel like you’d really like it, Mack.” When her sister raises her brow and looks at her from over the magazine, AJ adds, “You know, if you weren’t allergic to calories.”
Mackenzie scowls. “That’s tough, coming from the girl who looks like she’s addicted to calories.”
“I’m literally not even overweight, but go off.”
“Girls,” Laura snaps, sharp gaze pointed directly at AJ.
She holds up her hand and shows her palm innocently before taking a big crunch of the cone and turning to leave.
•
One thing is for sure: Hurricane Agatha is a bitch.
AJ wakes up Tuesday morning to look out her window and find the treehouse Mr. Brown built in their backyard is demolished and strewn across the yard, along with branches and landscaping. She has every intention to get out there and repair it herself since she is more than capable of doing so now that she has the experience Mr. Brown has shared with her, but as soon as she steps foot outside, Bruce shoved a rake in her hand and tells her to help the workers clean the yard.
She scans the property and frowns when she doesn’t see any of her siblings.
“Is anyone else going to help?”
Bruce is already turning back to the house when he says, “Henry’s at conditioning for football, and your sisters are still sleeping.”
“Then wake them up? It’s literally eight in the morning.”
“They’re on summer time, their sleep schedules are all messed up.” Before AJ can cut in, he says a quick, “Thanks, sweetie!” and shuts the door behind him.
AJ glares down at the rake, but it falters. If she helps clean the yard, she won’t have time to fix the treehouse before she needs to leave for work at nine.
With a sigh, AJ turns around and plasters a smile on her face to greet a handful of workers. “Hey guys. What a bitch Agatha was, am I right? You want an extra hand?”
•
After arriving to work three minutes late and then spending the whole time cleaning up the shop and the ruin around it, AJ is tired of cleaning up after Agatha and just wants to fix the old treehouse. No one ever uses it anymore since all her siblings are teenagers now, but sometimes, when she finds herself suffocated by her family, AJ will hide out in that Angel Oak tree. There was a blanket and a flashlight up there, but she’s pretty sure the storm blew them into Georgia.
Disgruntled and not particularly wanting to head back home after work, AJ sets off to wander around the Cut.
There’s something to be said about the atmosphere a storm leaves behind. Something shifts, and everyone is suddenly working together to pick up the pieces of what’s left. AJ bikes past a log that has fallen across a road, and she would stop to move it, but there’s already some locals on the scene.
She pedals past neighbors pointing at trees with lost limbs, stray dogs sniffing around trash, and a fire truck without its lights or sirens on.
Others are out observing the wreckage, too. They’re checking in with neighbors and offering help.
It’s something AJ doesn’t see much of when she’s in Figure 8.
AJ’s on the outskirts of the Cut and is about to turn around on the gravel road she’s pedaling down when she catches sight of a loose rooster. He crows lowly as he walks with his chest puffed.
Head tilted, AJ plants her feet in the gravel and stops her bike. The rooster fluffs his feathers.
“Hey there, little dude. Where are you supposed to be?”
The rooster slowly starts to make his way off the road and into an overgrown yard. Curious, AJ plants her bike and then follows on foot.
The rooster leads her right to a shack. There’s an Angel Oak in front with a blue and white striped hammock, and a chicken coop not too far from it. Judging by the loose rooster and the bent chicken wire, Agatha let the little guy go.
AJ briefly scans the yard for the property owner before crouching by the chicken coop to inspect it. Her finger runs over a crooked wooden stake, which leads to a hole in rotten wood.
They could just an upgrade for sure.
AJ stands, and as soon as she does, there’s a clipped shout to her right.
“What the fu—What are you doing here?” JJ Maybank exclaims. He’s holding a sleeve of red solo cups in each hand.
AJ blinks. Huh. “Is this your house?” She motions to the shack.
It’s not surprising; JJ is a pogue, after all. That’s probably the only thing she knows about him, other than the fact that he hangs out with a group of other pogues, including John B, Pope, and Kiara (who, interestingly enough, isn’t actually a pogue).
JJ looks between AJ and the shack with a furrowed brow. “This is John B’s place. What are you doing here, snooping around and shit?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” she says, air-quoting the word before crossing her arms. “I was just biking around when I came across a rooster, who led me right to this jank chicken coop.”
“It’s not jank.”
“The wood is rotten and the chicken wire isn’t even fully attached to the stakes.”
JJ frowns, mouth agape without a sound coming out for a brief pause. Then, he says, “Okay, it’s jank, but what’s a kook know about chicken coops?”
AJ raises a brow. “I actually have an extensive knowledge of chicken coops, which I will apply that knowledge to fix up this old one for dear ol’ John B.”
She kicks the coop, which is supposed to just be a harmless light kick, but either the storm must’ve done a number on it or it really is a jank piece of shit, because her foot goes through the rotten wood.
It’s probably a mixture of both.
Which, okay, she isn’t judging John B’s lack of maintenance of the coop considering his dad’s disappearance and all. AJ’s fairly sure he’s dead since it has been nearly nine months now, but there’s no body, so no crime.
JJ frowns at the new hole. AJ straightens and pretends like she didn’t just damage someone else’s property.
“Let your pal know I’m fixing it up for free of charge so he doesn’t, like, shoot my head off when I come back tomorrow with a tool box and fresh planks.”
With that, AJ stalks off, already thinking of a way to convince Mr. Brown to let her take some of the supplies for a personal project.
Before she can go too far, however, JJ calls out, “How about you tell him yourself?”
AJ turns with a quirked brow.
JJ, in response, lifts up the sleeves of cups in his hands. “Kegger at the boneyard, everyone’s gonna be there.”
AJ flashes a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“You sure? There’s gonna be lots of beer.” He says the word beer with a sing-songy voice.
“Not a fan of alcohol.”
“Why?”
“Because?”
“Cuz you’re a good girl, is that it?” JJ teases with a half-smile, which is honestly a hot mixture of sexy and annoying.
AJ shakes her head, exasperated. “What’s it to you, Maybank?”
He shrugs. “Just curious.”
“Maybe I just don’t like it.”
He shrugs again. “Valid. Have a boring night, then, Addison Joyce.”
Ugh. Just hearing her name makes her want to pull her hair out.
Unable to disguise the disgust in her voice, she says, “Call me AJ, yeah?”
“Why?”
AJ glares. “You ask a lot of questions.”
He smirks. “What can I say, I’m a curious guy. My brain just thirsts for knowledge like a dry sponge thirsts for water.”
“Right.” AJ turns back around. “Don’t forget to tell John B that I’m fixing up his coop tomorrow.”
“You got it, Addison Joyce.”
Turning and walking backwards in one fluid motion, she holds up her middle finger.
He returns it with a mock-salute and a “Bon voyage!”