Chapter Text
The sun kisses Kiara’s skin as she leans back on her elbows, the warm breeze tugging loose strands of her wild hair across her face. The salty air smells like freedom, and she breathes it in deep, letting it fill her lungs as if the day will stretch on forever.
A part of her aches, wondering how many more days like this they’ll get now that they’re all growing up.
Things are already changing.
In just the past couple of years, Kiara’s family restaurant, The Wreck, had finally blown up, turning into a total cash cow with tourists visiting OBX. After years of hard work it was pulling in enough cash that her parents moved them from their modest house on the outskirts of the Cut to the stuck up north side of Kildare Island. It was only a few miles up NC12, but to Kiara, it felt like a world away. In Figure Eight, kids her age only cared about brands, boat models, and parties where the conversation was as stiff as the linen napkins.
She’d barely turned thirteen before her parents started hinting about her attending Kook Academy next year—a school where her “connections” and “future” would be set in stone, according to them.
But Kiara knew she didn’t belong there. They cared more about shoes than surfing. What was she supposed to do with that?
Kiara belonged on the Cut with her boys, where none of that shit mattered.
It feels easy being here with them—her boys, the pogues—like slipping into a comfortable rhythm they didn’t even have to try to find.
Kiara was a pogue for life.
The familiar silhouette of the Chateau looms, half-hidden beneath oaks draped in moss, like the whole place was slowly being swallowed by the island. John B’s dad, Big John, was gone for the afternoon—off chasing whatever half-baked treasure-hunting lead he’d stirred up this time. It wasn’t exactly unusual for Big John to disappear, but ever since…well, last time, he wasn’t taking any chances leaving John B and JJ alone overnight. He’d be due home in an hour or two—plenty of time before the sun went down.
Kiara shifts her gaze back to JJ, sprawled out by the hammock nearby, his legs kicked out in front of him, swinging restlessly every few minutes like the little boy she once knew from kindergarten who never learned how to sit still.
She can still see the faint scar on his temple, a thin line just above his eyebrow, half-hidden beneath his messy blond hair, and the way his nose stuck a little farther to the left than it had before the fight.
A lasting reminder of the first—and last—time Big John left the boys alone for the night.
Long story short—It was bad. Really bad.
Kiara only heard the whole story after the fact, of course. She barely held it together when John B filled her in: the two boys, fresh off 7th grade graduation, snuck out to a wild high school party out at the Boneyard—a party they knew they shouldn’t have gone to. But JJ wanted a thrill, a night of total freedom. Instead, it ended with JJ drunk out of his mind and Rafe Cameron looking for a fight, just like always.
It escalated fast—too fast.
The memory makes Kiara’s stomach knot. None of them ever talk about it anymore, not really. John B plays it off like they got lucky—another scrape JJ survived—like it was him falling out of a tree or surfing a wave a bit too big for him.
But Kiara knows the truth.
JJ had been two about seconds away from dying. It took Big John coming home to JJ nearly bleeding out on the couch, major surgery and weeks of recovery for JJ to get to the place he was now.
Laughing about it, like it didn’t even matter.
Kiara turns over to Pope a few feet away, stone in hand, as he scans the water’s surface with laser focus. With a flick of his wrist, he sends it skipping across the creek—three bounces this time before it plunks beneath the surface. Pope grins, but only slightly, in that smug, I knew I could do it way.
JJ props himself up on one elbow and whistles. “Three skips? Damn, look at you, Einstein. Got any other secret talents we don’t know about?”
Pope rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You want a lesson, Maybank? You’d probably just end up chucking it straight into your own face.”
Kiara snorts and shakes her head, glancing down toward the small fishing boat bobbing in the shallows. John B’s dad had won it in some shady poker game last Christmas—a beat-up little thing with peeling paint and a sputtering motor that barely ran, even on good days.
John B, crouched at the water’s edge, mutters a string of curses under his breath as he fumbles with the motor, elbow-deep in greasy parts. The boat’s name—HMS Pogue—is scrawled haphazardly along the side in crooked, drippy letters, the handiwork of none other than JJ. It was a miracle the thing floated at all, and John B was dead set on getting it running today.
“Maybe she just wants to be left alone, man,” JJ calls out lazily, squinting over at John B. “You ever think about her feelings?”
John B doesn’t look up. “It’s a boat, JJ. Boats don’t have feelings.”
JJ grins, rolling his eyes toward Kiara. “Jeez—she can hear you, John B. Have some respect.”
Kiara laughs, tipping her head back into the sun. This was them—bickering, making each other laugh, wasting hours like they had all the time in the world. For once, the weight of everything they’d been through didn’t feel so heavy.
Just Pogues being Pogues.
The marsh glitters beneath the sun, water lapping softly against the dock. The day feels endless, like it could stretch out forever in this perfect balance of lazy late summer heat, salt air, and friends who knew each other better than anyone else in the world.
But that’s the thing with moments like these. You never realize they’re about to change—until it’s too late.
She’s a teenager now.
She can already feel change brewing.
Kiara pulls her knees to her chest, trying to shake off the heavy weight pressing against her ribs. She knows they’re not kids anymore, not really. All except JJ, thirteen…and even he would be joining them soon enough. The world was catching up to them, dragging them into places they weren’t ready to go whether they liked it or not. But as she sits here, the sun kissing her skin and her friends scattered around her—John B cursing at the old boat, Pope skipping rocks across the water, and JJ ariol here, still breathing—she clings to the hope that maybe, just maybe, things can stay like this a little longer.
She isn’t ready to let go. None of them are.
JJ’s shoulder suddenly brushes against hers, and she glances down to see him stretched out beside her on the blanket she’d laid out. He’s got his arms tucked behind his head, the faded blue of his board shorts riding low on his hips. He’s still small—skinny and wiry, all sharp elbows and bony knees that stick out awkwardly whenever he moves. While John B and Pope have almost caught up to her height, JJ’s lagging behind. He’s the smallest of the group by far, and she still towers over him by a good couple of inches.
It makes her feel annoyingly smug—stronger, bigger. For now, anyway. She knows it won’t last forever. So she likes to take advantage of it.
“C’mon Jayje,” she says, nudging him with her shoulder. “You’ve gotta have some plan for your birthday this weekend. It's gonna be the big one-three, man.”
JJ tilts his head toward her, smirking that cocky, lopsided grin that always makes her heart do an irritating little skip. “Well, what do you have in mind for my birthday, Kie?”
She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the flutter that runs through her chest. “What makes you think I’m giving you anything?”
JJ’s grin spreads wider, his eyes flickering downward—just for a split second—over the curve of her legs, then sweeping back up, catching the subtle changes in her figure that the passing of time this summer has pulled to the surface. His gaze lingers, almost imperceptibly, on the way her tank top clings to her frame, and she feels the warmth creep over her skin, a quiet heat she can’t quite shake.
She gives him a look—half teasing, half warning—but doesn’t tell him to stop.
JJ’s always been a little ahead of himself, his mind just a few steps faster than his boyish looks. She’s watched him all year, grinning and throwing out lines to girls at school or even the tourists who wander onto the beach. He’s not totally smooth yet, more awkward than anything most days, but there’s a kind of confidence in the way he acts that leaves girls always wondering about the cute boy with the messy blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes.
“Because you like me,” he says, flashing his mischievous grin, voice dripping with confidence as he pulls Kie back.
Kiara snorts, even though her pulse quickens just a little. “In your dreams, Maybank.”
JJ’s laugh is soft but loaded, the kind that makes it clear he knows exactly what he’s trying to do. He leans closer, close enough that she can feel the warmth of his skin, his shoulder brushing hers again. “Aw, c’mon, Kie. You can’t resist me forever.”
“Pretty sure I can,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest like it’s nothing, but she knows the move only draws more attention to herself. She catches the flicker in his eyes again—like he notices everything. And maybe, just maybe, she likes that he notices.
“You’ll give in eventually,” JJ teases, dropping his voice—but it cracks in a boyish way, betraying him.
Kiara laughs, tilting her chin up with mock defiance. “Keep dreaming, shrimp.”
That one lands—JJ huffs, clearly pretending he’s not offended, but she can see the spark of indignation in his eyes. It’s almost too easy to rile him up. He’s still shorter than her, and though she knows he hates it, he never says anything outright.
But she can tell.
“Shrimp? Ouch.” He clutches his chest dramatically, like she’s stabbed him. “Way to kick a guy when he’s just getting back on his feet.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you humble.” She grins, knowing she’s got the upper hand.
JJ grins back, but there’s that flicker of challenge in his eyes—he likes when she gives him a hard time, and honestly, she likes giving it. He shifts, his sunburned knee knocking against hers, and for a second, they’re just sitting there, shoulders brushing, legs tangled in the dirt, like the whole world has shrunk down to this tiny stretch of land.
“Y’know,” JJ says, glancing up at her through his messy blond hair, “I’m not always gonna be this small. Couple months, maybe a year? I’ll be taller than you.”
Kiara laughs, loud and carefree. “Sure you will.”
“I’m serious!” JJ insists, sitting up slightly and puffing out his chest like he’s trying to make himself look bigger. It doesn’t help much—his bony shoulders and narrow frame still make him look like a kid trying to play dress-up.
Kiara leans down, just enough to remind him of the height difference, and taps the top of his head with her finger. “Well, until that happens, you’re still the baby pogie fish.”
JJ catches her hand before she can pull it back, his grip surprisingly firm despite how skinny his fingers are. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, and for once, he doesn’t hide the way he looks at her.
“Yeah, well,” he murmurs, his tone momentarily morphing into something softer, “I don’t mind being the baby if it means you keep paying attention to me.”
Her stomach flips again, and she yanks her hand back, pretending the heat creeping up her neck is just from the sun. “You’re such an idiot,” she mutters, shoving him playfully.
But JJ just grins, like he knows exactly how much space he’s taking up in her head.
And worse—like he knows she doesn’t actually mind.
She leans back again, trying to steady herself, but the flutter in her chest stays, buzzing quietly beneath her ribs. She won’t admit it to him—not now, not ever—but she likes it. She likes the way he notices her, the way his eyes follow her when he thinks she isn’t paying attention. She likes that he flirts like it’s a game, and that she gets to pretend she doesn’t care, even though she does.
Kiara rolls her eyes, laughing. JJ always finds a way to make everything sound ridiculous. “Now, seriously, what are you doing for your birthday?”
He shrugs, looking out at the horizon, his expression slipping into that casual, too-cool mask he wears when things get close to uncomfortable. “We don’t really do birthdays at my place. It’s no big deal.”
The words are so easy, like they don’t matter, but they stick in Kiara’s chest like sea glass in the sand—sharp and a little sad. For a second, she doesn’t say anything, just studies his face. She knows JJ too well by now. If he jokes too much about something, it usually means it matters more than he’s willing to admit.
“No cake?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.
He shakes his head, still staring out at the water. “Nope.”
“Party?”
“You know Big John took us fishin last year!”
“Presents?”
JJ grins, but there’s no weight to it. “What do I need presents for? I’ve got everything I want right here.” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the hammock, the water, the pogues.
Kiara wants to roll her eyes again, but the warmth behind his words makes her heart ache. This is JJ all over—acting like what he’s got is enough, like he’s fine with nothing. But Kiara knows better. She knows about the nights he sneaks out because it’s worse being at home. She knows how his eyes always flicker toward John B’s house when they hang out, like he wishes he belonged there too.
And now it hits her: JJ’s never had a real birthday. No parties, no candles, no goofy, off-key singing. Just another day, another year older, like it doesn’t mean anything at all. The thought settles heavy in her chest, and she knows, with the kind of certainty that makes her reckless, that this year is going to be different.
She’s not just doing this for JJ—she’s doing it for all of them. For one last perfect day before school pulls them in different directions and life gets complicated. A two-in-one celebration: JJ’s thirteenth birthday and the end of summer, all wrapped into one.
Kiara can already see it in her mind—surfing at sunrise, racing the boys out to the break and winning, of course. Then dinner at The Wreck, stuffing themselves with fries grits and fried shrimp until they can’t move. And finally, a bonfire out by the water, flames licking up into the night while they maybe pass around stolen beers if they can get they’re hands on them and tell stories they’ve told a hundred times before, just to make them last a little longer.
And in the middle of it all will be JJ, wearing the ridiculous crown her own mother gave her for her birthday six months prior. Grinning that wild, JJ grin, not just because it’s his birthday—but because, for once, it’ll feel like he matters.
She leans back on the blanket and glances at him, still lounging without a care in the world. “Yeah, well,” she says lightly, “too bad you’re stuck with me, because we’re gonna celebrate whether you like it or not.”
JJ turns his head, a slow, mischievous grin creeping across his face. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He lifts an eyebrow, his blue eyes sparkling. “Gonna throw me a big princess party? Balloons and everything?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see—” she shoots back without missing a beat, “but you’re gonna love it.”
JJ laughs, the sound bright and free, and Kiara catches herself smiling too, even though she’s already pretending to be annoyed.
He’s always been good at pulling her in like that.
But this time, she doesn’t mind. Because she’s already decided—whether JJ knows it or not, his thirteenth birthday is going to be perfect.
…
The morning sun is already burning off the last of the fog as Kiara hauls a stack of menus out to the tables on The Wreck’s deck. She blows a stray curl from her face and huffs. The place smells like saltwater and fried food—familiar in a way that’s both comforting and a little suffocating. She usually hates helping her parents open up; it’s tedious, boring, and she’d much rather be out on the beach or exploring the marsh.
But today?
Today’s different.
JJ’s birthday is coming up, and she has one mission: to make sure he gets a party, no matter what.
Kiara wipes down the already-clean tabletop and glances toward the kitchen, where her dad is grumbling over the fryer. It’s still early, but the crowd of tourists and locals alike will roll in soon, and her dad has that look on his face like he’s already over it. She knows she has to catch him before things get too busy—or he’ll say no just to avoid hearing her talk.
Again.
“Kiara, stop dawdling!” her dad calls from the kitchen. “Those tables out front won’t set themselves.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes, but only after turning away from him. She knows better than to push him too early. The key is pacing herself—and being just annoying enough that her mom will take her side.
She sets the last menu down and marches inside, carrying a bucket of ice to the drink cooler. When she sees her mom behind the counter, slicing lemons, she knows her moment has come.
“So,” Kiara starts, dragging the word out, “I was thinking…”
Her dad groans from across the room. “Uh-oh. Here we go.”
Kiara shoots him a glare, then turns back to her mom, determined to keep her cool. “JJ’s birthday is coming up, and I want to throw him a party.”
Her mom pauses mid-slice, raising an eyebrow. “Where?”
“Here,” Kiara says, bracing for the backlash.
“No way,” her dad snaps before she even finishes the word. “We’ve got too many customers coming through. I don’t need those boys tearing up the place.”
“Come on, Dad,” Kiara groans, setting the bucket down with a thud. “It’s not like we’re inviting half the island. It’s just us—me, JJ, Pope, and John B. That’s it.”
“That’s still four too many,” her dad grumbles, slamming a mug on the bar for emphasis.
Kiara throws her hands up. “We won’t even be in the way! We’ll use the table in the back. You won’t even know we’re here.”
Her dad shoots her a look like she’s lost her mind. “The answer is no, Kiara.”
“God, why do you always have to make this so hard?” she snaps, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s JJ’s birthday. Do you know how many birthday parties he’s had? He deserves at least one good one.”
“Not my problem,” her dad mutters.
Kiara grits her teeth, ready to push harder, but her mom steps in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Kiara,” she warns, her voice low. “That tone won’t get you anywhere.”
Kiara clenches her fists but bites her tongue. Fine. Reset. Stay cool. Get Mom on your side. She shoots her mom a look, eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for understanding.
Her mom studies her for a moment, her expression softening just a bit. “You really want to do this for JJ?”
“Yes,” Kiara says, desperation creeping into her voice. “It’s not just for him though—it’s for all of us. We’re all gonna be thirteen now. Everything’s changing, and I just—I want this one day to stay the same. For JJ. For all of us. Mom—please?”
Her mom sighs, the way she does when she knows she’s about to give in. “If I let you do it, you keep it small. Just the table in the back by the kitchen. No sneaking anyone else in, and no trouble.”
Kiara’s heart leaps. “Deal!”
Her mom holds up a hand. “I’ll wait on you myself. But if you want a cake, you’re helping me bake it. No complaining halfway through.”
“I’ll do anything!” Kiara grins, practically bouncing on her heels.
Her dad mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, but Kiara ignores him. She has what she wanted.
Before she rushes out, she turns back to her parents. “Thanks, Dad!” She plants a quick kiss on his cheek, catching him by surprise, then wraps her mom in a warm hug.
Her mom holds her close, then leans back, smiling fondly. “You’re growing up, my little Kiwi.”
Kiara groans, cheeks warming. “Mom,” she whines, but her smile gives her away.
With her heart full, she grabs her bike from where it leans against the porch. The wood creaks under her feet as she pushes off, her mind already racing ahead to her next stop—John B’s place. JJ’s birthday is going to happen, no matter what—and it’s going to be perfect. Or, at least, close enough.
…
The next day, Kiara swings by Heyward’s shop, the bell over the door jingling as she steps inside. The air is thick with the scent of frying oil, rubber, and old wood, all warmed by the lazy hum of fans that barely cut through the late summer heat. She spots the stash Pope set aside for her—sodas, chips, gummy worms, and a couple of bags of JJ’s favorite jerky. But she barely registers them, because there, slouched against the counter, is JJ.
At first, she almost doesn’t recognize him. His usual energy—always bouncing on his heels or drumming his fingers on anything nearby—is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he’s hunched over, his shoulders pulled in, like it’s taking everything he’s got just to keep himself upright. His face looks paler than usual, washed out under the fluorescent lights, and his hair’s sticking up in unbrushed clumps that make him look younger, almost like a little kid.
“JJ?” she says softly, the teasing tone she was going to use falling away. He lifts his head, his blue eyes dull and glassy, like they’re barely focusing. His skin is flushed in patches that look more feverish than sunburned, and for the first time, she notices a faint tremble in his hands as he leans against the counter.
“Hey, Kie,” he mumbles, voice scratchy and weak. There’s no spark in it, none of his usual mischief or charm. He shifts his weight, as if trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt, but every small movement seems to sap his strength. His shoulders slump further, and Kiara feels a pang of worry tighten in her chest.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks, trying to sound casual but feeling her heart beat faster. He looks so worn out, so different from the JJ she’s used to—the one who’s always pushing boundaries, always laughing loudest.
JJ shrugs, but it’s more like a droop. “Helpin’ Pope’s dad,” he mutters, voice thick and tired. There’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone, like he doesn’t want her to know how bad off he is. His eyes dart away from her, and he rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her.
“Since when do you hang out at Heyward’s?” she tries to tease, hoping to pull some kind of smile out of him. “Shouldn’t you be out, I don’t know, catching frogs or doing flips off John B’s dock?”
He tries to smile, but it’s a weak, lopsided thing that barely reaches his eyes before it fades. Normally, he’d fire back with some goofy line or dare her to race him, but right now, he just stands there, looking… small. Tired. She realizes that his hands, clutching the edge of the counter, are cold and clammy, even though the shop is sweltering.
“I kinda… need the money,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Heyward’s willing to pay me under the table.” He swallows, his face coloring slightly, but not from embarrassment—it’s more like a fever flush that makes him look even more vulnerable.
Kiara’s chest tightens, and she reaches out, almost on instinct, but stops herself just shy of putting a hand on his arm. She doesn’t want to make him feel worse, but everything about him is setting off alarm bells.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, voice dropping to a near whisper. She can’t shake the feeling that something’s really wrong here, and she doesn’t care if he tries to shrug it off. His eyes flicker, and he lets out a sigh that seems way too heavy for someone his age.
“Yeah, just…” He shrugs again, but this time it’s more like a defeated slump. “Tired, I guess. Got this stupid sore throat. I dunno, probably it’s just a cold.” He rubs a sleeve against his nose, the cuffs of his too-big sweatshirt John B recognized from Pope’s closet frayed and hanging over his hands, which look even thinner than usual.
Kiara’s mind races. It’s never “just a cold” with JJ. He’s the kind of person who either refuses to get sick or goes down hard when he does. There’s no middle ground with him—no mild sniffles, just bedrest or the ER. She can’t stop herself from watching his face closely, noticing how he seems to sink a little deeper with each word, like he’s unraveling in slow motion.
“You look…” She doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to push him, but the word sick is on the tip of her tongue. “You look really wiped, JJ.”
He forces a smile that only makes her worry more. “It’s no big deal,” he says, trying to brush it off, but his voice cracks just a little. He clears his throat and pulls himself up straighter, though it takes obvious effort. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? It’s the big day after all.”
She studies him, feeling a knot of worry settle in her stomach. At least for one more day he’s still twelve, but right now, he looks so much younger—and so much older. He’s standing there trying to act tough, but she can see how fragile he looks, how he’s fighting to keep his cool. Normally, he’d laugh this off, crack some dumb joke, or dare her to do something crazy. But today, he just looks… worn down. Like even the weight of his own thoughts is too much.
“Yeah,” she says slowly, though she’s not convinced. “But if you try to skip out, I’m coming to drag your butt there myself.”
JJ gives her a weak smile, his eyes softening for a moment. “Deal.”
She swings the bags over her shoulder, lingering by the door. She wants to say something more, maybe push him to admit he’s not okay. But the way he’s looking at her—barely hanging on—makes her hold back. JJ’s always hated people fussing over him, and she knows that if she pushes too hard, he’ll just retreat further.
“It’s probably nothing,” she murmurs to herself as she steps outside, the sun hitting her face. People get colds all the time. JJ will be fine.
But as she walks back to her bike, the knot in her stomach doesn’t go away. She can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming—something bigger than just a sore throat. And she has no idea how to fix it.