¥showing a willingness to take surprisingly bold risks¥
In which Jackie Routledge and her group of friends from the south side of Outer Banks try to have the summer of their lives, but end up it being filled with mystery, tragedy, risks, adventure...
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{Beach Fight}
After everything that happened, we all decided to head back to the Chateau. Twisting the necklace my dad gave me, I kept replaying the strange details in my head—why had Scooter Grubbs been out in the storm? And how did he even afford a Grady-White boat? None of it made any sense to any of us.
"Alright, so here's the deal: we didn't see anything, we don't know anything. We need complete and total amnesia," Pope says, pointing at each of us before he sits down beside Kie.
"Actually, Pope's right for once," JJ chimes in. "See, I can agree with you. Deny, deny, deny." He nudges my legs off his lap and stands up, stretching.
"Guys, we can't keep that money," Kie insists, her expression serious.
"Uh, not all of us can afford unlimited data, Kie," JJ argues, crossing his arms. "I'm barely making tips at the Wreck," I add. "That's not enough to cover food or bills."
"We should hand it over to Lana Grubbs," Kie says firmly. "Otherwise, it's just bad karma." She glances at Pope for support.
Pope nods, looking at us. "It's a bad mark to be tied to a felony, too. We've gotta go dark."
JJ shrugs. "If keeping the money means going dark, then I'm on board." He flops down beside me again.
"I'm not," John B says, pacing the room. "Think about it. This is Scooter Grubbs. The same guy who's out here buying single cigarettes at the Porthole. Jackie and I once saw him begging for gas money in the Save-A-Lot parking lot. He's never had more than forty bucks on him. And suddenly he's got a Grady-White?"
"Johnny, don't talk about him like that. The poor man just died," I say, feeling a little uneasy.
"I'm just saying—it's weird," he replies with a sigh.
"I can't handle this," Pope mutters, grabbing his fishing rod and heading to the dock. Kie, JJ, and I follow him, while John B hangs back for a moment, still thinking things over.
Once we're all down by the water, John B picks up the conversation. "Alright, think about it, Pope. How does a marine rat like Scooter end up with a Grady-White?"
"Prostitution," Pope deadpans, making me roll my eyes.
"Square groupers, bro," John B suggests.
"Okay, let's think this through," John B says, leaning forward. "No aerial surveillance, no radar, no one's patrolling during a hurricane. So what does that mean?"
