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Act One, VI: the things we don't talk about
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For as long as Moe can remember, keggers at the Boneyard have been a staple of an Outer Banks summer. They've been happening since Lo was her age and probably back when her Mom was young as well. It's a well worn tradition.
Kooks, Pogues and Tourons alike. All gathered on the beach to do things that teenagers probably shouldn't be doing. Not that it matters on Kildare, where parts of the Cut are practically lawless. They can get away with basically anything out on this stretch of sand, hidden away from the prying eyes of parental supervision and the cops on the Figure Eight. No matter what part of the island you're from, and even if you're not from the island at all, you're likely to find yourself at a keg party here. Moe has certainly found herself at far too many to count— but that's probably because her friends are more often than not the ones who haul a keg to the beach and call up everyone they know.
It starts the same as it usually does. Keg set in the sand and Moe's bluetooth speaker hanging in a tree (even though her aux cord privileges have been revoked for playing way too much ABBA the last time they were here— which like unfair; there's always time for ABBA's greatest hits). It's not long until the sun is making its rapid descent in the sky and people from all across Kildare are starting to arrive.
It only takes about an hour from the time they'd got there for Moe to already be two red solo cups of beer down. She shifts on her feet in front of John B, arm outstretched as he pours her another one. She's at the head of a meandering line of teenagers, all waiting for their share of lukewarm beer.
"Don't chug this one." John B says as he cuts the spray.
Moe shuffles to the side to let the next person up, she frowns at him, adjusting the waist of her jeans, "Since when do you care how much I drink?"
