the middle ≫ jj maybank

xxxi. the sheriff

Slater liked to think she lived a pretty non-confrontational existence.

She didn't go out of her way to get people to notice her. She didn't spread rumors at school. She didn't make drastic changes. She was plenty comfortable just going with the flow.

She avoided conflicts like the plague.

But the pogues? The pogues attracted conflict. They were like confrontation magnets.

So as they ran down a dirt road in the middle of the Cut, having just watched their friend nearly crash a plane with his hippie van, Slater found herself reminiscing. Between ragged breaths as she ran as fast as she could -- she'd never been much of a runner, and it seemed the pogues were always on the run -- she found herself wondering how every careful decision she'd ever made had brought her here.

She then asked herself if she regretted anything; it was easy to say that she did not.

She looked over at the blond boy beside her, who had slowed his running pace to match hers, just so that she wouldn't get left behind, and her heart clenched in her chest. She had no regrets. None at all.

He glanced over at her, catching her gaze, and a smirk filled his face. "Still a fan of the pogue life, Cambry?"

She grinned and replied, "P4L."

"P4L, baby."

They made it back to the Heywards, taking shelter in one of Pope's father's sheds as they caught their breath. As Slater waited for her heart to stop pounding, she heard the telltale sign of a plane overhead, one that sounded far too close to be doing anything other than taking off or landing. The pogues reluctantly turned to the sky, seeing the same plane from the airstrip flying overhead.

"There goes the gold," Pope said through gritted teeth, marching off into the shed. He picked up a box from the ground and chucked it across the shed, while JJ kicked a broken chair, sending it into splintering pieces.

Kiara and Slater exchanged a look, for only a second, before Pope had somehow procured a baseball bat, a baseball bat he was using to beat the shit out of the old junk in the shed.

Slater watched with wide eyes, stunned silent as the Heyward boy take out his anger. Even JJ stood motionless beside her, watching his friend's uncharacteristic display of rage.

"Pope!" Kiara interjected, walking over to the boy as he collapsed into a chair, breathing deeply. She sat next to him, attempting to put an arm around his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

"About time this happened," JJ said, walking over to the boy with his weed pen in hand. "Here you go, chief."

"JJ ..." Slater began, but Pope had already grabbed the device and was bringing it to his mouth.

"Since when do you smoke?" Kiara asked, standing with her arms crossed. "What is that going to help?"

"I lost my scholarship. We lost the gold. It's all gone. All of it. Nothing matters. So who cares if I smoke a little weed, right?"

"Pope," Kiara said, frowning.

"He's right, Kie. It doesn't matter anymore. We lost, just like we always do," JJ said.

"You don't have to do that," Kiara pushed.

"What do you care?" Pope spat, his eyes narrowed on the Carrera girl.

Just as Kiara was about to reply, John B rounded the corner, looking disheveled and upset. It took a moment for Slater to realize that his shirt and hands were covered in blood.