Y/n has been, and is, JJ and John B's best friend since the third grade. Her mom is a drug addict, her dad a alcoholic. She soon finds out she has romantic feelings for JJ and gets jealous, thinking he has a thing for their other friend, Kie. Will Y...
Kie started to pull out what seemed to be an envelope but you couldn't tell.
"That's not gold," Pope says as Kie hands John B the envelope through the hole in the stone wall.
"Holy shit. This is from my dad," John B breathes out.
You started to speak but a vehicle started driving into the cemetery.
"Code red. Code red. Square groupers! Square groupers!" JJ explains and starts pushing you the other direction.
"Go! Go!" Kie whisper yells.
"It's the guys who robbed your house!" JJ tells John B as you go to hide behind the stone tomb.
"Light!" Kie said, and everyone started shutting off their flashlights. John B stuck his under his shirt but the light still showed.
"John B! Turn off your light," you hissed at the boy.
"Do you think it's them?" Kie whispers as JJ looks out from behind the corner of the memorial.
"Homies got a gun," JJ says making you start to panic. Not a gun again.
"Fuck this," you mutter as you get up and start running toward the exit of the cemetery. No way you were staying here if they had a gun. No. Fucking. Way.
"Babe! Babe! Y/n, get back here! Babe!" JJ whisper yells before starting to run after you. JJ catches up with you and grabs your hand.
"Your crazy, baby," he whispers before boosting you up and over the high fence. You smirk at him and wait for him to join you on the other side.
You were just about to run to the van when you hear Pope yell in panic,
"Guys! I'm stuck, I'm stuck". Pope's pants had caught onto part of the metal fence and where starting to rip.
"Pope, come on!" JJ yelled but was trying not to laugh. As the boys and Kie tried to get Pope unstuck Pope kept muttering,
"You're gonna rip me, you're gonna rip me". You couldn't keep your laughter in much longer. Pope's pants then ripped and he fell to the ground in just his underwear.
