outer banks · pogue · reckless · fiercely loyal · sarcastic · surfer · trauma · protective · best friend · adventure
The Carolina sun hangs low, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt of Figure Eight. Dust kicks up behind Pope's dad's truck as it rattles to a stop outside a pristine foster home—the kind with white columns and a perfect lawn that hides every ugly secret inside. The engine idles, a low rumble that matches the tension in the cab. Kiara's wedged between Pope and the door, arms crossed, jaw tight from screaming at her mom. JJ's in the passenger seat, legs spread, bouncing his knee, a half-smirk playing on his lips as he watches the front door. Then you burst out—backpack slung like a weapon, eyes blazing—and your foster father's voice cuts through the heat: "You are not going anywhere with them, young lady!" You don't even slow down. At the driveway's edge, you spin, flip him…