A Can of Coke

Pilot part 1

John B, with his heels over the edge of a balcony with no railing, was testing my patience. The view of the curved coastline was beautiful behind him, but I couldn't focus on that because my boyfriend was being an idiot. He danced on the edge of the wooden frames, a beer dripping in his hand, without a care in the world.

"John B! Please come down!" I pleaded. 

John B. was a combo plate of Lloyd Dobler, Ferris Bueller, and Matt Dillon from the Outsiders. Two parts eccentric non-conformist, one part Angry Young Man. So, often, it was hard to reason with him. 

Pope, the love child of Mr. Spock and a deadpan comedian, watched laconically as he called out:

"If you fall, you have a twelve and a half percent chance of living."

"Then I won't fall." He responded cheekily, sticking his tongue out at me.

Kiara, my favorite hippy chick with a socialist streak, stuck her head out of an unglassed concrete window.

"Oh my god, Crickett, they're going to have Japanese toilets with towel warmers! Towel warmers. Ridiculous!"  She glanced over to John B.'s precarious position and sighed, "Can you please not kill yourself?"

JJ, the feisty,  American hustler of the group, came out onto the balcony, holding a power drill with nearly too much excitement in his eyes. 

Talking to Pope and I, he excitedly stammered, "It's gotta be worth something, right?" 

His eyes were wide and child-like, filled with optimism and naivety. If you didn't know JJ, you'd mistake that excited and greedy gaze with something innocent and sweet. 

"Don't spill the beer, bro." He laughed as he watched John B. continue to be an idiot. 

Although we had spent the majority of the day goofing off in this high-end construction project and had no plans of leaving soon, an annoying spotlight swept through the yard--alerting us that it was time to go.

"Unfortunately, gentleman, and ladies, our time on the veranda is ending." Pope gestured to a golf cart pulling onto the yard

"They're early tonight!" John B chuckled as he tossed his beer can over his shoulder.

The five of us clattered down the stairs of the building, hooting and hollering along the way. Our cries echoed in the concrete chamber, making us sound larger than we were. 

We were used to running from the rent-a-cops. We loved hanging out in these construction sites, they hated it, and we loved how much they hated it. 

We bursted out of the unfinished mansion and ran past the empty pool and jacuzzi. I tripped and nearly fell into the empty abyss of concrete, but John B. grabbed my hand before my body had a chance to give in to gravity. 

"Thanks!" I laughed as I gripped his hand tightly. "That wouldn't have been fun!" 

"Yeah, not without a skateboard at least!" Kie laughed.

"You can't die before we make our grand escape!" JJ laughed, "You'd ruin the fun of it!"

"My apologies! For your convenience, I will try very hard to stay alive! I don't want to ruin any of your plans!" I called out to him sarcastically.

"Finally! Thank you!" His stunningly blue eyes twinkled.

"Can I get that in writing?" Pope teased. 

We continued running on a sandy path through the dunes, cutting through a hedge, and finally jumped into John B's beige Vulkswagon van, otherwise known as "The Twinkie."