¥showing a willingness to take surprisingly bold risks¥
In which Jackie Routledge and her group of friends from the south side of Outer Banks try to have the summer of their lives, but end up it being filled with mystery, tragedy, risks, adventure...
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{Grady White & Gunshots}
The next morning, I wake up to the rooster crowing outside and sunlight streaming through my blinds. Groaning, I roll out of bed, grab a quick shower while John B is still sound asleep, and assume JJ must have headed home earlier. Standing under the cold water, I let myself finally unwind. For the first time in days, I get a moment alone to process everything that's happened. In the last 24 hours, we found a boat connected to a dead man—a friend of my dad's, who also disappeared at sea. There's so much we don't know, and it's all tangled up in ways I can't make sense of.
After a few minutes, I step out of the shower, towel off, and let my wavy hair fall around my shoulders. I go through my usual morning routine, then rummage in my closet for something to wear. Just as I pull out a shirt, a familiar voice from the doorway startles me.
"Get dressed, sweetheart. We need to talk," Officer Peterkin says, giving me a serious look before leaving to wake John B.
About five minutes later, my brother and I join her in the living room. "Sorry to barge in on you like this, but DCS wanted me to check in, see how you're holding up," she explains. John B and I exchange a weary glance. "So, how are you, besides the—" she gestures toward John's black eye.
"Oh, I'm great. Fantastic. Thanks for checking on us," John B says, trying to sound casual.
Peterkin rolls her eyes, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. And you, Jackie? How are you?" she asks, turning to me.
"Perfect," I say with a shrug, but she doesn't look convinced.
"You see, I've been hearing some things that concern me," she says, crossing her arms. "For example, your uncle—your legal guardian—hasn't been in the state for the past three months."
John B and I exchange a quick glance. "That's not true," he lies, shaking his head.
Peterkin sighs. "You don't have to deny it. I know it's true. I called the school, too. They said you both used to be good students, but now you're failing your classes."
She walks over to the dining table, picking up an old joint we'd left out. "It's only one class I'm failing," John B says quickly. "History. I'm passing the rest."
I nod, backing him up. "And I'm doing fine in English and math."
Peterkin raises an eyebrow. "I also heard there was a fight on the beach yesterday—and that a gun was involved."
John B jumps in immediately. "Gun? No way. There was a scuffle, sure, but no gun. That's just a rumor."
Peterkin watches him closely, then nods, almost to herself. "Don't worry, I know who it was. I'll deal with him."
