Ma belle- JJ Maybank

Pilot

WE'RE THE POGUES, AND OUR mission this summer is to have a good time all the time.

John B teeters on the roof's edge, one foot dangling over the abyss, casually sipping from his drink like it's just another Sunday. "That's what, a three-story fall to the deck? I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival," Pope speculates with a smirk.

With a grin, John B theatrically licks his finger, checks the wind like he's about to make a golf swing, and asks, "Should I do it?"

Pope shrugs. "Yea, jump."

Across the rooftop, a blonde boy glances over at his redheaded friend, who's staring out at the ocean. "I'll shoot you on the way down." 

John B smirks, "You'll shoot me?"

Before they can get too deep into this wild conversation, someone drops the most random line ever: "They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers."

"Of course. Why wouldn't they?"

"Yeah, Kiara, someone's gotta keep their precious ass cheeks warm."

Amidst the banter, Kiara looks wistfully at the construction site. "This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, I guess?" 

Suddenly, two guys step out of a car that pulls up to the driveway. "Hey!"

"Hey, uh, security's here. Let's wrap it up."

"Boys are early today," someone mutters as the group scrambles.

The five teens scatter, darting off from the half-built house. They vault over fences, pile into their van, and peel off, heading toward the familiar stretch of coastline known as the Outer Banks.

The Outer Banks, Paradise on Earth. It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island.

As John B drives, they pass gleaming yachts and mansions.

All right this is Figure Eight, the rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks. So guess where we don't live.

As the scenery shifts, they roll into a different part of town.

And then, this is the south side or the cut. Home of the working class who make living busing tables, washing yachts, running charters. The natural habitat of...drumroll, please... the Pogues. That's us. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. Lowest member of the food chain. Okay. So the downside of Pogue life is that we are ignored and neglected.

But the upside of Pogue life? We're ignored and neglected, which means we can do whatever we want, whenever we want.

That's JJ, my best friend since the third grade. He's about as local as they come. Latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water. Best surfer I know. Just don't tell him I said that. Mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat.

And that's Kiara or Kie, as we call her. When not saving turtles or listening to Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with us. I'm not really sure why, though. So, she's a rich kid, actually. Same with Freya. Foot in both worlds. Her family owns The Wreck, this Outer Banks institution. Total cash cow with the tourists. You know, I'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. We all have a thing for her. Well... all except one.

And that's Pope, the brains of the operation...finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person I know. A little bit of a weirdo. His father's this legendary character, Heyward. Anything you want on the island, Heyward can get for you. Now, I'm not sure Heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. He was a Pogue, just like the rest of us.

So, that's my crew. Oh, right. Almost forgot.

"Freya. Another rich kid from Figure Eight. She's got this whole sarcastic, beautiful, devious thing going on. Plus, she's stubborn as hell. Her mom walked out fifteen years ago, leaving her dad, Clark, to raise her on his own. We never really asked what her dad does, and she never really offered to tell us, so I guess that's on us."