𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬

TWENTY THREE| the cameron plane

EDEN woke up to the sun hitting her face.

Putting a hand in front of her face to block out the bright light, the girl lightly opens her eyes. The light still glares in her face, but Eden can see enough to know that she was still on John B.'s dock—the calming sound of the tide, the humid summer air against her face, the soft orange reflecting on to her skin from the rising sun.

With a soft groan—if she's being honest, she could have slept in for another hour or so—the Bexley sits up, hand still placed over her eyebrows.  Her body felt stiff from sleeping on the wooden dock, and she doesn't even remember falling asleep in the first place in such a cramped position. The last thing she remembers was staring idly into the sky with John B.....

John B.

At the thought of the boy, she realizes he wasn't next to her anymore. There's an indent in a nearby life-jacket that showed he had been next to her at some point, but there's no sight of the Routledge boy.

The no-show of John B. starts to worry Eden because, well, after last night with the gun and with how broken he'd been, she was unsure if he was okay to venture off by himself right now, but before she could really start to panic, her eyes spot a bright pink sticky note stuck to the beam across from her.

The messy, uneven, handwriting is clearly John B.'s—the boy's handwriting never changed from when he was a third grader, so Eden could notice it anywhere—and she's quick to read the words quickly scribbled upon it.

Don't worry about where I am, I've gone to get the rest of the gold.

Thanks for last night.....I really needed it.  Actually, thanks for being here since my dad got "lost at sea."  I've been so involved with trying to finish what he started, with trying to find him, that I never realized how much you helped me.  You were always the shoulder I needed to cry on, and  I really appreciate it, Eden.

-JB

Eden couldn't help but smile.  Even though she didn't need a thank you for all her comforting actions—she'd always help anyone out, it's just who she was—it did feel good to know that John B. appreciated all the hugs and reassuring words she'd given over the year. 

Her smile didn't last for long though, the sound of her ring-tone ruining the small moment she was sharing with the Routledge's sentimental words.  She scanned around the deck for her phone—she didn't know where the hell she'd left it, honestly—quickly grabbing the item once her eyes spotted it beside the blow torch.

Looking at the screen, she looked to see she was getting a FaceTime request from none other than Pope—or as her phone read, Bubs.

At first, she was confused on why Pope was calling her so early on, but when it occurred to her that today was his day—the day of his scholarship interview, his chance at having a future—she didn't hesitate to accept. 

"Yes, Pope?"

"Hey, Eden, uh...." Pope set his phone against his dresser, backing up so the Bexley could get a full view of his outfit.  He was wearing a nice suit, and was currently tying a light blue tie around his neck.  He looked nice. "Do I look okay? My dad lent it to me from when he was a teenager but, like, I don't know.  I don't want to look bad because this is my only shot and if they don't think I look presentable enough for—"

Eden cut him off, "Whoa, Pope, relax. You look great, man. Who told you otherwise?"

"No one did, I just.....Kie and I, we had an argument last night when you were at the Chateau." Pope states, looking at himself in the mirror to make sure his tie looked okay.  He then glanced back at his phone, "Kiara went off on me for ditching this whole situation for my interview.  That I was bailing on John B. in a time of need for a selfish reason." He sighed, "And I defended myself at the time but now I'm starting to ask myself if she's right?  John B. needs us, and I'm going to a stupid college interview...."