The Keys to freedom

The Fatcat and the Gutterrat

As nightfall descended swiftly, the four of them stood outside The Cove in defeat. Side by side, they stood in silence, leaning against James' truck, their shoulders slumped in a collective disappointment. The lapping of the waves against the shore echoed as they gazed out into the darkness.

"Maybe he'll cut you some slack with the rent, give you a few more days," Jessper says, attempting to calm their worries. "I mean, would he really toss a couple of kids out on the streets just like that?"

"It would probably bring him joy," Oz answered.

Jessper sighed as silence enveloped the group once more.

"Okay," James said firmly, clapping his hands to snap them out of their thoughts. "No point stressing about it now. What's done is done. Let's focus on something else."

"Yeah, like what kind of box we want to live in," Oz said.

"More like which kind of liquor bottle we're diving into tonight," James replied

"You can't be serious," She countered. "You want to party when we're going to be homeless tomorrow?"

"What else can we do?" James shot back. "Sit at home and mope?"

"Yes," Oz answered dryly.

"There's nothing we can change tonight, Loz," Jessper added calmly.

She knew she was right, but she also wasn't the type that could just push her worries aside and just hope for the best. She was a fixer—always had been. When something went wrong, it was her instinct to dive in headfirst, pick up the pieces, and figure out how to put them back together. But this situation felt like she was standing in front of a crumbling dam, trying to hold back the flood with her bare hands. She couldn't just sit back and let everything fall apart. She needed a plan, needed to do something, anything, to fix it. Even if that meant considering things she never thought she'd have to, like except the help of her friends, or even her arrogant ex-boyfriend.

"So, all those for getting hammered?" Grayson asked, raising his hand eagerly.

Jessper and James promptly raised theirs, their stares turning to Oz, pleading her with their eyes. She sighed and slowly lifted her hand.

"I'll call Eric then," Jessper says with a smile.

Grayson wraps his arms around Oz from behind, whispering in her ear, "It'll be okay, we'll figure something out." She placed her hands on his arms, comforted by his support, and managed a small smile.

But her mind was overflowing. How the hell are we supposed to figure it out by morning, she thought.

~

The air was laced with the scent of expensive liquor and cologne as they climbed out of James's truck. Standing before them was a two-story house that seemed like a mansion to them but appeared merely average to one of the rich kids. Eric stumbled out of the front door, lightly buzzed, holding up a bottle and shouting, "the party has ARRIVED!"

Eric had been part of their group since middle school, he wasn't poor, but also wasn't wealthy, he gained a special status as a football team member, which occasionally granted him access behind the velvet rope.

"Damn right," Grayson grinned, taking the bottle from him.

Jessper casually draped her arm around Oz's neck as they made their way into the house. Inside was filled with loud music and chatter—your typical party scene, but with a rich twist. People were in heated make-out sessions, and drugs were scattered across polished marble tables, their crystalline forms glinting under the chandelier lights. In one corner, someone was vomiting into a plant that probably cost more than the tips Oz and James had made all week.