In the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the Pogues, a group of adventurous teens, are on a quest to solve the mystery of their friend John B's father, Big John, who disappeared a few months ago. Their journey leads them to a legendary treasure connect...
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"I need two strawberry smoothies," I hear my uncle Ricky call from the front of the beach shack.
"I'm on it, Rick," I reply, diving into the rush of orders. The beach shack is a cozy, vibrant place, filled with the tangy scent of fruit and the soft hum of the blender. The salty sea breeze wafts through the open windows, mingling with the sweet aroma of freshly blended smoothies. Uncle Ricky, with his tanned, weathered skin and ever-present smile, has become a father figure to me. He's been a guiding light since I was a child. After marrying Aunt Margo, they moved to the OBX to escape the chaos of city life. Ricky owns this little beach shack, while Margo spends her days painting the beautiful coastal landscapes.
"Here we go," I say, handing out the drinks to the customers. Most of them are tourists, or "tourtors" as my friends and I like to call them. Their faces are a mix of sunburned joy and wonder at the beach's charm.
"Thank you, mi sol," Ricky says with a warm smile as the last customer leaves, pleased with their refreshments.
"Oh, look who decided to show up—our star customer," Ricky teases, spotting the blonde guy who just arrived.
"Well, I'm not an actual customer, Rick. I don't actually pay," he replies with a smirk, and Ricky rolls his eyes, returning to his duties.
"Hi, my princess," he says, gazing at me with those familiar, loving eyes.
"What do you want, J?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and crossing my arms.
"What, excuse me, what makes you think I want something?" he defends, but there's a playful glint in his eyes.
"You always want something, J. I've known you since we were four," I retort, leaning in close to his face, making him shift nervously.
"Maybe, just maybe, I would like a kiss from my princess Izzy," he says, his voice soft and earnest. My heart skips a beat, pounding wildly in my chest.
"And a beer?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow. He grins, knowing that's his cue.
"You would never kiss me, right?" he asks, looking up at me with a childlike innocence.
"You have to try harder, J," I say, laughing as I gather my things.
"Izzy, I've been trying since we were ten. Don't you feel sorry for me?" He walks into the shack, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
"Oh, come on, Isa. He's been like this since kindergarten," Ricky adds, chuckling.
"I'm going to hang out with the Pogues, Rick," I say, hugging him goodbye.
"Okay, mija, remember not to be late for dinner. You know how your mom gets," Ricky says, his eyes crinkling with concern. I take J's hand, and we head toward the car.
"Can I sleep at your house tonight, Izzy?" J asks with his puppy eyes as we get into the car.
"Again, J? I mean, I don't have an issue with it, but this has to stop. He can't keep doing this to you," I say, glancing at him with a mix of frustration and sympathy.
