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Stay Soft, 2023
June's a fucking bitch; but that's never been news.
She has had everything handed to her on a silver platter since she was nothing but a clumsy child and yet, even with all that her family dynasty's ever given her, she choses to slum it with the lowlife kids on the south side. Maybe it's a habit; maybe it's a rebellion. Either way, it sure as hell stirs things up on that North Carolinian island claiming to be paradise.
In truth, nothing about it is heavenly and June has experienced that firsthand. At thirteen, she'd sit around the twelve-seat dining room table in the midst of the Coldwell manor, guzzling down freshly squeezed juice, then, as soon as her father's phone rung and he rushed to the kitchen to answer, she'd sneak the leftovers out and offer them to her friends on the Cut. It was a wretched thing; the boys had never seen such a variety on a single plate. By fifteen, she was barely even home anymore. She preferred half-burnt, salty grilled corn and cheap beer anyway.
Then, at sixteen, when both her prends were victim to a tragic accident, she stopped showing up at the Coldwell manor altogether.
It took her a while to go back home and readjusting to the Figure Eight residence after spending months on end in her best friend's ex-fish-shack was excruciatingly slow. But she had sisters, an older one who's been waisting her twenties fighting for their custody, and a younger one—two years—who still has not recovered.
June is seventeen now and it's summer, the last one before senior year. All she can think about is enjoying her last moments of bliss on the island before the school-year rolled around for she planned on escaping its iron-grip as soon as the diploma was in her hands. She's got her friends, her little sister (her relationship with the older is fragile as glass, and she's already shattered it too many times), her father's old collection car and a pass to do whatever the hell she wanted, whenever the hell she wanted it. A treasure hunt's got to fit all the criteria.
