𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 04.

━ 𝗱𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘃𝗮𝗻

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐖 away from me when I hopped off.

The boy, famous for John B, opened the driver's side door of his van. As he stepped out, I lifted my blurry eyes to see a cheeky grin plastered over his face, straight rows of white teeth showing. He was wearing a different button-down shirt, keeping it completely wide open to showcase his chest and stomach. He was much taller than me.

He didn't say anything as he pulled open the door of the van, revealing a somewhat dirty space with no real seats. Without asking, he brushed past me, causing me to step back as our bodies slightly touched. The smell of sea-water wafted through my nose from his scent, and he grabbed both handles of the bike. He placed it carefully down on its side, and turned to me. His hair was blowing in the wind, eyes squinted from the rain.

"Make yourself comfortable, m'lady," He grinned, motioned towards the open door, and then turned away. He ran a hand through his medium-length hair, pushing the wet strands back, and closed his door.

I figured it was my chance to run, to not get abducted by two randoms in a sketchy van, but I couldn't leave Caroline's bike. And, I hated the way it sounded in my head, but the Routledge kid was right. I would've eventually blown away in the wind, or got swallowed by the hurricane.

"On what," I said with a low tone, more to myself than to him and his friend, as I looked at the dirty floor of the van. There was no safe place to sit other than a ripped couch-like seat near the back. Two wet surfboards were leaning on one side of it.

"Dude, we can't just take a rando off the street," John B's friend spoke, trying to whisper so I wouldn't hear, but failing since he had to talk loud over the rain. The drops were pounding on the roof, and I thought they just might break through the ceiling of the rickety van if we stayed in place for too long.

"Relax, Pope," John B mused, with a calm tone of voice. "I know who she is."

I was climbing into the van, my wet sneakers squishing against it's carpet floor. John B watched me through the rear-view mirror, while I closed the heavy door with a bang. Inside, it smelled like soda, sea-water, salt, and a hint of weed. I grimaced, placing my soaking wet bottom on the floor beside Caroline's bike.

"No, you don't know who she is," Pope continued to disagree, still trying to keep quiet, even though I could hear his every word. "I've never seen her, like, ever."

"She's sitting right there, dipshit," John B shifted his eyes to me in the mirror again, causing me to look up. "She can hear you."

"I don't care, bro," his friend said, but it sounded like a shout over the rain. "We don't have time for this, I gotta get home!" he sighed out.

"I agree with your friend," I spoke up, my voice loud. I was looking at John B in the mirror. "Just drop me off here, I'll be fine."

He scoffed.

"See, dude, even the girl agrees," Pope glanced to me for a split second, as I stared at both of them from the back of the van.

"You both," The Routledge kid pressed on the gas, moving the vehicle forward, "have no souls."

The van began to drive against the wind, slowly but surely. I sat quietly, criss-crossed on the soggy carpet from the rain water dripping off my clothes.

"So, what's your real name, Cherry Cola?" John B asked after a moment, shouting loud. The rain was hitting hard on the front window, and the thin rickety wipers didn't perform well, making it hard for him to see. But, I assumed, for some reason, that he knew where we were going.

"I don't feel like having a conversation right now," I rolled my eyes and spoke loud, feeling annoyed, "Especially not with the two teenagers that are practically abducting me in their sketchy van."

"See! She thinks we're fucking abducting her! Pull over right now, John B." Pope yelled, angry. "What if she calls the cops," He leaned in close, whispering alarmingly.

"Yeah, cause there's still cell service, Pope." John B laughed sarcastically. "Would you relax, god—"

Suddenly, sea of dirty water splashed up on the front and sides of the car, almost pushing the whole vehicle on to its side. The Routledge kid gripped the steering wheel tighter, somehow controlling the van.

We stopped for a minute, to let the water drip down the front window.

"Hurry up." Pope swallowed, talking to his friend.

"So what's your name?" John B asked me, again, ignoring the subject.

"It doesn't matter," I howled.

his friend turned around in his seat. "What's in the basket?" He asked, with a casual tone of voice, but still loud. He pointed his finger at the content of oil, jiggling around in the basket of Caroline's bicycle.

I took a second to get a good look at his face. He had darker skin, dark brown eyes, and he wore a green t-shirt that had faint water-stains on it. There was an army green SnapBack hat covering his black hair.

"Oil," I said, as quiet as I could.

"Oil?" He asked, his eyebrows narrowed.

"Yes, oil," I nodded, my eyes wide with an air of sarcasm, "for my grandpa's truck." It felt weird to say 'grandpa' and mean it personally.

"In a container?" Pope asked.

"You went on a bike ride— in the middle of a hurricane," John B spoke before I could answer, as if he was trying to clarify it for himself. He tried to look at me in the mirror, but he had to keep his eyes on the road. "To get oil." He finished, more as a statement rather than a question. "Hate to say it, princess, but that's not a good reason to be out in a hurricane."

"I don't need your input on my decisions, okay. I don't even know you," I rolled my eyes, picking at my shoelaces. "Where were you guys?"

Pope looked to John B, uncertain. John B groaned and kept driving.

"Surfing."

My mouth fell open. "Surfing?"

"Jesus, yes," John B responded, annoyed because he knew it was worse than bike riding. "We were surfing."

"So, wait," I kept my eyes on the back of his head. "You think that me going on a bike ride in the middle of a hurricane is more of a crime than surfing?" I scoffed, while leaning my back against the couch-seat beside the surfboards (speak of the devil), in disbelief.

"You gonna tell us where you live now, or what?" John B seemed to ignore my question, glancing to me in the rear view mirror again.

"Shit," I quickly looked out the window, barely seeing anything. "I — uh, I don't know!"

"You don't know where you live?" Pope quickly turned around in his seat to pin his eyes on me, exclaiming loudly.

I quickly pulled out my phone, that was completely covered in water from being in my back pocket. I clicked on the map Caroline had showed me, but there was no service and it wasn't loading.

"How do you not know where you live," John B shouted, his voice sounding like he were in disbelief. "That's not good," He gripped the steering wheel harder, and leaned forward to see better through the rain. The van wasn't driving very fast.

"I — I just got here, like, yesterday!" I defended myself, now feeling anxious.

"Jesus Christ," John B breathed out, shaking his head once.

"Why would you go on a bike ride if you don't know where anything is!" Pope exclaimed, worried. I figured he was worried because he needed to get home and I was only waisting time, his parents were probably scared to death.

"Don't yell at her, Pope," John B hit his friend on the stomach with the back of his hand. "Who do you live with, Cherry Cola?" He asked, somehow staying calmer than before. I wanted to smack him in the head for still using the stupid nickname.

"Um, my grandparents— Daryl and Caroline Collins, I don't know what street they live on," I looked out the window next to me, my voice wary. "And I can't see anything-"

"Collins— that's the old man that owns that motel off the marsh, right?" John B cut me off, turning his head towards his friend.

"They live on Kingsley street," Pope realized, "My dad gets me to deliver groceries sometimes cause Daryl helps em' with shipments to the motel," he glanced back at me. "Right here, turn right here!"

John B roughly turned the van onto another street, the vehicle sliding on the watery road, the tires screeching loudly. Nearly crashing into a nearby tree, I placed my hand over my chest to calm my breathing. John B picked up the pace as we were no longer driving against the wind.

"Good god— do you know how to drive?" I yelled.

"Holy shit," he whispered, now suddenly slowing down. Him and his friend exchanged glances.

"What?" My voice laced with fear, shouting in a loud tone. I stood up from sitting criss-crossed on the floor, and crouched over between the two front seats. Both boys looked at me, but I simply stared forward at the ginormous fallen tree blocking the road.

"Already?" Pope wiped a hand over his mouth, referring to the damaged that was already done by the hurricane. "This your street?" He asked me, not looking away.

"I think so," I breathed. My ponytail fell over my shoulder and splashed drops of water onto the surface below me.

"Jesus, Cherry Cola," John B glanced down to the mess I made. "You're leaking all over the cup holders!" He exclaimed.

"Please stop calling me that," I said with a sarcastic tone as I removed myself from between the seats. I gripped my hand around the handle of the van door, sliding it open. The wind practically ripped it out of my grasp though, causing the metal door to hit it's end with a loud bang.

"Where are you going?" John B shouted over the rain's loud noise.

"Home, duh," I lightly laughed to myself, meaning it sarcastically. I grabbed both handles of Caroline's bicycle and dragged it out of the van, making sure that the oil wouldn't spill from the basket. I placed both wheels on the ground firmly, tried not to blow away, and closed the van door as John B leaned out his open window. "Thanks for the ride, I guess," I laughed.

"You're gonna climb over that tree?" He asked me, as if I were stupid.

I glanced once towards the tree that was blocking the road, examining its abnormally large trunk. It was huge, all right. But climbing over a tree was better than sitting in the soggy, weed-smelling, dirty brown van with two idiot surfer boys.

"Can't be that hard." I huffed, sending him a strong look.

I was shivering through my socks, sort of wishing that I was back in the van, now that the cold wind had noticed my soaking-wet body.

"Let her leave, John B," Pope shouted over the thumping rain.

I didn't look back, but I just knew that the Routledge kid was staring at me from inside his dirty van, angry that he wasn't getting his way.

I didn't care, as I walked on with Caroline's bike in the pouring rain.

___

John B

"Who even is she, bro?" Pope asked, even though I wasn't listening. "And can you get in the van, please, I have to go home."

The girl, the one who shoved the can of Cherry Cola into my chest the day before, walked away from the van and didn't look back. She was wearing jean shorts, a bright red t-shirt that now clung to her figure from the wetness of the rain, and her dark hair was loosely falling from her ponytail over her shoulders. She walked the bike all the way to the tree, somehow staying on the ground despite the wind blowing in every direction.

As I settled back into my seat, I looked ahead to see her throwing the bicycle to the other side of the large tree trunk, her small body hitting against the tree. She then prepared to climbed over it, rubbing her hands on the back of her shorts. She jumped, landed on the tree, wiggled her way to the other side, and grabbed her bike. She didn't look back as she walked down the street.

"Let's go, John B," Pope complained loudly, nudging my arm in a rough motion.

I didn't say anything more, turning the van around to drive in the opposite direction.

"That was weird," Pope shouted, after a few moments of driving through the wind.

I didn't say anything as I focused on the road.

"So, where do you think she's from," Pope asked, his voice still loud over the rain.

"What do you mean?" I yelled back, so he could hear me. I glanced over to him, only for a second.

"Don't lie and say you've seen that girl before, John B," Pope continued, looking at me dumbly.

I narrowed my eyebrows. "What about it? New people come down all the time in the summer, dude."

"Caroline and Daryl are her grandparents, when have you ever heard them say they have a granddaughter?" He persisted, sounding like he was trying to prove a point. "We'd probably know her by now."

"Maybe," I dragged the word out, shrugging my shoulders, "they just haven't told anyone?"

"Somethin's off about her, man," Pope shook his head.

"She seems completely normal to me," I shrugged my shoulders again, but in a nonchalant way.

"That's because you're like JJ sometimes," he shouted, "Both of you are, like, suddenly all over a girl if she dares to even look at you."

"That is not valid whatsoever," I defended myself, my volume loud. I turned the van onto a different street.

Pope rolled his eyes through my peripheral vision, "It's so valid, and you know it."

"Whatever, bro," I shook my head, focusing my eyes on the blurry road ahead of us.

"I personally think she's a rich girl from, like, Los Angeles," he continued on about what he'd said earlier, putting a hand to his chest as he spoke.

"What makes you think she's a rich girl?" I questioned, my eyebrows knitting together.

"Dude, could you not smell her perfume when she entered the van?" He looked at me as if I were dumb. "It just screamed 'rich girl' to me. No one wears that kind of stuff if they're not packing bills."

"That's a tad weird that you smelled her, Pope," I laughed lightly.

The wind seemed to slow down as we turned onto another street, making it easier to speak and listen.

"I could smell that shit from up here!" He protested, "Your nose is just blocked from all those wipeouts on the waves," he said, placing his arm along the window. "She's definitely a Kook."

"Are you an idiot?" I looked at him.

"What?" He looked to me.

"We're on the cut, Pope," I looked back to the blurry windshield ahead of us. "And we just dropped her off, if you forgot. Man, you're supposed to be smart."

"Okay well— she sure looks like a Kook to me," he corrected himself. "Looks like she could be Sarah Cameron's sister."

"Not at all, bro," I squinted my eyes, letting out a loud laugh.

Pope looked ahead. "Clearly you don't see what I see, which is slightly concerning."

"That's full of shit," I scoffed, still laughing. "I'm seeing perfectly fine."

"How do you even know her?" He asked, sounding like he's been meaning to question that for a while. "And, why do you keep calling her Cherry Cola?" He narrowed his eyes, confused.

"There's kind of a story to it," I replied, both of us still talking loudly. "To both of those things. And she won't tell me her name."

"I still think it's weird that she's Daryl's granddaughter," Pope shook his head. "My dad's been friends with than man for, like, two decades, and Daryl's never mentioned her. I'm pretty sure she would have come down at least one summer," he said.

"You think she's lying to us?" I asked, stopping the van outside of Pope's house.

"She did think we were abducting her, so maybe," He replied. "But I just think it's odd." He gripped the door handle and pushed it open, but the wind ripped it out of his grasp.

"See ya, dude," I watched as he stepped out.

"Peace," Pope looked at me once more before closing the passenger-side door. He didn't bother to grab his surf-board, leaving it in the back of the van, as he ran up his lawn and into his house.

I stopped for a second, thinking about the girl and what Pope had said. Biting the inside of my cheek, I pressed my foot on the gas.

༄

𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 !!