CHAPTER ONE : summer

( pilot , part i )

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     THE BIG SIGN POSTED by the side of the road leading into town tells Summer Mae that the Outer Banks is "Paradise on Earth" and, to be honest, she doesn't disagree. Though, in fairness, it's less because of the location and more because she's somewhere her parents aren't. Here, she can stay out as late as she wants, hang out with whomever she wants, do whatever she wants, and no grown-up can stop her ( except the cops, but she's not breaking laws or anything ).

     For instance, right now she's wandering around Figure Eight — the place where the rich folk, or the Kooks as she's come to find out they're called, live. She doesn't belong here and it's immediately obvious just by looking at her ratty hair, hand-me-down flannel, and the sunburn-peeled skin on top of the tattoo on her left shoulder. She lives in a trailer park in the Cut and the water cut out last night so her only chance of bathing is by cannonballing into the ocean, but that'll hurt the sunburn and won't touch the grease in her hair so, back to square one.

     It's never quiet here — that's a change from her previous life. She'd lived in one of those small, conservative towns all her life, where she'd be lucky to count five cars passing by her house in a day, and the most interesting thing to do besides going to see the annual Christmas nativity play was to go all the way to the outskirts, walk the train tracks, and try not to get hit when the one train a day trundles past. There were thick evergreen trees on every single street, boxing the residents into a permanent world of shade, save for the sun twinkling through the leaves, or in the town square where they'd cruelly chopped those trees down to make the storefronts more visible.

     Not in the Outer Banks. Here, it's like she can't escape the sun. She feels happier here than she did in her seventeen years in Claresboro, North Carolina. She attributes that to an almost certain Vitamin D deficiency. It's like she can feel her bones growing stronger every time she steps outside now.

     This street is a little quieter, though. Save for a brown, beaten-up Volkswagen van — one that definitely does not belong in rich-people territory.

     Inside the van, a blond boy scrabbles forward on his knees to smack the driver's arm. "Hey, hey," he says. He points ahead at where Summer's walking. "Honk the horn!"

     The driver, a dark-skinned boy of the same age, furrows his brows. "I'm not going to honk the horn, that's disrespectful, JJ."

     The blond boy, JJ, sighs. "No, I know her, just—" He gives up and throws himself between the seats, pressing his hand on the horn himself, giving it a few good toot-toots before he falls back.

     Summer looks up as the van flies by, just in time to see JJ waving and gesturing for her to hop in ( as if she physically could jump into a moving vehicle ). She shakes her head and flips him off for good measure, some of her black rubber bracelets sliding an inch or so down from her wrists.

     "You're a bully!" JJ calls. The grin on his face betrays him.

     Summer feigns innocence, hand to her heart. "I am no such thing!" she calls back, managing not to break character until she's but a spot in the rearview mirror.

The rest of the walk back to Dusty's Trailer Park is spent in relative quiet. That is — nobody toot-toots a horn at her for the remainder of her outing. When she gets back to the trailer she calls home, she flicks the lock behind her ( can never be too careful ) and heads straight for the kitchen sink. She lifts the handle and a steady stream of water sprays out. Good, they fixed it.

     She grabs a plastic cup from the cabinet and fills it to the brim with the probably drinkable water, then chugs the whole thing and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, the cup clattering into the sink as she drops it unceremoniously. As she heads for her bedroom, she grabs the remote control for the TV from the kitchen counter, flicking it on to whatever station she was watching last.

     A news reporter's voice rings through the quiet, updating on all the latest in island news. Summer makes sure her curtain is drawn before she strips off her sweaty clothes, changing into a random pair of shorts and a tank. She bunches her previous top up into a ball and wipes her armpits with it before applying a new spritz of deodorant, then pulls her hair up into a ponytail. She'll shower at the end of the day. If she showers now, the humidity will make her need a second one before bedtime anyway.

     She emerges from her room as the report switches to the weather, and she hops over the back of her sofa to watch, fiddling with the remote in her hands. After all, she's only watching the news until she decides if she wants to watch Netflix or HBO. Having the choice of multiple streaming services makes her feel like she's living large in this park — hell, on this side of the island. Her car does too — her baby, her black Chevy Camaro, granted that she paid, like, significantly less than it would've cost back in the day. Thank you to all the shit that was fucked up under the hood.

     "Hurricane Agatha continues its steady march towards Kildare Island on the Outer Banks of North Carolina."

     Well, that's something.

     Summer pauses partway through taking her bracelets off and sits bolt upright. Claresboro is a landlocked town, so they've never had a hurricane. They have had a tornado, and that nearly ripped Summer's house clean off the ground. But, Summer was a reckless, thrill-seeking kid and the walls rattling was less scary and more exhilarating.

     That being said — when she'd heard that people surf hurricane waves, she'd added that to her bucket list.

     Perfectly on cue, the hurricane sirens start blaring, destroying any chance Summer had at a quiet rest-of-the-day. Which ultimately leaves her with one option.

     Go hurricane surfing, obviously.

     She scrambles to her feet and heads back to her bedroom, shoving her bracelets back onto her wrists before stripping off her clothes once more. This time, she changes into a black one-piece bathing suit, then throws her pair of jean shorts from earlier in the day over the top.

     Her surfboard is mounted next to the front ( and only ) door. She pulls it down and rests it against the sofa's back, then parks her ass on the arm of the sofa to wait for the rain.

     Twenty minutes later, the rain starts.

     Twenty-five and her TV's signal starts cutting out and Summer knows it's only a matter of time before the rain really starts beating down.

     Thirty and it's go time.

     Dusty's Trailer Park is right across from the beach. Summer hauls her board up under her arm, unlocks the door, and steps out into the storm. She locks the door behind her, stashes her keys under the steps, and heads off.

     She hadn't bothered to slip on a pair of sandals, so she feels every stone and twig and still-warm piece of asphalt she steps on as she makes her way out of the park, over the road, and through the sparse brush to get to the beach. A sign declaring the beach closed greets her, but what is a sign going to do to stop her? She sidesteps the thing, feeling the sand squish beneath her feet and between her toes.

     Running for the waves, Summer takes a moment to check out her surroundings and discovers that she's not alone. A stone's throw down the beach, a boy with a board is also heading for the water, and a second boy stands further back on the sand. They see her, too, and the one running starts running faster. He wants to be the first to make it to the ocean.

     She lets him. She's quite a bit shorter than him, her legs aren't as long, and she'll only tire herself out if she starts sprinting. She needs the energy for the waves. The boy makes it to the water and throws himself down on his board. Summer slows her roll, interested in watching his attempt. He paddles out a decent distance, jumps to his feet, and immediately wipes out headfirst.

     "Nice one!" she calls, although there's no way he can hear her over the sound of the waves, the sirens, and the rain beating down.

     Her turn. Summer lays down on her board, paddles out around the same distance, and doesn't have to wait long for a wave to come by. She gets to her feet and stays upright a whole five seconds longer than the boy did before the wave throws her right off. There's just enough time for her to draw in a breath before she goes under.

     When Summer surfaces, the boy is within shouting distance. She squeezes her eyes shut against the salt spray and wipes the water from her face with her hand before glancing around. Despite the roiling waters, her board isn't too far away — she'd actually remembered to put on the ankle strap this time.

     "Hey!" the boy shouts.

     "Hey, yourself!" she shouts back. She grabs her board with slippery fingers and hoists herself back onto it.

     The boy lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the water. "Aren't you that new girl?" he asks.

     "Yep!"

     Another wave comes and this time, she and the boy both paddle for it. He sits, legs straddling his board, while Summer gets to her feet once again. The last thing she notices is that he looks distracted, fixated on something in the distance before the wave takes her away.

     Again, she rides it for a good few seconds before the board is ripped away from her. She goes splashing into the turbulent depths without enough time to hold her breath so she scrambles to the surface as fast as she can. There's pressure on her ankle for a moment as the velcro strap rips right off.

     She gets about half a breath in before she feels a sharp sting in the back of her head and her face goes right back into the sea.

     "Oh, shit!" the boy on the shore says. He throws his board to the sand and sprints for the water, diving in as swiftly as he can manage.

     Summer isn't unconscious — far from it, in fact — but her head feels heavy and she's one accidental inhale away from a very expensive hospital trip. It takes all her energy to flip herself onto her back, to spit the mouthful of seawater out and take a breath of oxygen. By the time she's managed it, the second boy has arrived — treading water at her side. He doesn't hesitate, slipping his arm underneath Summer's and dragging her back to shore.

     He takes her halfway up the beach and lays her on her side, manipulating her into the recovery position.

     She flips herself right out of it, laying flat on her back. "I'm fine," she chokes out, reaching out behind her to push herself up into a seated position.

     "Are you sure? Because that looked pretty ba—"

     Summer cuts him off with a cough, but luckily for her, no water comes out. It's dry and scratchy and hurts her throat a little. "I'm fine," she repeats, this time a lot clearer.

     The boy looks conflicted. He had just watched her take a surfboard to the head, after all.

     "My neighbour's a nurse. If I start dying, I'll scream for her."

     That's not exactly how dying works, and Summer knows it, but the boy accepts it after a long moment. "At least let us help you get home?" he requests. He looks over his shoulder at where the other boy has started on the journey back — he even stops to grab the lead of Summer's board to pull it with him. Summer watches him until he reaches the sand.

     She pushes to her feet, taking a moment to make sure she's steady, taking a deep breath to check her lungs and make sure that she's not going to dry drown in her sleep. "Yeah, fine," she says.

     The first boy meets them and passes Summer's board over, still seeming distracted. Summer thanks him as she tucks it under her arm.

     "John B, we're walking her home, 'kay?"

     The surfer, John B, snaps his head to them. "Huh?" He takes an extra second to process, then nods. "Oh, okay."

     Summer furrows her brows. "Your name is Jombie?"

     "John. B. Like the letter," John B repeats, louder and clearer this time.

     "I'm gonna call you Jombie," Summer says with a shrug as she turns away to leave the beach, assuming the boys will follow if they're so determined to walk her home.

     The boy who'd rescued her scurries after her, John B close behind. "Yeah, and I'm Pope. And, you're JJ's friend, right? New girl?"

     Summer looks back over her shoulder. "Yes, that's actually my legal name. New Girl." She cuts through the bushes and emerges on the slippery road, covering her eyes with her hand to get a clearer view of where the gate for the park is. She crosses the road and the boys keep on her heels. "Are you gonna follow me all the way to my trailer, too?"

     Pope's eyes widen. "No, uh, nope. Just, preferably, don't die of a traumatic brain injury."

     "Look, the headache is almost completely gone and, uh." She reaches up to poke the back of her head, it's tender but not unbearably painful. "I don't even think there's brain here, just muscle and skull."

     She doesn't give them a chance to reply before she steps backwards through the gate. "Thank you for saving me, though. See you 'round," she says.

     The boys bid their goodbyes as they turn to head back to John B's place. Summer returns to her trailer, using her board to half cover her head. She stores it on top of a few crates to the side of her trailer, not wanting to drip water all over the floor when she enters, and under the tiny awning at her doorstep, she swipes as much water off her skin as she can. She has to fish her keys out from under the steps, and when she unlocks the door and steps inside, she beelines for her tiny linen closet to grab a towel which she drapes around her shoulders. The closet's bottom shelf has a few buckets, which she grabs and hauls to the bathroom.

The first bucket winds up in the sink. Summer turns on the faucet, praying that the water hasn't already cut out again, and thankfully, it runs. The second bucket goes in the shower and Summer aims the shower head into it and flips that too. The third, she takes to the kitchen sink and does the same. The water bill will be insane, but if she learnt anything from the Claresboro tornado, it's that she needs to store up as much water as she can.

She takes each bucket out once they're full. She keeps one bucket, the largest, in the kitchen. Drinking water will be the most important, after all. The other two stay in the bathroom — Summer perches in front of one with a washcloth and shuts the door behind her.

     Methodically, she dips the cloth into the water, lathers it up with soap, and scrubs away all of the sweat and saltwater. Once she's done, she shuffles down and dunks in her head. It's a lengthy process — trying to shampoo and condition her hair while lying on the floor of a teeny tiny bathroom, but she manages to get it done eventually.

     By the time she's finished, the wind is howling so loud that she can barely hear her own thoughts. Doors rattle on hinges, gates bang shut, and branches rip off trees. The lights flick off and don't turn back on when Summer hits the switch.

     With no other options, Summer heads for the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body. She changes into her pyjamas in the dark, and after throwing her old clothes and swimsuit in the hamper and putting her bracelets on the nightstand, she climbs into bed. Trapped within the confines of her blankets, she wiggles her arms out to braid her hair back from her face and rolls over, ready to let sleep take her.

     It'll be a long night and an even longer day ahead, cleaning up all the damage that Agatha brings with her.

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a/n:
oops i forgot to write one of deez before posting. i was simply too excited to watch the new season lmaooo

i just need to say that i adore summer, and i adore morgan (who you'll meet next chapter). they're like polar opposites so it'll be so fun to write for both of them.

now i must run bc i am in a RUSH atm, love u sm, thank u for reading <3

date published: october 10, 2024
word count: 2.9k