𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘌𝘕𝘛 𝘋𝘈𝘠
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OUTER BANKS was golden - just as Emma's thoughts describe the island she calls home. Not a pale, faded kind of gold. But one that captures the morning sun and its reflection on the sea, the way the mind holds onto memories, or the way photographers frame a moment meant to last forever.

Outer Banks was golden - like the smile of certain people who carry the power to stir the soul of whoever stands before them. It's a reaction that releases dopamine, and when we lack it, we crave it, as if we've forgotten that the world is steeped in injustice as a permanent state. And it's so simple - like the thoughtless motion of reaching out a hand - to grow dependent on that feeling.

Everyone finds this kind of satisfaction from a different source. Perhaps simpler, perhaps more complex - and yet the most common one, which still clings to our lips like graphite stuck in a pencil tip, awkward and unspoken - is the experience we call love.

The process of falling for someone - and not being able to let them go, even as life drags you down separate paths.
How could that emotion be anything other
than the ache of detaching from a formed dependency?

It's the mourning of selfish joy - the chemical high we got to feel for a fleeting time, only to watch it slip away, over and over again, to a place where it becomes unreachable.

It's not the smile itself we miss - but the trivial sense of euphoria it triggered.

And Emma wonders, as she plays with words too often in her notebook,
whether love as a cycle has an ending -
if it does not consume our lives,
but we, in fact, are what gets consumed.

Emma might very well be made of the most breathtaking thoughts a person could ever hear - or even read. As if she sees the world in a way that reflects back places and colors whose existence others have lived in complete unawareness of.

And so, it hardly matters what kind of person she meets - there is an unspoken, almost preprogrammed respect and admiration she receives. Her voice is calm, her vocabulary refined, and her attention so piercingly present that whoever speaks with her can't help but feel undeniably seen - and flattered.

But as occupied as the young woman is with reading others, with noticing what had gone unnoticed, she's barely aware of the effect she has.

Because Emma carries the gift of presence - a confidence wrapped in warmth, a lightness in the way she moves through the world. Yet somewhere inside her, half-awake and half-dreaming, lives another Emma - one who casts shadows taller than the tallest pine, and sometimes, if you truly know her, you'll catch it in her eyes - eyes the color of Earth itself - that even her sunlit skies have known the weight of falling heavens.

It is, after all, inevitable - and undeniable - that changing our surroundings does not immediately change who we are. The door to Emma's past - the one she hoped to close here, with her future - is still slightly ajar.

No longer wide open, no longer trapping her within - but its light still spills through her in déjà-vu moments, feelings crashing over her like celestial bodies, impossible to hold back, no matter how tightly we try to catch them with our bare hands.

That's what she despises most: the belief that happiness has been denied to her - and that she drags the curse behind her like luggage, even in the most heart-filling moments, her thoughts still wander to all the times she was convinced that living in the shadows with moonlight was the closest she'd ever come to sunlight.

She gazes at the reflection of herself in her room, which used to be Big John's archive before she arrived. It was filled with endless research and books about sunken ships - especially the one known as the Royal Merchant.

She and her twin brother had spent a whole week in the dust-covered room, sifting through files and shifting old clutter, until she could shape it into something that felt like her.

The brown-haired girl - sun-kissed strands woven into her hair - had often felt guilty for crashing so suddenly into John B's life, only to be welcomed with such warmth.

It had been anything but a given. Not for Emma, who, for the first time in her life, seemed to have found a sense of home - in her surroundings, in her relationships, in the Outer Banks.

"Hmm, I don't like that," she mutters to herself, placing the short green necklace back in its spot. Instead, she picks up another from her white porcelain dish - a golden chain with a small heart pendant and two white pearls in the center, falling just three fingers below her collarbones.

She runs her fingers across the gold, her thoughts pulled into the undertow of nostalgia - back to the moment her late mother gave it to her.

Their relationship had been complicated. Tragic, unbearably sad - and so she blinks the memory away, just like the tears that begin to rise with it.
Will pain ever fade when it sits so deep, so far beyond where healing can reach?, she wonders.

With a quiet sigh, Emma adjusts the white summer dress on her body, fingers tugging slightly at the hem as she glances at the V neckline - how the thin straps rest perfectly on her shoulders, how her defined arm muscles stand out. Not bulky, just shaping her slender arms. She mostly trains her core and legs anyway.

"Wow."
The sound catches her off guard. She turns, finding John B leaning against the doorframe, his eyes lingering. Almost at the same time, a quiet fear rises in him - that he could lose her. That just as suddenly as she had come into his life, she could disappear again.
And he'd be left behind. Alone, again.

"Does this look okay?" she asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice, standing a little awkwardly as she studies herself from different angles in the mirror.

"Yeah, it looks really good," he says. "Like ... really good."

A smile spreads across her lips. "Thanks, Johnny."

It's admirable, really - how effortlessly John B can make her feel loved.
Something her mother never quite managed - at least not in a way that lasted.

She runs her hand over the dress one last time, finishes her silent verdict on the outfit, and makes her way past her brother.

"I need to hurry if I want to get to Figure Eight in time," she explains. "Can I take Twinkie?"

John B follows her down the short hallway, stopping near the couch - where his best friend since third grade, JJ, lies fast asleep on his stomach. His mouth slightly open, the pendant on his chain twisted behind his neck.

"We'll drive you," John B says, giving his friend a light tap. It draws out a sleepy mumble from the blonde surfer boy.

"Five more minutes."

John B sighs in growing impatience.
"No, we don't have five minutes. Emma's gonna be late."

At the mention of John B's sister's name, JJ lifts his head - and his eyes linger on her a moment too long.

Emma, trying to keep her nerves at bay, raises an eyebrow at him in mock challenge.
The little job she's got on Figure Eight in half an hour isn't anything out of the ordinary.
But lately, her name's been passed around more than just a few times. Wherever she goes now, people know who she is - whether it's in Figure Eight or The Cut.

She's no longer just the DJ for the Pogues.
Now, older Kooks hire her too - and they pay her a hell of a lot more.

It means she can finally keep the fridge stocked and help cover her part of living there.

That's why it matters so much.

She holds JJ's gaze for a beat longer, absentmindedly touching her lips as her thoughts flick through the gear she'll need.
Then, like stung by a bee, she grabs her black headphones from the round kitchen table and slides them gracefully around her neck. She pockets her phone, folds down the stand from her mixing board, and quickly slips into her short cowboy boots.

Finally, she tucks the expensive piece of equipment carefully under her arm.
"I'm not waiting another second, boys," she states firmly.

With one last glance, she makes sure she's grabbed all the cables and, as loaded down as she is, carries everything toward the Twinkie.

JJ rubbed his tired eyes and sat up straighter, watching Emma as she walked away. When he saw her struggling a bit with her gear, he took the offered hand from his friend to pull himself up.
"I'll help her," he said.

"Yeah." John B had known for a while what his friend felt for his twin sister - how drawn he was to her, how his smile would come alive just when she spoke, how being around her seemed to calm his own chaos.

But John B never said it out loud, always leaving some space around the topic. Just like none of the others did.

JJ's abandonment issues kind of always got in the way, and he hated his dad for having to deal with that even more - like a kid who'd lost so much, he was far beyond his own age and everyone else's in terms of emotional development. So he never reached out to her in the past year.

"Don't stare, bro," John B said casually, giving JJ a quick pat on the shoulder.
"You know she's my sister."

JJ grinned back and caught up with Emma, who was fiddling with the trunk.
"Where are you Djing? ", the blond asked, running a hand lightly through his hair. Their eyes met for a moment.

Emma made space for him, unusually, and let him stash her board.
"Be careful, please."

"I'm always careful, princess." His voice was flirty, which made Emma roll her eyes but she couldn't help a shy smile.

"Next to the Country Club - that event hall you can rent," she answered his question.

JJ stopped moving and turned to her with a more serious expression.
"Figure 8?"

"The fucking rich side of the island," she said with a proud giggle. "I can't believe it myself."

"And I'm not invited?" JJ asked, slamming the trunk shut after loading the Pioneer controller.

"And scare all the grown-up kooks away - no," she snapped, nervously brushing her hands along the hem of her dress.

JJ wasn't about to let the moment slip by.
"You know I can behave really mature."

Emma shook her head firmly.
"And flirt with all the grannies?" she teased, making a mock tragic face.
"No, JJ, let me earn my money - don't distract me."

Suddenly, his joking mood shifted - her words almost made his heart skip a beat or two.
"I distract you?"

Emma froze for a moment, caught off guard.
Lately, conversations like this had become more frequent. She was the kind of person who always valued honesty and preferred to talk things out face-to-face.
But the line between friend and more-than-friend should never blur so much that in the end, you're left with neither.

A heaviness settled over her, making her look downcast - far more than she ever wanted to show.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said quietly.

But before the blond could respond, he only clenched his jaw slightly, and she watched the way the muscle there tightened - a detail she noticed all too clearly - right before her twin brother cut in.

"Yeah, sure," she heard him reply, and the coldness in his voice built walls she had never meant to raise. It reminded her exactly why she tried not to respond too openly to his flirting.

John B twirled the car keys loosely between his fingers, a silent cue for them to get moving. But he noticed JJ's stare - steady, unmoving - fixed on Emma. And what stood out the most this time was the absence of a smile on his face.

Emma could see it - that fragile mixture of denial and something so deeply personal in his eyes it made the tension between them feel almost unbearable. And far too real to ignore.

She climbed into the front seat beside her brother. Her thoughts were so scattered, her gaze dropped to her fingernails, painted a dark navy blue - staring blankly, as if they might anchor her mind.
It was hard to bring good energy when your own reflection didn't look anything like it.

The drive was quiet in the best way tho. Peaceful.
And in her mind, Emma pushed away the clouds that still hung in the corners of her thoughts.
She tried to remind herself how much she loved playing music - and how good it felt to give something back to her brother, even if it meant trying to patch holes she hadn't torn,
but still felt guilty for, as if she had.

"I'll walk from here."
Emma placed her hand gently on her brother's resting on the steering wheel.
There were maybe a hundred feet left to walk to the venue.
She reached back, offering JJ a soft goodbye squeeze of her hand.

"Alright," JJ shrugged in agreement.
"Just let us know when to come get you."

"I will. Promise," she said softly.

John B waited to drive off until she had fully unloaded her gear.

"Got it."

"Alright," he nodded.

Emma smiled as she tucked her equipment under her right arm and crossed the street.
Her brother honked the horn once more when she turned back to wave - but instead of waving, she jumped, startled.

Her heart skipped hard against her ribs
as she caught the boys laughing inside the car,
JJ halfway over the center console, trying to climb into the passenger seat.

Twinkie vanished quicker than thought around the last corner of the block -
and for a moment, the silence that followed felt frightening.
She was on her own now.
Truly alone.
But more than that, she felt the familiar spark:
the thrill of doing what set her soul alight - to express herself artistically, to entertain through music without the need for many words. The money, she often thought, was just the golden bonus on top.

The venue was huge.

Everything was dressed in elegant yet simple tones: cream white, gold, navy.
A brightly lit house stood at the center, with a wide terrace that opened into a garden stretching on for what felt like miles.

Round cocktail tables were scattered across the lawn, balancing tall champagne glasses like ornaments.
Emma carefully opened the white garden gate, fumbling slightly longer than necessary with her left hand before finally slipping through.

Almost imperceptibly, she was noticed - by Ms. Archibald herself.
The woman behind this entire high-society event.

She was head of the Country Club, the island's best golf player, and perfectly connected with the richest families on the island: the Sinclairs, the Prescotts, the Valmonts -
and most notably, the Camerons, of whom Emma had heard the most since arriving.
She just hadn't ever actually seen them.

Emma got along surprisingly well with Ms. Archibald. She still remembered how the woman had first approached her in a small bar, and never once made her feel lesser -
nothing like how other Pogues described their run-ins with the Kooks.

That night, Emma had stepped in to handle karaoke when the tech broke down.
The place had been nearly empty at first.
But once she started playing, the video of her spread quickly on social media.
Ms. Archibald, caught in a sudden drizzle while walking her two retrievers, had taken shelter nearby and just happened to hear her. And that's how Emma ended up here tonight.

Ms. Archibald wore her long golden-blonde hair in a tight ponytail, which only made her pearl earrings gleam brighter in the garden lights.

"Welcome, Ms. Routledge," she greeted warmly. "Come in."
She smiled at the tall girl with surprising sincerity. "Forgive me - I've been so swallowed up in stress, I almost lost track of time!"

Emma allowed herself to comment on what was offered and let her gaze wander over the decorated outdoor area.
"Then it looks more than successful, Ms. Archibald."

She smiled gratefully and led the tall girl inside. "The guests should arrive in about five minutes. Is that enough time for you, or should I stall them a bit?" With the latter, she gave her a small wink and stopped in front of a room just right of the terrace door.

"I won't take long," Emma promised politely and set down her gear to briefly get an overview-inside and out.

She'd be DJing outside for the most part-unless an unexpected rain shower surprised them, though she wasn't really expecting one.

So she grabbed the nearest spot on the veranda and began to set up her equipment, keeping close to an outlet. After a quick check that everything was running, her setup in front of her was complete: a mixing console, two turntables, and a laptop blinking open, ready to reveal its curated music library. Cables coiled across the table, and the oversized headphones rested around her neck.

Her playlist had been carefully tailored to match the atmosphere of the evening-Kook elegance at its finest. Nothing loud. Nothing that screamed party. Instead, Emma had prepared a selection of mixtapes: a seamless fusion of classical, jazz, and subtle modern vibes like Rose Rouge-soft beats with just enough pulse.

She started the first song at the exact moment she heard the mass of guests arriving. Within half a minute, the garden was full, prompting Emma to gently turn the volume up.
There wasn't much time to observe who exactly had arrived-otherwise, she'd risk missing her transitions and timing. Still, she was curious. Very curious.

The first hour of her set passed in what felt like seconds. A quarter of her playlist had already been played, and in the few moments she allowed herself to look up from the turntables, she caught glimpses of satisfied faces sipping from champagne flutes, straightening Ralph Lauren or Prada ties, and women in silk dresses that shimmered in the breeze.

But her soft daydreaming was soon interrupted.

Someone around her age, dressed in a cream-colored suit, was trying to say something to her. Embarrassed, she lowered the volume a bit and met his dark eyes.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"You-uh-you play really well."
The blond-tinted Kook gestured towards her mixing console with an unsure hand.

"Oh, thank you."

For a brief moment, their eyes held. And by the stiffness in his posture, Emma quickly gathered-
That wasn't all he wanted to say.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked, puzzled, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit. By now, a friend had joined him-dark-skinned, similar build, but noticeably less irritating to Emma.

"You tell me," she replied politely, nodding briefly at the other boy in greeting before turning her body slightly, signaling that she had work to do.

"I'm Topper Thornton," he introduced himself with a confident gesture toward his chest. "And yes-now I remember." A graceful smile spread across his face. "You're kind of a star on the Cut. And as I can see, they weren't lying. Though, Pogues lie all the time."

The charm in Mr. Thornton's voice didn't escape her. It sounded like a cashmere coat trying to wrap around her and lull her into comfort.

But Emma preferred to remain professional-she let his smoothness bounce off her like rain on glass, adjusting the turntables and shifting a few bass levels.

She could practically see how hard he was trying to swallow down his contempt for Pogues.

The two boys seemed to be in quiet agreement about something, nodding stiffly at one another before Topper patted his friend's shoulder-Emma caught it all from the corner of her eye.

Focused, she shifted the low-pass filter with her right hand and adjusted the treble with the other. Her distrust toward the two Kooks her age ran too deep to let herself be pulled into whatever game they were playing.

"Look, there's a party this weekend," Topper began again, clearly waiting for her to acknowledge him.

Emma stayed locked in on her work, which only seemed to throw him off more.

He felt kept in check by her sharp and stubborn manner, as if he had to tread carefully and show genuine respect just to earn a sliver of her attention.

"Uhm-a friend..." He turned slightly, getting a confident nod from his buddy before continuing. "A friend of mine's throwing it. We think ... you should play there."

That finally got the Pogue Princess's attention.

Her sea-glass eyes fixed on their faces, scanning for honesty-looking straight through Topper Thornton's polished coolness, who likely hadn't genuinely smiled in years.

"Listen, Topper Thornton-since you felt the need to introduce yourself like that-do you think my time is just lying around, waiting to be picked up?"

He blinked twice, trying to read if she was serious or just giving him attitude.
How could she make him feel like she knew him-knew every dusty cruelty he'd ever committed-like they had history, and she hadn't forgotten any of it?

"No-no, of course not," he rushed out, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. "We'll pay you a fair rate. Kook standards."

Emma rose slowly from her spot behind the board and stepped forward, letting one of her pre-recorded mixes play so the music wouldn't need tending.
Because clearly, Topper Thornton was making her a big offer.

He didn't step back as she stood before him, but his nervousness made it clear how uncomfortable it was for him that she was eye-level with him in her flat boots.

He had never met her before-the Pogue Princess, as her title went.

So he hadn't realized how unassumingly tall she was for a woman, but above all, how flawlessly mesmerizing.

Yes, he was hopelessly in love with Sarah Cameron, but a face adorned with such rare qualities didn't leave one untouched-or able to walk away without comment.

"Since the weekend is already the day after tomorrow, I want two hundred dollars extra," she said, elegantly tucking her hair behind both ears.

"Two hundred?"

"Are you too broke for that, Thornton?" Emma's sarcasm seemed to rile Topper, which pleased her.

She made it clear again with a sly grin: "Just a joke, boy. Give me your number, I'll call you for the address on Saturday."

She smiled warmly and held out her phone with a blank notes page. He wouldn't need her number, and she didn't want him to have it-something she never mentioned.

"Alright," she said, slipping her phone away and looking from one boy to the other.
"If you'll excuse me now ..."

Topper made way for Emma to disappear inside.
"Sure, sure. Let's go, Kelce."
Kelce-apparently the other kook's name-didn't hesitate to enthusiastically shake Topper's hand.
"Dude!" He barely managed to hold back what he wanted to say. "This is gonna be legendary-"

Emma didn't catch the rest. She didn't care either; she just wanted a moment alone. She needed to remember who she was and the shifting reasons she worked for money. Because enjoying this on the Cut felt almost like a crime.

As she pushed open the door with its gilded handle, she noticed a blonde girl crouching on the floor.
"You okay?"
The girl nodded.

Then Emma followed up with another question.
"What did you flee from?"

The blonde girl with a slightly round face bit her bottom lip, her head resting in her hands, long hair falling sideways in that posture. Beside her stood a half-empty glass of sparkling wine.
"You mean who ... my boyfriend. You?"

Emma nodded slightly, lips pressed together, before giving a shy grin.
"The one with the fake blonde hair and the stuck-up face?"

A faint look of confusion crossed the girl's face.
"Yeah." Then she grinned back.

When the smile faded, Emma answered her own question.
"I needed some time for myself. Besides, I'm just here for the music."

The blonde girl gestured beside her. Grateful for the invitation, Emma sat down and let the conversation flow without much thought.

"Oh, you're the Pogue princess, right? I've heard about you and those fancy parties on the Cut."

Emma nodded hesitantly in confirmation. She always found it remarkable how much of a topic she was, even on the rich side of the island.

"What's your name?"

The blonde girl laughed as she deliberately, slightly tipsy, held out her hand to Emma.
"Sarah, also known as the Kook Princess."

Emma couldn't believe her ears.
"What?"

Both grinned at the coincidence of their titles before bursting into laughter-the kind only best friends share.

It took a moment for them to calm down.
"There's just no way," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I know, it's so cool," Sarah agreed.
"By the way, you're insanely beautiful, girl."

The flattering compliment blossomed into a rosy blush on Emma's cheeks.
"I think you're way too pretty for Topper, too," she replied sharply.

"You've met him?"

"His annoying ass face, even talking to me." Emma rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Sarah laughed way too much, which made Emma happy. After all, the Kook Princess had seemed far too unhappy before.

"No, sorry. He was actually quite friendly," Emma corrected herself.
"He said I should come to this party on the weekend and DJ there."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she gently pressed her hand against Emma's.
"Oh, you absolutely have to do that!" she insisted.

"I'll think about it," she smiled. "Promise."

Emma stood up, smiling, and briefly glanced at the mirror.
"I have to get back to work now. It was an honor, Kook Princess."

Sarah smiled, clutching her glass of sparkling wine in her left hand.
"The honor was all mine, Pogue Princess."

After meeting Sarah, Emma's work time flew by. She called her brother to let him know he could come pick her up.

Ms. Archibald was just standing at the gate, saying goodbye to guests as Emma shut down her laptop and began to pack up.

Somewhat exhausted, the grown woman joined her and opened her wallet, which bore the golden logo of the luxury brand Yves Saint Laurent.
"This is what we agreed on," she said, handing Emma a fifty-dollar bill, "and this is because I heard how much everyone loved your music."
Then Emma was handed another fifty-dollar bill.

Blinking, Emma was about to refuse when Ms. Archibald already put her wallet away.
"You're truly talented and you helped me a lot. Please take it."

"Okay." Emma hesitated, the tickling guilt in the back of her mind stirring as her mother's voice echoed, saying she loved her because at least she was spending money on her. But they never spent time together.

"Thank you very much, Ms. Archibald."
Emma would have loved to hug the woman but dared not, intimidated by her usual Kook elegance. Besides, she didn't want to give the impression that she was only happy because of the money. Because she wasn't. She was grateful for the great opportunity that might have opened up today.

Suddenly, two sharp honks sounded outside. Ms. Archibald turned around, surprised.
"Who could that be?"

Emma quickly packed her laptop into her bag and tucked the long board under her arm as best she could.
"That must be my ride," she said, laughing softly.

As polite as ever, Ms. Archibald accompanied her to the garden gate, holding it open for her to pass barrier-free. At the same moment, JJ slid open the door so she could load up immediately.

"M'Lady," he quipped.

"Thank you very much, JJ."
Emma wiped the gentle sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

Ms. Archibald waved goodbye before disappearing into the event house, phone pressed to her ear. There was surely plenty left to clean up.

No sooner had the three driven off than the blond boy made the comment Emma had been waiting for.
"She's pretty hot. I bet her husband's a lucky man."

JJ shrugged at his friend's look.
"Just saying."

But the Routledge twins had already whispered and grinned about their friend's comment.
"I have eyes," JJ protested, but Emma just smiled lovingly at him.

She loved everything about living here-most of all, the people she'd gained along the way.

Outer Banks was golden-not only because of its summery landscapes and warm sand but mostly because of the gold her friend and brother each held in their hearts.

Still, she decided to keep her conversation with Topper Thornton to herself. She'd save the money and surprise them once she had it all together.

Until then, she just had to figure out how to evade the curious cameras at Figure 8 and avoid being approached about her DJ gigs outside of parties ...

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