iv.
Are You Satisfied?
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JJ Maybank was a lot of things, but a liar wasn't one of them. So, just like he promised, he was gone before Blair could even think about stirring awake the next day.
Which meant she woke up to an empty, cold bed with a messy note left where his body previously was, one that read ARE YOU SATISFIED? in all caps in his God-awful messy handwriting because he knew she never could really read it whenever he wrote in lowercase. It was crumbled and scrubbed and it nearly slid on the floor when she rolled onto the empty space. And, to answer the question: yes, she was. She was satisfied, and it was visible on her face as she took another shower in the morning to get rid of his lemon-mint surf-wax and booze scent before making her way down to where the rest of the Cameron bunch (excluding Rafe) were having brunch on the patio.
She pinned her hair back behind her head and he grabbed a jug of freshly-pressed orange juice from the counter, then made her way outside with a wide smile to meet up with the rest. It was the life she craved, the perfect one, and she wasn't going to let a Pogue of all people ruin it because both couldn't keep their hands to themselves.
One day, she knew she'll cross the line for all things doll-like and perfect. She'll leave her skin at the edge of the world if meant she'll die the girl she was now. Or, at least, those were all the things she told herself in the morning to justify being such a bad person. That she was born into it. That she was born for it. That the Cameron smile is the gateway to all things shady and she was mounting a very, very slippery slope.
But that day wasn't today, she prayed, washing her hands with rose soap so her fingertips wouldn't smell of cigarette-ash when she sat down with her father and sisters, then grabbing a pair of Prada sunglasses on her way out. They were tossed on the counter very pretentiously. She knew they were Rose's.
Ward was the first one to look at the screen door at it slid open, smiling widely at the sight of his daughter. "Blair! I was thinking of sending the crane up to your room to wake you," he laughed, to which she chuckled a little bit. He pulled the empty chair besides him back and gestured for her to take a seat, which she did after wrapped her arms around Sarah from behind and pressing a kiss to the top of Wheezie's head. "Slept well after the party?"
Sarah nearly spat out her juice and Blair choked on her own saliva as she thumped into the chair, smiling falsely. "What party? I have, like, no idea what you're talking about."
"I might be old, girls," he laughed, glancing between Sarah and Blair, "but I'm not dumb."
"You went to a party without me?" Wheezie's jaw dropped and Blair almost believed she was actually offended. If she wasn't thirteen with a thirst for social media, then maybe she'd actually find solace in those things. "Totally unfair!"
Rose laughed almost nervously and slid a crepe off the pile and onto Blair's plate. The girl smiled at her thankfully, though she didn't particularly like her. "How about we steer away from the party talk, okay?" she told the girls and placed the plate back in the middle of the table.
"Gladly," Blair mumbled into the brim of her glass.
"So, uh, is everything arranged for Midsummers?" Sarah asked and scooped some fruit salad into her place. She placed the peaches onto Blair's plate and said girl removed the blueberries from her own and placed them on her sister's. Truth was, they both grew out of hating the fruits, but swiping them was a habit they couldn't shake.
"Just a couple tweaks left," Ward nodded and poured himself a glass of cold juice. "You're going with Topper, right? And, Blair, with Sage?"
"Actually, I was thinking of going solo," Blair leaned back in her seat and shrugged. There was a tied cherry stem in her plate with glossy lipstick on the edge. "Sage just kinda isn't my thing lately," she shot a glance at Sarah, who knew damn-well why.
Wheezie shot up in her seat excitedly. "Oh, can you come with me? We can go as sister-dates!" She drummed on the table.
"Hell yeah!" Blair exclaimed and wrapped her arms around Wheezie's shoulders as she jumped from her seat. The girl giggled like a little girl (which she was, but Blair often forgot) and nodded happily. "Hey, Sarah?" the girl called, catching her slightly older sister's attention. "Can you grab the SeaVee's keys from the Druthers? I need to get something from my room."
"Yeah, sure," Sarah nodded and leaned forward in her seat. "They're on the table, right? Inside?" she asked. Blair nodded in agreement and ran a hand through her hair.
"Where are you going?" Ward asked, squinting from the sun as he looked up at her.
"I'm just gonna go 'round the marsh. Haven't been alone in a little while and I kinda need my alone time," she smiled. Truth? She had the crumbled post-it in her pocket and the coordinates typed into the GPS on her phone and she was ready to find out wherever the hell it led to. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah, of course," Ward nodded and smiled.
"Thanks," she kissed his cheek and ruffled Wheezie's hair, to which she yelled defensively and tried to push her off, before vanishing inside with a glass of orange juice still in hand.
She placed it in the sink and drowned it with tap water, then washed her hands with it and dried them with the cloth hung above the counter. Blair reached for the highest shelf in the corner cabinet and pulled out a box of cereal that was a little too light in her hand. There was a pack of Gauloises inside, she knew Rafe left it for her in the morning because they always traded things in that God-forsaken cereal box (cigarettes, letters, snacks they hid from the others when they were younger . . .).
Blair shoved it in the back pocket of her pale denim shorts, and a lighter was tucked in the other one. She adjusted her pink-silk halter top joint by the middle with a heart-shaped ring. Her hair was sticky at the nape of her neck. God, post-hurricane weather was always so horrifying. She grabbed a bottle of rose lemonade and fiddled around with it as Sarah slid the screen door open, then closed it behind her.
"Your keys," Sarah tossed her to them with a smile, but there was an odd look on her face as she kept glancing between the Druthers and her sister. "Hey, something weird just happened on the boat," she started.
"Did you get quick seasick again? Because I told you a million times not to get on a boat while chewing on something," Blair shook her head and propped the bottle open with her ring.
"No, no, not that," Sarah frowned, putting the theory to bed. She leaned against the counter and took a swing of the lemonade Blair offered. "John B was on the boat. He said he was gonna go top off the scuba tanks. But it's, like, right after a hurricane so I don't know why we'd even use them."
Blair raised a brow suspiciously. "Huh," she muttered. Odd, since there was no power for him to top off the tanks. But she kept that information to herself. "I'll keep an eye out for the scuba thief," she said and patted her sister's arm.
"Okay, he's not a thief," Sarah defended. Then paused. "You can't be sure."
"Remember me when you find them back in the closet, empty, in a couple days," Blair shrugged and held her hand up as a wave, before pulling the screen door open again.
She waved at her father on her way past where they were cleaning up the patio table and her pristine white converses thumped over the brand new wood of the dock. Her boat was on the end, latched right besides the Druthers and she jumped on it swiftly before jamming the key into the ignition and driving away from the Cameron Estate.
As the boat cut through the marsh, Blair swiped through MARINA's Electra Heart album and pressed on her favorite song of them all, Bubblegum Bitch. It echoed across and skimmed like a ricocheting rock and she had a phone charm Sarah made her that tinkled as she set her phone on the dashboard with the post-it's coordinates typed into the GPS. She knew just how dangerous it could be for her to show up on the small island off the coast, the theories were swarming like bees and she came to the conclusion that the tornado it created would rip the bow off her brand-new boat and throw it right into the water.
Blair made herself promise not to go too far inside when the her boat finally washed to shore. She held her breath . . . then jumped off.
The sand was odd; wet. Like the hurricane had hit here the most and was left sticking to the soles of her shoes where the sea bent and broke to kiss the shoreline. She scanned the island, finding nothing but sand and trees melting into the horizon. Why did Scooter Grubbs have that island in his back pocket? It was his, she was sure of it now. None of the Cameron went exploring for the hell of it and the wet, then dried post-it didn't hold any handwriting she knew.
And so she scanned the sand, her music having dimmed considerably until she turned it off as she made her way onto the island. It was inhabited, too small to be. Where the sand finally dried into small, askew dunes, she found herself struggling to stay upright as she climbed onto the highest one. There was a little manmade shelter in the distance, like a bunch of thick branches piled on one another. She began walking towards it, frowning in curiosity, but then tripped over something in the sand and tumbled all the way to the bottom of the dune.
Eyes wide, she scrambled away from a crab buried in the sand. "Fuck!" she yelled, looking around for the cigarette that pack that fell out her pocket. She ruffled the sand with her reluctant, perfectly-manicured hands until she caught sight of the matte blue and picked it up with a sight of relief. But something was shining next to it. "What the . . . "
It was a flask. The kind rich men carry where they should put their handkerchief and pour in their coffee in the morning before going off to cheat on their wives or hunk at some teenagers on the road. It was just silver, but the metal was oxidized and has started to look at little like orange on the cap. She grabbed it and wiped the sticky sand off it, holding it up to the sunlight just in case an engraving would let the light through. A name, hopefully. But all she got was a huge load of nothing. Absolutely nada.
It was about the size of her palm, just a little bigger. Hell, her cigarette pack could hold more volume. She knew just exactly the kind of men who would hide vodka or bourbon in it, and Scooter was in no way one of those people. This couldn't have been his. Maybe he was looking for it, she thought. Why would he go all the way there for a flask? What was so special about it? She frowned and grabbed her the colorful-silk bandanna from around her neck, wrapped it in it delicately, then jumped to her feet. She nearly slid off again, but held onto the pack of cigarettes as though to fill the empty space where her muscles curved around themselves.
She looked around one last time. "Nothing else." And so Blair carefully made her way back to the boat and drove away from the mystery island with the flask still wrapped in silk on the dashboard, right besides her phone playing a Between Friends song she couldn't recognize over the storm of her thoughts.
Blair Cameron went to a deserted island. And she found . . . a flask? The absurdity of it all almost offended her.
And just as if the universe was trying to toy with her, on her way back to known territory, she finds an old boat she absolutely could not stand just a couple meters ahead. The HMS Pogue, as whoever brought it before the Cold War dubbed it. She was sure it was seven times older then her, that old piece of chipping wood that floated when it really should sink to the bottom of the ocean and stay there. They caught sight of her just a second after she saw them, and she recognized John B on the port shrugging off the scuba gear he was supposed to top off.
She would've left there if she hadn't seen the boat.
But there it was, looking down just a little bit, the dark silhouette of a white boat buried deep under the tide. Blair brought her own to a half and ran to the bow, eyes wide, music punched off in surprise. And she looked down at it. And again. For hours, it seemed, because she heard her father talking about how half the island was looking for Scooter Grubbs' boat after it toppled over after the storm and she was standing right above it. With the Pogues on their mascot boat right besides her.
Kiara Carrera walked up to the boy of her own boat and her jaw fell at the sight of the girl. "What the fuck? Blair Cameron?"
Blair looked up, still shocked. "That's the Grady-White! That's the boat everyone's looking for!" she exclaimed, laughing incredulously. She didn't know where to look between the boat and the Pogues and her hands were trembling just a little because of it. But then she looked up and her face fell, eyes meeting John B's. "And that's . . . my tank."
"What? No," John B scoffed, shaking his head defensively as he kicked it to the side. She just stared at him confusedly and he shared panicked glances with the rest of them, the duffel bag hidden behind the Heyward boy's feet.
"I have a sun sticker on mine so nobody else ever uses it," Blair titled her head to the side and made a face. "And you just did." Then her eyes widened. "Oh God, you dove to the boat, didn't you? You went into the cargo load?"
JJ clenched his jaw and then stepped up to the bow besides Kie. "That's none of your fucking business, okay? So how 'bout you take that fancy boat of yours and get the fuck out."
"What did you find?" she ignored him.
The Maybank boy laughed loudly and slapped his hands all over this body. "Hello! Did I turn invisible all of a sudden?"
"Do I look like I give a shit? Fuckin' unbelievable," Blair snapped, shaking her head. She looked down at the boat again and stepped dangerously close to the edge of the bow. So much one wrong move would sent her off. At least, she was a good swimmer.
"Don't get that close, you'll fall off." JJ clearly didn't get the memo. She made a face as if asking why do you care? and he swallowed his tongue in record time.
"This is pathetic. Just tell me─"
"Hey, guys?" Kie interrupted her absentmindedly, and Blair glanced to her, about to say something until her eyes followed her panicked line of vision and her face contorted in confusion. "Guys, bogey, two o'clock," she said.
"Do you guys recognize that boat?" Pope frowned. Blair stepped off the bow and squinted to get a better look.
Kiara shook her head. "I've never seen it."
JJ shot the boat a glance, then Blair. "Let's not stick around and find out," he spoke with a rasp in his voice because of just how angry he was that she showed up.
"They look violent," Blair pointed out. She stepped away in almost fear and her boat dipped as she did so. "No, seriously, they're . . ."
"Blair, get on the boat," JJ mumbled. All eyes snapped to him as John B moved behind the dashboard and the girl almost looked at him in horror, terrified at the prospect of having to climb aboard that floating tuna-box. "Get on the fucking boat," he repeated, stronger. "These guys do not look friendly. Wanna die?"
She shook her head. "I'm not getting on the boat."
He slammed his hands against the dashboard. "Get on the damn boat!" Her breath hitched in her throat at the urgency in her voice. She rounded the boat, grabbed the silk-wrapped flask and her pack of cigarettes then took Pope's extended hand and jumped onto the HMS. "You seriously went back for the cigarettes?" his eyes widened, scandalized.
"JJ, shut up and get the bowline," John B spoke over him. The blonde boy lingered next to Blair for a second, then rushed to the other side of the boat. She was holding onto Pope's shirt and looking at the ground in horror, but the Heyward boy was too busy paying attention to the men in the distance. "Get the stern," he added, "go!"
"I better not die on that goddamn boat with you," Blair buried her hands through her hair and paced around the boat, clearly just as panicked as the rest of them, if not more.
"Are you joking? Can't you be any more grateful?" Kie scoffed, shaking her head. It wasn't that she hated Blair . . . but she pretty much couldn't stand her because of her sister. But she understood it though, why they invited her onto that boat. These mean really did seem like the type to hurt people with no remorse.
"They're gonna rob my goddamn boat!" Blair exclaimed.
Kiara rolled her eyes. "JJ, hurry up."
"Guys, don't wait for me," JJ said, hunched over the bow to try and pull out the bowline. He was clearly struggling to do it fast, all while running all the possibilities trough his brain.
"Pull out the stern," Pope rushed the boy. Blair couldn't help hit grimace at the sight of her boat just there, knowing it would no doubt get robbed by the men approaching a little too fast for her liking.
Then she frowned and absentmindedly walked closer to JJ. "They're following us," she mumbled. "Guys . . . I think they're following us."
"Are they coming for us?" JJ frowned, going back to her once he pulled the stern. He didn't know why, he just did. Like there was a magnet where his flesh was and he couldn't get away from her to save his life.
"Maybe they're finishing."
"And maybe I'm a unicorn," Blair hissed and shook her head. Her jaw was clenched, anger coursing through her blood. "Go through the marsh. Go, Routledge!"
"Cameron, I'm going!" he hissed and steered them away from her own boat and the one they followed. She knew they were screwed when the boat sped up to catch up with them. "Act natural," he tried, looking back only to find that they were, in fact, following them.
"Hey, guys, they're following us," Kiara spoke what they all just found out, and Blair shut her eyes in urgency.
"This can't be good," Pope urgently added.
"I'm gonna die on this boat," Blair held her breath and pressed her palms of her hands onto her eyes. There was more fear than anger in her voice for the first time in a while, and now she was wondering what was on the boat she left behind that they could rob her blind of. But they didn't even stop next to it. "No, wait, guys?" she called. "Guys! They didn't stop at my boat. They're coming after us."
JJ's eyes widened and looked back briefly. "Dude, you gotta go faster!" he whisper-yelled to John B, who kept telling him that he was going as fast as he could. "Gun it!"
And then a bullet ricocheted above the marsh-water, taking all the air from their lungs as a mattress. Blair yelled out in surprise, but then was pushed to her knees before she could even comprehend the entirety of the situation. The Maybank boy was over her, forcing her face into his shoulder, hands over their heads. And she would've pushed him in the stern if it wasn't for the bullets that kept echoing inside her brain. Except it wasn't fantasy this time and she knew that it was all real.
She was going to die on a bunch of Pogues' boat with JJ Maybank giving up his dignity for her. She twisted the fabric of his shirt under her fingernails and held onto him like he was the barrier between real life and whatever the hell was going on.
Kie yelled something. Pope said that he was going to die multiple times. JJ kept telling John B to get down, but the boy just had to drive them away. And, all of a sudden, the Cameron girl felt so nauseous she could've flung her torso over the port and puked her guts out into the water. But, instead, she forced herself to look up from JJ's barrier/shoulder and caught sight of the Carrera girl slowly making her way towards the net in front of the dashboard. Blair's eyes widened as she called out to her, voice blurry, then jumped from JJ's arm and grabbed the other side, looping her fingers through the rope before she could have the time to even think about the consequences of her action. And all JJ could do was reach out for a body that wasn't there, calling for her like a madman.
But she was helping the girl that hated her (who hated her sister more than she hated her, granted, but everyone knew Blair and Sarah were like Siamese twins) instead and completely ignored everyone else. Sure, Kie was a little stunned to see her of all people coming to the rescue, but with people shooting at them like maniacs, she couldn't really be picky.
So the girls tossed the net over and then fell to the ground, shaky hands on their heads as the gunshots continued to ring. Until the boat got stuck to the net underneath and John B sped up further enough so the billets wouldn't reach them when the man shot, but soon realized his clip was empty. And it was only when the Pogues started yelling and cheering that Blair found it in her to take a lung-filling breath and rest her hand against the edge of the boat, eyes shut as she recovered. She could've died. And she left her fucking boat in the middle of the marsh.
But the Pogues were celebrating and she pressed her palms against her ears until all sounds were fuzzy and her brain was spinning like the goddamn laundromat. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?" she snapped. Jumping to her feet, Blair scoffed incredulously. "You've got people chasing you around with guns often? Is that the Pogue Life?"
"We just saved your fucking life," JJ clenched his jaw, all adrenaline he could've possible here dying at the tip of his tongue. "They would've shot you if you stayed on that boat."
"Yeah, because you didn't report the wreck," Blair defended. "And now my boat is in the middle of the fucking marsh and my father will kill me if I get robbed and most of the things on there cost a fortune, by the way, not that you'd know."
"Oh my God, can you not be a pretentious bitch for, like, five seconds?" Kie rolled her eyes.
"Kie," Pope tried.
"You found Scooter Grubbs' boat," Blair spoke slowly. Her eyes caught the duffel bag pushed under the dashboard by a nervous John B and she pursed her lips like her mother would whenever she was called to the stand. "And you stole something from it which, just in case you didn't know, is illegal. I know and I don't exactly love you guys to death. So . . ."
John B sighed and scraped his hands through his hair, bringing the boat to a halt in front of the dock behind his house. "What do you want, Blair Cameron?" he asked. "You wanna know what's inside?"
"No," she shook her head. "Knowing would mean I'm involved with whatever the hell this is and that would be nothing short of my worst nightmare."
Pope frowned, holding his hand up like a student in a classroom. "Hey, uh . . . not trying to be the party-pooper here, but they saw you on our boat. And if they come back for us, then they'll think you're with us. So you're technically already involved in this whole thing . . . whatever it is," he coughed off his horrifying statement (to Blair, at least).
"What exactly is it, Pope?" Blair titled her head to the side, confused. "What exactly is this whole thing?"
"I don't know," John B muttered, then held up the black duffel back. He was exhausted and certainly did not want to include her in whatever they were stuck in. "But we're about to find out."
Kiara hissed, "we're not involving her!"
"Are you out of your mind?" JJ said through gritted teeth.
"This can't be happening right now," the Carrera girl buried her face in her hands and shook her head. Blair held her breath and jumped off the boat, grabbing onto the railing as though she hadn't been on solid ground in years. "What were you even doing doing out there?"
"Not robbing a dead man's boat," Blair scoffed
They all glared simultaneously.
"Look, I don't even wanna know what's in there, okay? I genuinely don't care." That was a lie. She looked down onto the chipping, saltwater-covered planks. She grabbed a cigarette from her pack and grazed the flask with the back of her finger just to make sure it was still there. Then placed it in-between her lip and lit it up with her favorite lighter. The spark made the Pogues all look her eyes as she walked away, forearms leaning against the railing. "Just . . . someone bring me back to my boat."
They paused, then huddled together. She didn't know about what and it wasn't like she wanted to, either. She inhaled into her cigarette and then blew out the smoke, making rings with her glossy lipstick-covered mouth. Their eyes were on her, she knew.
In truth, she did want to know what they were hiding. But it wasn't even sunset yet and she felt like she was shitfaced-drunk because of the gunshots that rung out mere minutes ago. She didn't have the strength to fight them for an insight, and came to the conclusion that she'd be better off without them. Better off without any of them, especially the blonde who kept glaring at her behind John B's shoulder like she killed his puppy.
But then he broke from the group and took a step towards her, rubbing the back of his neck and shutting his eyes briefly. He owed her, he remembered. "You don't wanna know?" he asked softly. Softer than she was used to, which could've made her jump. She shook her head, a lot surer. "Come on," he nodded towards the boat, "I'll get you to your fancy boat, Cameron."
"And if you ever see these men again . . ." John B chimed in, speaking with an almost brotherly undertone. In a way, he grew up with Blair. He made sure her magazine stacks were straightened on the Druthers for no reason whatsoever and he knew that she gave all her tips to JJ Maybank. Maybe he did have a small crush on her when they were younger because she used to sneak in the shed where he hung out at his breaks to smoke without her father seeing her and they'd have small conversations about absolute nonsense. "You tell us."
She exhaled grey cigarette-ash, then nodded.
Blair sat on the bow, swinging her legs over the water with her fingers overlapping, fiddling with the array of rings that nearly scrubbed her skin raw with how much she had fiddled with them since the morning. Then she buried her hands in her hair. Then she bit at her fingernails. Blair Cameron was more nervous than she usually was, but maybe that was because the boat felt as though it would sink if she even inhaled any deeper.
Maybe it was as unstable as the palace of her mind, where she played the starting role in a complete shit-show. Maybe she'd end up drowning and, then, who'd be there to dive headfirst into the water and pull her out? There will come a time where Blair couldn't use sarcasm and sex and cigarettes as her coping mechanism, she knew and was trying to mentally prepare herself for that day, but she only prayed to God it wouldn't come sooner than she could handle.
Her SeaVee boat appeared in the distance. She wanted to name it, she just didn't know what. It was as sleek as the inside of her brain, just as pretty as the cage she lived in. She jumped to her feet slowly and steadily, then placed another French cigarette in-between her lips. But before she could light it, a hand stole it from her mouth and held it up in front of her face.
"That's, what, your third in thirty minutes?" he frowned, a brow just a little more arched than the other. "You need to slow down before you get, like, a lung thing or something."
"Do you care, Maybank?" she asked, head titled.
He shook his head. "No."
"Then don't tell me what to do," she grabbed it and moved away from him and he sighed and got closer to her boat so she could jump off without risking a fall right into the cold water. "If I wanna kill myself, then I will."
"Fine," he shrugged. JJ crossed his arms in front of his chest like a child, but she couldn't stop looking at her until his lips twitched yet again. "Hey, you, uh─you're not gonna tell anyone, are you? Because that would not be ideal."
"I won't tell anyone," she rolled his eyes. She fiddled with the cigarette, then brought it up to her lips. "That boat and duffel bag are pretty much the least of my worries right now," she shrugged. For some reason, she was still on the HMS.
She knew he wanted to go back to the Château (a ridiculous name for John B's ex-fish-shack) so he could find out what was in that bag. She also knew they were waiting for him. But he didn't tell her to hurry up or to get the fuck off. Instead, he spoke like he cared. "And what exactly are your worries?" he asked.
Blair debated on it. She fiddled with her ring, then looked up to meet his eyes. "My mom wants to sue my dad for custody," she said almost reluctantly.
"Doesn't your mom live in Charleston?" his face fell, frowning at her words. She nodded and he leaned against the dashboard and whistled. "Well, that fuckin' sucks," he muttered to himself. "She any good?"
The Cameron girl shrugged. "There's a reason I picked my dad over her."
JJ licked his bottom lip nervously and looked down at the floor of the boat, brows furrowed at nothingness. "You're not, like . . . going to live with her, right?"
"If it came down to me, I wouldn't even want us to be related. All she does is try to make Sarah and Rafe jealous because she's there and their mom isn't. But, in my opinion, she was even better than mine." Blair ran her hand through her hair again and sighed. It fell over his face messily, not like the pristine matter he was so used to.
"Probably doesn't help, but my dad's a bitch, too," JJ said, shrugging. She didn't know why he was trying to make her feel better when she was her and he was him. "Like, we're talking Grade-A level asshole."
"Well, they've got something in common," she scoffed.
"They've got something else in common," JJ smiled just a little bit and leaned in towards her. His voice dropped to a mere breath and she could smell orange juice off his breath. "Hot kids," he whispered.
So Blair laughed loudly at his words and absentmindedly leaned back against the dashboard, up until the boat dipped a little and she immediately pushed away. "Jesus! This boat is a health hazard," she tried to stifle a laugh.
"Aren't all good things?" JJ asked. She looked down at her cigarette, but he was looking at her.
And maybe all good things were. Maybe everything would end up killing her softly, slowly; cigarettes, alcohol, drugs . . . JJ Maybank? Maybe he'd be the one to kill her. God, there was a lot of maybes, punched holes in her old repetitive story on torn-at-the-edges parchment paper. And Blair knew all the good stories were either unfinished or untold, she was just too early in hers to tell which one it will end up being.
So she held her cigarette up to him and he slowly took it from her fingertips, confused. "I won't smoke again today," she said for no reason in particular.
JJ Maybank was left staring at the cigarette with bright, shiny lipstick-stains between his ringed fingers as the girls jumped onto her own boat and drove away from the stunned boy, thinking back to how he couldn't keep his eyes off her in the morning and lingered for a second to brush a messy curl off her forehead before grabbing a post-it off her desk, near the fake flowers like her hospitality, and scribbled down a sarcastic statement in all uppercase.
He knew that she couldn't read it whenever he wrote in lowercase.