"Who the hell do you think that is?" Jack asks, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
I copy his movements, watching as that grand ass door swings shut behind the girl, sealing her fate. Mrs. Samson has always been pleasant, but she's rather formal. Stiff, really. I can't imagine her visiting hours being much fun, unless you're a history buff or really into British television. I've heard one too many period dramas blaring from the sitting room in passing to not know this detail.
"How should I know?" I shoot back, turning away from the house.
The yard is a mess, and there's a chance that we'll be cleaning it up for the rest of the summer if we don't put our asses in gear now.
"We don't need anymore Summerbirds down here. Not now," Jack mutters, going back to continue his inspection of the boat. "I mean, all these rich folk have fucking generators and workers cleaning up this mess. What the hell are we supposed to do with our own houses?"
I shrug. "It's not much worse than what we were living with before. Not having power doesn't really affect us much, does it?"
"Doesn't matter. They'd still be better than fine in their mansions, and yet, they're probably going to get power back first. They're having everything cleaned up, like they're the ones who are worse off. It's sick."
"Declan's yard is probably being cleaned up right now," I point out quietly.
"Difference is, he knows it's wrong." Jack shoots me a lazy grin. "Fuck it. I need to smoke. You in?"
I shake my head. "Nah, man. I have to finish up here. See you after?"
"Kegger tonight?"
"Kegger tonight," I confirm, and he's off.
Jack hates to work for the wealthy elite of the Isle, but he does it anyway, because what choice does he have? I don't like it much either, but we need the money. I turn back to my work with a heavy sigh, because fuck. Tonight can't come fast enough.
xxxx
Hours later, we're at the beach. Watery beer and other alcoholic drinks are flowing freely, poured into your typical red solo cups. The Scratch's all show up in spades, eager to get away from our shitty houses and overall shitty living situations, made even shittier by the storm.
The Summerbirds, as always, arrive as well. Compared to our threadbare board shorts and ratty t-shirts, the guys arrive with brand new boat shoes, khakis, and collared polo shirts paid for by their parents. All of 'em. The girls wear shorts that are both somehow tight and loose enough to flutter around their thighs, and cropped shirts that are probably worth more than my yearly rent. They sneer at us as we pass them cups, sizing us up, and ensuring we know who has it better.
As if there's ever been a single shred of doubt in that regard. All these assholes have top of the line, reliable generators. They have the power of hot water even after the worst storms of the season. Right now, we might as well shower in marsh; the temperature is warmer than the plumbing. The power will probably be out for weeks, if I have to wager a guess. My house smells like a combination of maple, cinnamon, and woodsy aftershave from my mom's mismatched candle collection.
Tourist kids come to our parties too, eager for some drunken fun away from their planned family activities. They ride their rented beach cruisers over to our side and usually end up walking back. I've helped my fair share of kids out of bushes they crashed into, and witnessed the aftermath of them realizing there's burrs everywhere here. You cut across someone's yard and end up with a whole pack of 'em stuck to your shoes. Honestly, I'll take anyone over the rich snobs, all raised with silver spoons shoved up their asses and crammed down their throats from birth. I'm manning the keg, shooting the shit with Jack and our other friends, Declan and Riley.
Declan, our token genius and scholarship boy extraordinaire. He's more reluctant to participate in our usual reckless shenanigans, on account of the fact that his daddy rides his ass about his grades, and how badly he wants a scholarship to a college that doesn't have community in the name.
He's not wrong for wanting to work hard, but shit, the kid needs a break every now and then. And he usually takes it, much to the chagrin of his father, who's as hardworking as they come. Declan's technically a Summerbird; his family moved to the wealthy side of the Isle when we were kids, but by then, we were already friends. I'm sure his parents would love it if he cut us off entirely and hung around with more of the hardasses from his private school.
Riley's our only girl. We don't really know why she hangs around, but she's as much a part of our group as anyone else. She's a real hippie chick, totally into saving the planet and all that shit. Not a vegan, though. Her parents own the seafood shack on the waterway. We met when she punched Jack in the nose in kindergarten for trying to steal her cookies. Speaking of Jack, he's poor as shit, like me. Only his dad uses him as a punching bag...when he's around. It's no wonder Jack's always getting into shit; he can't stand to be at home when his dad's been hitting the bottle. So, he's pretty much always with me. My pullout couch is his bed at this point.
Sex crazed and popular with pretty much every girl he comes across—with the exception of Riley and the haughtier Birds—he's a real motherfucker. He's also been my best friend since preschool so whatever he goes down for, I'm right there with him, crawling through the mud by his side.
"No fuckin' way," I hear him say, taking me out of my thoughts. "That's gotta be that girl from earlier."
"What girl?" Ri demands to know. She cranes her neck and squints her eyes. She needs glasses, but hates doctors.
"Just someone we saw at the Samson's place earlier," I answer distractedly.
Ri lets out a huff of annoyance, eyes narrowing at the incoming female and the girl she's with. Lilia Samson, Summerbird extraordinaire.
I also happen to work for her parents, caring for their massive yacht and their yard. While I'm busting my ass, she and her siblings sit on the back patio and get wasted on spiked lemonade and seltzers. Lilia and her fellow rich friends all attend the same private school as Declan, so I don't see much of them during the school year, thankfully.
She's a knockout for sure, though. Dirty blonde hair, all sly smiles and long, tan legs. She has these wide brown eyes that turn up at the corners, giving her a doe-like effect that somehow only adds to her appeal. She's notoriously messy and mischievous. Add in my job and her status as Summerbird Princess? Lilia's more trouble than she's worth.
"Hey, guys!" Lilia greets us with her usual megawatt smile.
Ri, who despises Lilia with the passion of a million burning suns, glowers. Your typical best friends turned enemies, but no one knows why. All Ri will do if you bring it up is spit on the ground and threaten your firstborn with a string of very creative and innovative swear words.
"What do you want?" Jack asks.
Even with his general animosity toward the Isle's elite, he doesn't miss the chance to give her a not-so-subtle once over. It's impossible not to notice her—it's part of the dangerous allure that covers more of her body than any of the clothes she's wearing. If Lilia notices, she doesn't say anything.
"Beer," she says matter-of-factly. "What else?"
"I don't know, White Claw? Lemonade?" I say, shooting her a lazy smile.
She sends me a smile so sweet, I swear I can start to feel my teeth start to rot from all that fake sugar.
"Fine. Two beers for an introduction," Jack barters, his creepy sex grin in full effect.
I've seen it work countless times on poor, unsuspecting girls, but Lilia, like Ri, is unaffected, while Lilia's friend just seems unsure how to react. Her brows furrow as she stares at him, as if she's trying to dissect the ridiculous look on his face.
"Happily. This is Rowan," Lilia introduces.
Mystery girl has tan skin, dark hair that glints red in the firelight, and big, hazel eyes. They're lined with thick lashes, making her appear even more like a lamb to the slaughter. She also has godawful tan lines on her shins: the bottom half of her legs are at least three shades lighter than her knees and thighs, as if she fell asleep in the sun wearing knee socks, or something. She offers a small, forced smile, not directed toward anyone in particular.
Ri sizes her up like she's deciding whether or not she imposes a threat. Rowan's chances aren't looking too hot, solely based on the fact that she's with Lilia.
"You picking up tourists now?" Ri asks with a sneer.
"We're cousins."
Lilia crosses her arms, shifting her weight so one hip juts out. Even without knowing her, I'm aware that this is a stance a girl takes when they're anticipating confrontation.
"Aw, shit. There's more of you?" Jack drawls, his eyes lingering on Rowan.
From beside him, Declan groans. He's never been one for confrontation...or for talking to girls, let alone Summerbird girls. He hasn't quite outgrown his awkward phase, at least where socialization is concerned. Not that it matters: in ten years, he'll be better off than all of us, probably living in some big city thousands of miles away.
Ri barks out a laugh. "I think you forget we know all of your cousins."
"She lives up north."
"Oh yeah? Where from?"
"New Jersey," Rowan supplies.
"She speaks," Jack says, amused.
"Only when I want to."
Rowan's tone is on the mild side of pleasant. I see her serious gaze linger on Jack for another moment before she lowers it down to the shifting sand beneath our feet as if it's suddenly become the most interesting person at this party.
"Can we have our shitty beer now, please?" Lilia interjects, forcing another pleasant smile. An expectant smile, really. It's one she flashes often, because she expects to be served. I mean, just from what I've seen. Pretty girls often get what they want. Pretty Summerbird girls get what they want, always.
"It would be my pleasure," Jack mocks.
I fill up two cups, passing one to Jack to hand over. I give the other to the Summerbird Princess herself. Our fingers brush just enough to have my eyes meet hers in a moment of surprise. Lilia's gaze drops down to her cup for a moment before she pulls away, thanking me with a flash of a genuine smile before dragging her cousin away.
"God, I hate her," Ri grouses.
She downs the rest of the contents in her cup in one go, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand probably just to further prove that she is not a Bird at heart.
"I bet twenty bucks I can get into the cousin's head," Jack says.
Declan snorts. "Twenty bucks you don't have."
"Ugh!" Ri interrupts, shoving her cup at me for a refill. "Fuck the Samsons, and fuck the Birds. Let's just forget them and have fun tonight."
We agree without hesitation, but my gaze lingers on Lilia for just a moment longer. She's surrounded by her usual crowd, guys drooling over her and girls sending her envious glares. Every time I see her around, I can't help but wonder if this is who she truly is at heart, or if there's something...more. When it comes to Lilia, I've heard every kind of rumor. She's vapid and cold, or sugary sweet but lacking substance, not unlike the cotton candy I recall coveting from childhood.
"Yo, Wes!" Jack yells from behind me. "You comin'?"
I turn around to join the rest of the Scratch, and I don't look back. I don't need to stare at Lilia Samson to know that there isn't anything more to her. Just another trust fund Summerbird princess, same as all the rest.