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three

"Don't be dramatic, we'll go out the front." Summer says, turning off the lights and heading out of her bedroom.

Downstairs, her dad sat in the living room, a tablet leaned on his knee, and a phone on his ear. Across from him sat her step-mom, with a glass of wine and a book. Summer stood in front of them for a while, waiting for either of them to look up and notice her.

She cleared her throat. "We're going out." Summer says says.

Her dad took a second to lift his eyes off of whatever it was he was reading on his tablet. He looks at Summer, then to Camila, then back to Summer. "Right now?"

Summer let's out an annoyed scoff, hoping that part was obvious. "Yes."

He looks at his wife, then back to his daughter. "Isn't there a curfew?"

Summer frowns. "There is, but—" she takes a deep breath. "I really need to be with my friends right now. We just— it helps me cope."

Camila stood and watched a few feet behind as Summer put on her usual show. It was rare that the girl wasn't granted anything she wanted from her father. Because in all honesty, her father, along with the rest of the island, was scared of Summer too. Anyone and everyone would do whatever it took to stay off of her bad side.
.
After a moment, he finally frowned, then nodded. "Go ahead, honey," he said. "Whatever you need."

Summer smiles brightly, spinning around on her heel to face Camila, who was shocked, yet, impressed. "Bye Mr. Sullivan!" She let out as Summer swept her away to the front door.

"Stop flirting." Summer scolds.

Camila giggles as the two pile out the front door. "I'm not!"

—

"Smart, yeah, throw a party in the middle of nowhere surrounded by all the people who have every right to want to kill us." Camila comments, following shortly behind Summer in the sand.

"There won't be any cops here, at least." Summer responds, her nose upturned at the amount of Pogues she was passing by to get to the drinks.

A large fire was burning on the edge of the beach, almost ten feet tall. Around it were kegs, and makeshift beer pong tables. Summer kept turning around and glancing at her car, making sure she locked it. This was the one part of the island she had absolutely no control over. These people didn't care who her father was. If they had a problem, they'd deal with it their way. Which, apparently now meant murder. Unsettling, yes, but it was nothing Summer couldn't handle.

"There's nothing to worry about, right?" Camila mocks, sensing Summer's unease as a group of Pogue's walk right past them.

Summer shivers, making a point to ensure they saw her judgmental glances. "Just get me a drink."

Approaching the fire pit, she felt a bit of ease seeing that her friends were already there, all sat on a big piece of driftwood. "How much did you pay her to come to this side of the island?" Noah snorts, talking to Camila as the two approached the group.

"It was her idea, actually." Camila spoke happily.

Summer forced a smile. "When you you were throwing a party— I assumed you meant at your house."