001. Roots Of The Tree

THE sweet smell of pancakes wafted through the hallway from the kitchen, tingling Priscilla's senses as she descended the staircase. The loud slap of her flip-flops against her wooden tiles announced her presence, along with her tired voice which was ━ unsurprisingly ━ arguing down the phone.

As Priscilla walked into the kitchen, she found her little sister, Wheezie, and step-mother, Rose, sat together on the island, happily eating their pancakes as the summer sun beamed through the open windows. "Yes, fifteen minutes." Priscilla spoke to the person on the other side of the phone. Her voice was somewhat stressed and bothered, an obvious tiredness evident on her freckled face. "See you soon ━ yes, okay ━ bye-bye."

"Who was that?" Wheezie asked curiously. Wheezie was always the inquisitive type, wanting to know all the gossip and drama surrounding her siblings life. Being the youngest of three, she wasn't allowed much freedom when looking at parties and going out and had partially strict curfews, most of which were set by her siblings themselves. Wheezie sure as Hell looked up to Priscilla, but nothing could excuse the older girl's ridiculous rules that she had set in place.

"Zach," Priscilla told her through a huff. She put her phone on the counter face down, making sure the ringer was on before doing so. She noticed the pile of pancakes on the table, the taste already brewing on the tip of her tongue as she gazed over the assortment of fruit and toppings. "Any going spare?"

"All yours, sweet girl." Rose smiled softly, watching her step-daughter carefully. Rose and Priscilla had an . . . interesting relationship to say the least. Surprisingly, Priscilla got on better with Rose than she did with her actual father. Unlike Ward, Rose noticed. From the smallest to the most obvious of things, whenever there was a small fraction of Priscilla's usual spark missing, Rose began an island stretched search to get it back. Despite her mother-like tendencies and warm tenderness, Priscilla would never be able to call Rose her mother. That spot was already taken, whether it was physically vacant or not, it had been reserved since the first light of her life was shed.

Priscilla gave her thanks through a girlish smile. She drenched her pancakes in honey and filled them with fresh fruit, the colours of the ripe bananas, big blueberries and crimson strawberries painting a picture on the fine china plate. Wheezie giggled at her sisters ravenous acts, the unlady like manner in which she stuffed her face with food and sipped her orange juice like there was no tomorrow. Rose, who looked slightly concerned, spoke up cautiously; "Slow down, Cilla, you don't want indigestion."

Wheezie snickered, earning a playful nudge from Priscilla. In return, Wheezie slapped her back with her foot. "What are you doing with Mr Spencer today then?"

"Mr Spencer?" Priscilla coughed, both shocked and confused by Wheezie's odd choice of words. She sat from her seat and began washing her plate, making sure every spec of a crumb was no longer visible. "God, you're weird, Wheeze."

"She's a little freak!" Came the voice of the third Cameron sister, Sarah, as she stormed into the kitchen. By her face, Priscilla could only guess she wasn't at all happy. "You went through my wardrobe!" Sarah accused Wheezie in a wave of fury, pointing a harsh finger in Wheezie's face. Priscilla's eyes widened as she stared between the two. Sure, someone had been through Sarah's wardrobe, but it wasn't Wheezie. Luckily, Sarah's yellow bikini was hidden beneath Priscilla's white sundress.

Noticing the look on Priscilla's face, Rose hid her giggles behind her cup of coffee. She caught her step-daughter's eye, jerking her head towards the door and urging her to leave in a hurry. Priscilla only nodded, grabbing her phone and bag before belting through the arch way which lead to the entrance.

Priscilla was sure she made a safe escape, that was before she collapsed right into the looming figure of her father, who stood tall in the middle of the room.

"Oh! Sorry, dad." Priscilla apologised hurriedly, a sorry grin plastered on her sun-kissed cheeks as she looked up at him.

He had a half-bothered smile on his face, one which paid minimal attention to her words before dropping it suddenly. "Cilla, I've been meaning to talk to you. What are you doing today?"

Surprised by her father's words was an understatement, and that was obvious by the expression on her face. She contorted through a various range of expressions, from shock to a subtle smile which was not casual in the slightest, and still gave off the same fright she had since she was a little girl.

"I'm going out with Zach now for the morning, actually, he should be—" On cue, the familiar honk of Zach's vintage 1982 Mercedes 280 sounded from the driveway, followed by the usual whistle he rang when at her front drive. "—here. I can tell him to wait though! Honestly, we're not in a rush—"

"—We'll talk later, yeah?" Ward placed his hands on either one of her shoulders, patting them firmly before heading into the kitchen. "Save your words for Zach's company, Cilla." Ward sent her a quick grin before disappearing behind the door, leaving her in a state of utter confusion and daze.

"Yo, Cia!" She heard Zach's beckoning call from the driveway, followed the continuous beeps of his Mercedes. "C'mon, Cia, we ain't got all day."

"Tell him to shut up." Rafe mumbled as descended the stairs and walked past his sister, sending her a cryptic look as he sneered at the sight of Zach Spencer. It wasn't that Rafe didn't like Zach, Rafe didn't like anyone, and it just happened to be that Zach was also his little sisters boyfriend.

Priscilla rolled her eyes at her older brother, mumbling a quick, "Shut up," before bolting out the door and down the porch steps.

Zach was sat in the driver seat of his convertible Mercedes, looking as pristine and clean as ever. Zach Spencer always had this air about him, one that breathed an elegance and opulence words couldn't describe. He always looked so casual, so unbothered in his actions that Priscilla never knew if he ever did actually care, whether it was about himself, life or her, he was always so laid-back. Priscilla wasn't sure if she liked that. There he sat in his Mercedes, one arm out the window as the other held a cigarette in his mouth, the smoke slipping through the subtle parting of his pink lips. His chest was covered in a Luca Faloni white linen shirt, the bracelet Priscilla had bought him a couple of months ago dangling from his wrist as he waved her over. The grin on his face grew as she neared, taking in her like a glorious monument on display at the Louvre.

Priscilla and Zach had been dating for over two years now ━ since they were fourteen years old. It started off as a silly school crush, the classic egging on by friends as they shared sly, indiscreet looks in the cafeteria; awkward smiles in the hallways; unspoken words through quick blinks from seperate sides of a party ━ that sort of thing. Too nervous to act on it until one day, Zach Spencer suddenly grew an ego and arrogance which challenged the likes of Rafe Cameron. Nevertheless, he always doubled-down when coming to Priscilla. Well, always used to, at-least.

When the two began dating, church bells already began ringing on Figure 8. It was national news that children from the families of well-known representatives and hard-working business men had began dating, the brilliance of their young, naive love one for everybody to prosper off as they watched them go on sweet beach dates and long walks. It was the type of relationship little old ladies would swoon at as they reminisced of their past lives, then turn bitter when remembering the outcome of their love ━ you could only pray a girl like Priscilla Cameron wouldn't fall into a rocking boat with Zach Spencer and never find her oars to row herself back out, for she was too good, too intelligent and simply too great to be thrown to the depths of the sea to be nothing but an anchor for the Spencer boy.

As time passed, their relationship flourished and developed into more than a child-minded relationship. It became real, it became raw. Arguments began, debates took place, more than cheek kisses were shared and secrets were established. They were now tied tighter together than by the strings of basic fractures of friendship, they were now together in means that not all could understand, they were one.

They fit the perfect idea of the American dream. Zach Spencer, the D1 athlete with a great future when looking at inheriting his father's successful business, his bone structure challenging those of Greek sculptors and eyes piercing harsher than a Hawk's stare. Then Priscilla Cameron, star-cheerleader and valedictorian with hopeful intentions in attending the Royal Ballet School, skin crafted carefully like porcelain and eyes bluer than the Pacific Ocean, her tongue equally as sharp as her wit, but Zach Spencer's strength was able to sand that down with no problems.

Priscilla sat in the passenger seat of the two-seater convertible, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Where we going today?"

The two drove through Figure 8 at a leisurely pace, soaking in the summer sun as the soft winds blew through their hair and between the gaps of their dangling fingers. Conversation flowed casually, the occasional silence to enjoy the music (which of course had been picked by Priscilla) and before Priscilla could even process where they were, they were walking along the beach hand in hand. Sand stuck to their bare feet, the freshness of the salty sea washing it over just to stick it back on again. Summer was beautiful in all its ways, and something told Priscilla this summer was going to be one to remember.

"He pulled a gun on him?" Zach scoffed, absolutely baffled by the information. Priscilla had been telling him about the events of the previous night as they bathed in the sun on their big blanket. She laid on her back, face up towards the sun as her golden Aviators covered her closed eyes. Zach was sat up with his hands back, holding himself up as he gazed down at Priscilla. "JJ Maybank, a scrawny Pogue, pulled a gun on a Topper Thornton? That's a joke."

"That was my reaction." Priscilla agreed, shaking her head slowly, an obvious look of annoyance on her face. She was frowning, her eyebrows pulled together when she felt Zach's fingers run lightly over the creases in her forehead. "Don't frown, you'll get wrinkles."

Her face immediately relaxed. "Did Topper not tell you?" Priscilla asked him curiously. Zach and Topper were best-friends, also apart of the same little squad which consisted of Zach, Topper, Kelce and her older brother, Rafe. All egocentric Kooks with arrogance that not many could match, except for Priscilla herself, of course.

"Haven't talked to him today," Zach told her, shrugging unbothered. "Last time I checked Snapmaps it said he was active thirteen hours ago and that was, I mean, forty minutes ago. Maybe he's texted me now, I don't know."

"Rafe seemed so unbothered about the whole situation," Priscilla told Zach, who didn't look surprised in the slightest. Unless the situation was about money, parties or Priscilla herself, Rafe Cameron would never show any interest towards any situation. "I was so angry, I mean, I know I get angry easily but this just got to me, badly."

Zach chuckled at her statement, nodding in agreement. "Trust me, I know you get angry." Zach turned around to lay on his stomach, his elbows holding him up as he leaned over Priscilla's face, shading her from the sun. He hovered above her a lips, a smirk playing on his lips. "Nothing I can't control though, isn't it?"

That same feeling returned in the pit of her stomach. It was a feeling that grew bigger and bigger every second that she spent with Zach, almost a nagging — a tugging on her tummy that made her feel sea-sick in some way. She brushed it off, however, like every time and smiled girlishly, the freckles on her face creasing as her smile tugged forcefully on her lips.

"So, what's your plan then?" Zach asked curiously. His fingers tangled through the strands of her blonde hair.

Confused by his words, Priscilla frowns but quickly relaxes her face, remembering his previous words. No wrinkles here. "What do you mean? What plan would I have?"

Zach chuckled, shaking his head as he neared her face teasingly. "I know you, Cia, better than anyone else. So don't act innocent, because we both know you're not in so many ways. Tell me: what are you going to do to Maybank? I know you're not letting him get away with it."

Priscilla laughed softly, a devilish grin growing on her lips. She lifted her Aviators off of her face, biting down on her bottom lip as she told him, "I'm going to make that boys life Hell. Starting from tonight, you want to help me? Instead of dinner—"

"—I'm with Kelce tonight." Zach told with a definite tone. "We're going to the Country Club for late night golf."

"But we were going out for dinner, remember?" Priscilla reminded him, sitting up quickly. "We planned this weeks ago, Zach, the table has been reserved for weeks."

Zach sighed. He turned back around, facing towards the sea from his sat position. Priscilla was now facing the back of his head, supposedly talking to a brick wall.

"We'll have to reschedule, okay?" Zach told her. "The Club doesn't allow late night golf very often, this is a rare occurrence and Kelce doesn't want to miss it."

"Kelce doesn't want to miss it or you don't want to miss it?" Priscilla argued, rolling her eyes at his pathetic defence.

Zach turned his head, narrowing down his eyes as he lightly shook his head. "Don't challenge me, Cia," Zach warned her lowly, his voice taking a sudden turn with his words. "We both know how this will end."

Priscilla hesitated, hundreds of words threatening to spill from her mouth as he stared her down. "Yeah, okay," she eventually agreed. She put on a fake smile, nodding gently. "We'll reschedule. I'm sure they have space for us whenever."

Zach, who was satisfied with her words, nodded in agreement. "Exactly, they'll kick whoever out to let us in." He grinned widely. Zach stood up from his seat, offering out a hand to help Priscilla up. "How does ice cream sound? I know Tony's got pistachio flavour back in after the shortage — you feeling like it?"

Never one to turn down ice cream, Priscilla nodded enthusiastically.

And that was her morning spent. The petty debates with Zach continued throughout the day, whether in person or on text, she eventually went home around midday and spent the remainder of the afternoon with Rafe, Sarah and Wheezie by the pool, a great game of water volleyball taking place. The Cameron siblings were competitive to say the least, so when Wheezie ran out crying with a bruising eye, it wasn't a surprise to Rose Cameron and her pre-prepared first aid kit.

IF Priscilla Cameron had to list three things that she loved most in this world it would be this exactly: Her wardrobe, her family, and her best-friend in the entire world, Veronica 'Ronnie' Stewart.

On the first day of the summer holidays, Ronnie and her family escaped the Outer Banks and spent two weeks in their family holiday home in Monaco. They offered Priscilla to come with them, a seat on their plane permanently available for the girl that was practically family, but she had matters regarding family business to attend to with her father. The two weeks that Priscilla spent without her other half were boring, the two had such a close bond they were practically each other's functioning lung, their brains not functioning to their best ability without the extra neurones handed to each other.

Unlike most of the island, many Kooks were able to use the private airstrip on Figure 8. As long as they had their own plane or jet, that strip was available for them to use. Others, such as Pogues or 'lower-ranked' Kooks, travelled via the airport on the mainland. The Stewart family, like the Cameron's, owned their own plane and used the private strip. Therefore, Priscilla waisted no time in driving down to the airstrip and waiting in the small unit which Ronnie would soon walk through.

"Cece!" Priscilla's heart nearly burst at the rate it was beating at, her impatience impacting the immense speed which it thumped at. When the sound of Ronnie's voice echoed through the room, she couldn't help but laugh. Pure euphoria painted her face, any sign of previous distress now invisible as she set eyes on her best-friend. She travelled at the speed of light, her feet quickly carrying her into the open arms of Ronnie Stewart and all the happiness that radiated off her.

"Ronnie," Priscilla mumbled into her shoulder, holding her tighter as she spoke. "Never — I mean never — leave me for that long again."

"Blame your dad," Ronnie giggled, pulling away. She inspected Priscilla's face after pressing a strong kiss to her cheek. "He should've let you come."

Priscilla groaned, rolling her eyes at the mention of her father. Ronnie wasn't fazed by her reaction, knowing for well Priscilla and her father had an. . . oddly structured dynamic. "I'd rather not let my father ruin my mood now," Priscilla grumbled, pouting her lips. "Even if I hear his name mentioned in cryptic code I feel this grey cloud come over me."

Ronnie smiled sympathetically, wrapping an arm around Priscilla's waist as they made their way through the hallway to greet the remaining members of the Stewart family.

The Stewart family were a close-knit family. Everything Priscilla could ever dream of. Sure, the Cameron's were close, but not in the way the Stewart's were — they were forced to be close with no limits of proximity, an expectation raised above them to be by each-others side under all circumstances and situations. The Stewart's, on the other hand, actually liked each other.

"Cilla, preciosa!" Ronnie's mother, Catalina, smiled brightly at the sight of her second daughter. Catalina Stewart, in Priscilla's humble opinion, was one of the greatest women to ever grace the earth. Born and raised in Mexico, Catalina moved to North Carolina when attending University after earning a scholarship. Graduating with a degree in mathematics and economics, she became a professor at the same University before meeting Maxwell Stewart, a man raised from nothing who slowly became everything, a solicitor for many across North Carolina and a well-trusted man amongst many others. The two fell in love almost immediately and got married soon after, moving to the Outer Banks after spending their honeymoon there and becoming enamoured with the place and its charm. They'd go on to have two children: Veronica Stewart and Luis Stewart, two siblings with a six year age gap and who bickered often, but loved eachother to no end.

"How have you been?" Catalina asked her sincerely, caressing her face as she inspected her from head to toe. "I wish you could've come with us. Every morning I went into Veronica's room and expected to see you sleeping next to her."

Priscilla smiled softly, shrugging. "I've been fine, just bored without Ronnie. I spent most days with Rafe, watching movies and stuff."

"How is Rafe?" Whenever Catalina spoke to or about her and Rafe, there was an underlining of pity in her voice. It was subtle, yet noticeable. It made Priscilla's stomach churn, for she hated — no, loathed the idea of anyone, even someone who she valued so greatly, pitying her.

"He's. . . He's Rafe." Catalina understood what she meant, nodding gently at her words. "Where's Max and Luis? Are they not here?"

Catalina's mood changed suddenly. She rolled her eyes and sighed, "Boys, I tell you — Max decided to stay a couple of days in Monaco to handle some financial work regarding the house, of course, Luis goes now where without his father, so he stayed behind with him."

Before Priscilla could continue the conversation, Ronnie interjected, "Mama, I do really love you and Priscilla to the depths of my heart, and your little debrief sessions too, but from what I've gathered, there's some serious stuff that I need to hear from Prissy here so. . . We just have to get going, you understand, don't you?"

Priscilla snorted at Ronnie's change in voice as it raised a couple of octaves, her thick eyelashes batting girlishly as she smiled at the mother. Catalina snorted, pulling a face at the weird antics of her daughter. "No problem, go gossip about petty drama—"

"—Thank you!" Priscilla was suddenly being pulled away by Ronnie.

"—Oye!" Catalina shouted, stopping the two girls in their tracks. "Only if you tell me later."

Priscilla laughed and looked over her shoulder, smiling as she said, "When do we ever keep secrets from you, Lina?"

The two girls were then in Priscilla's 1964 Wimbledon White Ford Mustang convertible — there was something about Kook kids and their old cars, that was for sure. Priscilla was a very good driver. She wasn't taught by her father, who was very reluctant to let her even try driving down a dirt lane, nor Rafe, nor any of her friends, however, she wasn't self-taught either. If anyone asked how she learnt such skill, Priscilla wasn't going to say her drug dealer taught her how to handle and maintain cars and all their component parts, so she'd rather stick with the 'natural born talent' story she had conjured up.

Once they reached their favourite bar on the beach front of Figure 8, they were sat with a glass of white wine and loaded nachos as they debriefed every event that occurred when away. Of course, Priscilla was ecstatic to tell about the previous night and all the went down, all which was to go down.

"JJ Maybank and his phoney friends are all major dicks," Ronnie complained loudly, her fingers picking at nachos in the tray. "So what are you gonna do? Key is car — he probably doesn't even have one — but his BFF John Booker does, and it's already a shit-show, a little decor wouldn't hurt."

"No," Priscilla turned down the idea. She twisted the tall wine glass in her fingers carefully, eyeing the liquid that swirled within. "I'm gonna mess with him. This isn't a hit and run. I'm running that boy over and reversing right back over him, and just when he thinks he's got up, I'm heading full speed right back at him."

"So what? Loads of little things to get him riled up until he snaps?" Ronnie guessed, smirking as she watched her best-friend's growing grin.

"Exactly," Priscilla confirmed. "Are you gonna help me?"

"You don't even need to ask," Ronnie smirked, a fiery glint in her dark eyes. She raised her glass, Priscilla copied her movements as she said, "To driving JJ Maybank into complete, and total insanity."

"To driving JJ Maybank into complete, and total, insanity."

author's note
FIRST. CHAPTER. DONE.

Opinions on Zach...?

Opinions on Ronnie!!!