002. Eating Boys For Dinner

ART was a principle in the journey of life. It was a matter based solely on personal opinion, it was controversial and calculated. Art was something which was presented in all forms, discreet or obvious, secret or public, it was a beauty which could be held close to the heart. Art could be considered as such: painting, dancing, singing, sex, war — point is, art is everything. Many would disagree with Priscilla Cameron on the basis of her opinion of which revenge is a presentation of art is the most human-like way possible. It spurred from burning passion and deep fury, stemming from the depths of the battered mind and tainted soul, breaking free from a chambered heart. Revenge was an act which could be shared, revenge could be minimal or major, revenge was a variable which could be controlled under the simplicity of human touch. That is why Priscilla Cameron considered revenge the most beautiful, the most powerful category of art. It was national, world-wide, international and spread through the minds of nearly every man on earth.

Priscilla had mastered the art of revenge. Ever since she was a little girl, revenge had come easy to her, almost like a natural talent. Her earliest memory of her first accomplishment was when she was on the edge of nine years old, weeks away from turning ten. Sarah was ill with the flu and she had been assigned specific medication which would tame her illness and recover her quickly. However, her medication was soon swapped with Tic-Tacs and white Mentos, and Sarah's flu lasted two weeks longer than it should've. It was safe to say Sarah Cameron never snitched on her twin-sister for receiving a lunch-time detention again.

Due to her professional nature within the act of revenge, she had calculated the exact steps in which she would perform in her first chapter of her '(Slowly) Killing JJ Maybank' series.

She and Ronnie tip-toed through the Cameron estate. The plan was to head to Ward Cameron's office and use his printer, with the assumption that he was hopefully in bed and the office door was unlocked. Following their stream of brilliant luck, the two girls snuck into Ward's office and closed the door behind them carefully, flipping on the light switch as they hurried towards the printer. Priscilla took out her phone and began printing the wanted picture, unable to hide her grin as she watched it slowly develop.

"Why does your printer sound like a steam train?" Ronnie complained. The two girls cringed at the loud sounds emitting from the printer, which — in fairness to Ronnie — sounded a lot like a steam train. Priscilla shrugged, looking over her shoulder to check no one was there. "It's old, like, I'd even say it's vintage."

Ronnie snorted loudly, earning a nudge from Priscilla. She grinned apologetically before catching sight of the paper which Priscilla had printed, her eyes widening significantly as she gawked. "Priscilla Saint Cameron, you really don't live up to your Saint name, do you?"

Priscilla and Ronnie left the office, making sure to power off the printer and turn off all the lights, quietly closing the door as they made their great escape. Whether it was the unnecessary loudness of the old printer, Ronnie's obnoxious remarks or Priscilla's uncontrolled giggles, nobody could be sure, but the combined volume of all three had awoken a specific somebody inside the Cameron house, and they stood watching from the spiralling staircase.

"Shush, Ronnie!" Priscilla yelled in a whisper, eyes widening as Ronnie continued to complain about the strain in her calves.

"Yeah, shush, Ronnie."

The two girls spun around quicker than the speed of light, gasping sharply at the sudden voice. Ronnie had lost her Monaco tan in a second. Priscilla was sure her eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

"Rafe!" Priscilla sighed in both worry and relief. It would've been worse if it was Ward or Rose, and just an annoying inconvenience if it happened to be Wheezie or Sarah. "Can you — like — not sneak up on us?"

"When you stop making noise like we're in a war-zone, sure." Rafe retorted. He had obviously been asleep by the clear grogginess in his voice. Suddenly, he noticed Ronnie stood next to Priscilla. "Ronnie's back," He pointed out the obvious. "You good, Ronnie?"

Priscilla and Ronnie had been best-friends since Kindergarten, which meant Rafe had practically watched her grow up. He can vividly remember the day which the two girls met, when Rafe accompanied his mother to pick up his little sister from Kindergarten, only to find her hugging a dark-haired girl of the same height and refusing to let go. Since that day, the two had been inseparable. Ronnie was an honorary Cameron, much like Priscilla was an honorary Stewart. With the new addition to the family, it meant Rafe had another little sister to look out for, the twins became triplets and Wheezie gained another role model to follow in the steps of.

"All good over my end, Rafe," Ronnie smiled gently towards the boy who she saw as her older brother. "How about you? You all good?"

"Yeah, I'm just curious to what exactly you two are doing. Y'know, not suspicious at all sneaking around in your matching Miu-Miu flats, not at all." Rafe was joking, obvious sarcasm lacing his tone as he spoke.

"Just performing the first chapter of my guide book, 'How To Kill Boys: JJ Maybank edition', I'll get you a signed copy, Rafe, you don't have to worry about that." Priscilla grinned proudly, straightening up as her smile widened.

Ronnie snickered besides her. Priscilla nudged her in the side, earning a groan. Rafe watched the two with a discreet smile. "You involved in this too, Ronnie?"

Dumbfounded by his question, Ronnie nodded as if it was obvious. "Of course I am."

The whole world knew that whatever Priscilla Cameron did, Veronica Stewart was taking part in, visa versa. Rafe could remember the day where they received the first consequence for their unwarranted mischief. Ward stood before them, hands strictly on his hips as he stared down at the two girls, who didn't look sorry in the slightest. "Well, Cilla, if Ronnie jumped off a cliff, would you?" Ward had asked his daughter. With obvious confusion etched upon her frowning face, young Priscilla looked between Ronnie and her father, her eyes settling on her father as she confidently said; "Of course I would!"

Some things never change, because here they were, stood before Rafe getting ready to go and cause total mayhem — again.

"Well, brother, we do have to get going." Priscilla informed him suddenly, interlocking her arms with Ronnie's as they backed away towards the door. "If dad asks, you know what to say."

"You're at Ronnie's, got it." Rafe confirmed, giving a single nod. "Are you coming home tonight, though?"

"Who knows!" Priscilla giggled. "JJ Maybank might steal my heart and make me his little housewife!"

Rafe simply shook his head. Despite his overbearing tiredness, Rafe wouldn't sleep until he knew Priscilla was either at the Stewart residence or tucked in her own bed across the hall.

Meanwhile, Priscilla raced down the empty roads of the Outer Banks. The windows were rolled down, air filtering through the space and drifting through the girls hair as their hands hung out the open windows, catching onto invisible atmosphere. Due to her favoured and trusted contacts, Priscilla found out exactly where JJ Maybank lived. Through extra added information, she also knew Luke Maybank, the drunken father of JJ, was not home. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure if JJ himself was. They could only wait and see.

Priscilla's white Mustang was covered by overgrown bushes and hanging branches. The lights now turned off, they were consumed by the darkness of the night. Priscilla and Ronnie didn't waste any time in carrying through their plan, hopping out of the car and nearing the Maybank house. Ronnie stayed on look-out, covering most areas whilst Priscilla pulled out the piece of paper and stuck it firmly on the front door. Ronnie pestered her to come back, however, she hovered. Her feet dancing between come and go, Priscilla decided to follow through and bang loudly on the front door before belting it back towards her car, making sure to grab Ronnie's hand as she ran.

Now sat in the car, the two leaned forwards to get a better view. The porch was now lit by flickering lights, the figure of JJ Maybank appeared in the now-open front door. He looked confused, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows knitted together. He peered over his front yard. He pulled an awkward face, retreating back inside right before noticing the piece of paper dangling loosely on his front door.

In a hurry, JJ pulled out his phone held it to his ear.

"Do you reckon they even have WiFi here?" Ronnie asked in all seriousness, watching the Maybank boy intently. "Agatha wiped out the Internet, I'm surprised she didn't knock down this shack—"

Ronnie was cut off by the ringing of Priscilla's phone. The two looked at each-other with wide, excited eyes. Priscilla picked it up, answering quickly.

"Hello? Hey - Hello!" Spoke the static voice of JJ Maybank. "Is anyone there? Hello? Can you tell me why there's a fucking 'eviction notice' on my front door?"

"Mr Maybank, I assume?" Ronnie was first to speak. She put on a voice, her tone now low and rough as she spoke. Priscilla smirked widely.

"Yeah, sure — whatever," JJ's words were so quick they stumbled over each other. "Why — what does this mean?"

"It's in the name, Mr Maybank." Ronnie continued in the put-on voice. Priscilla had to swallow her laughter thickly. "You're being evicted."

"Evicted? What?" There was obvious worry and fear in his frantic voice. The two girls watched him from their car as he paced around in circles on his front porch. "No, that doesn't make any sense. Every penny has been paid, every bill due has been covered, I know it has!"

"It's time for your personal payback, Maybank." Priscilla took over. She didn't put on a voice, her own was threatening enough to stop him in his steps. "Times up, Maybank, you've owe a Hell of a lot more than just money now."

"Cameron?" JJ guessed, though he knew exactly who it was. This was something so imaginative and creative that only the twisted and tainted mind of a girl like Priscilla Cameron could conjure it. "You're fucking sick in the head, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Priscilla said in an awfully innocent voice. "But atleast I don't pull a gun on someone, do I?"

She heard JJ scoff through the static line. "That's what this is about?" JJ asked rhetorically. "I know of your games — your sick, twisted games — and I'm not playing them. No, not with you."

"Only 'cause you know I'll win." Priscilla teased him. There was a change in her voice, a flirtatious response that sucked on the seductive, slow drawl of her words.

"Only way you would win is by cheating," JJ retorted strongly. "That's all you do, you Kooks, cheat your way through life. You come here alone?" JJ laughed at his own question, shaking his head knowingly. "Of course you didn't. Hey Veronica, don't think I don't know you're there."

"Don't criticise my follow through when you and your little best-friend are the ones who ganged up on my family and my friends." Priscilla retaliated firmly, her voice sharper than a hot knife. "Hypocrites don't get very far, Maybank, they're fooled by their own standards and dragged right to the bottom of their own mess."

JJ laughed down the line, sarcasm laced on the lips he bit down harshly on. "John B didn't do shit. You're all pussies. You've already fucking got out of here, ran away the second—"

JJ's words were cut off by the sudden growl of Priscilla's well-known Mustang. The roar reverberating off the trees and echoing back into the porch, where JJ stilled and looked out the front. There he saw it; Priscilla's vintage Mustang covered by the overgrown bushes and blustering branches.

"You want to play, Maybank? Game is fucking on." Priscilla spat, narrowing her eyes as she watched the Maybank boy falter in his steps. "But watch out, that tongue of yours might get you an early disqualification. We're on my island, we're playing by my rules. Understood?"

"Game is fucking on, Cameron."
And so it begins .

COOL air hit Priscilla's face as she entered the main room on the Cameron boat, 'My Druthers.' Despite their outstanding wealth, for some peculiar reason, no room within the actual Cameron household had air-con, except for that one room on the boat. So when Priscilla went to Sarah's room that early morning and found her bed empty and untouched, she knew exactly where she'd be. When they were little girls, that room on the boat would become their 'castle' and Ward would be the sea monster, scaring them from the windows as he played the role of a sea monster impressively well.

"Morning, sunshine!" Priscilla threw a feather pillow directly at Sarah's head, but it was the volume at which her voice reached which awoke up. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Sarah groaned loudly, though it was muffled by the pillow covering her face. "Do you mind?" Her twin mumbled in annoyance. "I was having a really good dream."

Jumping on the open space besides her, Priscilla began twirling her hair as she put on a high-pitched voice. "Was it about Topper?" She teased her sister, who blushed bright red. "Oh Topper — Marry me, Topper! Be the father of my children, Topper! Fuck me—"

"—You're disgusting!" Sarah had gained a sudden burst of energy, jumping on top of her sister as she whacked her with the same feather pillow she had previously been hit with.

"You don't deny it!" Priscilla laughed loudly, her shoulders shaking as she managed to dodge Sarah's pathetic throws. "You're so in-loooooove!"

"And what?" Sarah giggled like a school-girl. She flopped back in her seat, face flushed with exhaustion. "He's a sweet guy."

"He is," Priscilla agreed — surprisingly — with her sister. "Topper is a good guy."

Sarah fiddled with her fingers awkwardly, the following words fumbling on her tongue as she spoke. "So is Zach," is what she said, which was followed with a quiet and hesitant, "Right?"

Unsure of where the sudden change in mood had come from, Priscilla struggled to search for words. Unable to speak, she simply nodded. "Yeah — Yeah, of course he is!" She laughed, though it was short and cut-off, a hint of awkwardness traceable. "He's a nice guy. Why'd you ask?"

Sarah shook her head quickly, avoiding eye contact with her sisters piercing gaze. "No reason," Sarah uttered, cautious of her words. "Just wondered. I mean, I barely know the guy. Unlike you and Topper, you two are friends." Priscilla tried to interject, but Sarah beat her too it swiftly, "I know what you're going to say, 'I wouldn't say we're friends,' — yes, you are, Cilla, whether you like it or not."

Priscilla snorted at her sister's comment. "I've known Topper since we were babies, it's different — we grew up together. Zach moved here in the seventh grade, it was harder for him to integrate into our social circle considering it hasn't changed since Kindergarten."

That was true. Most of the Kook's social circles had been formed when they were little — most Kooks were born on the island and followed the education system set in place for them. It was rare that someone moved into Figure 8 mid-way through their childhood years, yet Zach Spencer broke the stereotype and managed to worm his way into a respect, well-known friend group.

"Anyways, I didn't come here to talk about our social life and boyfriends." Priscilla changed the topic, avoiding the possibility of delving further into her complicated relationship. The last thing she needed right now was Sarah and her anxious habits bombaring her with overbearing questions regarding Zach and all his doings. "Just a reminder we have that barbecue later this afternoon, with Topper's family, Kelce's family and Zach's too — be nice to him, please."

"I'm always nice!" Sarah retorted hotly, sitting up with a cross look on her face. "You will be there, eight? Not gonna ditch like every other year.

"Stop frowning," Priscilla said shortly. "You're gonna get wrinkles." Sarah rolled her eyes. "But yes, I'll be there."

Sarah huffed and fell back into the sofa. Priscilla assumed she was going back to sleep, but she just shrugged and carried on. If Sarah was late to the barbecue and slept through until mid-day, that was her fault. Not that she'd face any consequences though, of course not, Priscilla however, would.

She walked around the boat, passing the windows which looked into the room that Sarah slept in. They were covered by the blinds, but that didn't stop her from banging on them.

"I mean it Sarah," Priscilla shouted through the glass. She heard no response, not even a groan, she was definitely asleep. "I'm not having dad scream at me because you—"

Priscilla was cut short, forcing her words back down her throat as she collided into a speeding figure.

"Sorry!" Priscilla looked up to find John B, best-friend of JJ Maybank, well-known Pogue and her father's employee. He spoke quickly, his words incoherent. "Shit — I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking—"

"—Obviously you weren't," Priscilla huffed, brushing imaginary dirt off her dress as she took a step back. She took a step back, eyeing the boy suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" John B shot back, shocking Priscilla. "It's 5 o'clock in the morning. Just got back from your late night escapees?"

"You've got a lot of attitude for someone who's working for my father on my boat." Priscilla smirked as she watched the colour drain from John B's once annoyed face. "Last time I checked, Johnny boy, you weren't on the rota for checking in on me and my activities. Maybe if you get a promotion you'll be my chauffeur. Then you can stalk me all you want. I'd never step foot in your death-trap, though, the wheels are about to fly off that retched thing."

"I'm sure Twinkie is more loyal than you are  to your own friends," John b said poorly. He cringed at his awful comeback, even more so when Priscilla winced, pulling an awkward face at his comment. "That was shit."

"Yeah, that was shit." Priscilla confirmed sourly. "Don't worry, it's hard to get on my level of social interaction. It's a natural born gift, honestly, my ability to talk is simply outstanding."

"I can tell. . ." John B muttered quietly. Yeah, Priscilla Cameron could talk for the entirety of America.

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. "I'll pretend you never said that, and you can hang on to your job by the last thread." John B nodded hurriedly, a guilty look painting his freckled face. "But," John B groaned. "You've got to tell me what you're doing with that gear."

Looking down to the scubba gear, John B gulped. He peered back up to Priscilla, who looked at him expectantly. In attempts to distract her, John B suddenly said, "How come you're getting back at five in the morning? The clubs close at four, you surely weren't at JJ's house for that long—"

"—He tell you about that?" Boom. She was distracted. John B noticed that proud smirk on her face, the one he had seen a multitude of times after her mischievous acts. He had seen it back when she made Kiara cry, years ago after she and Sarah stopped being friends, and there he was again, seeing it now. Despite the years that passed, he still saw that same little Priscilla Cameron he did all those years ago, an unchanged aura about her that had never faded away.

"Of course he told me about it." John B was surprisingly calm. "When he called me at midnight I thought someone broke in." Priscilla expected more of a reaction from him. She was disappointed in some way, but it wasn't John B that was her victim, it was his best-friend. "Really? An eviction notice? Original."

I mean, that wasn't a lie, it was very original. Priscilla simply smirked wider. "I know right — I'm too smart."

John B simply shook his head. "You've gone and started a war, Priscilla."

"You don't think I know that?" Priscilla said firmly. "I know what I was doing and I know what my outcome would be. I don't go into things without planning every possible outcome, John B, and if you think it won't get worse, you're wrong."

John B chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously. "Aslong as you don't fire me, I couldn't care less. You're keeping my bills paid, I don't want anything to do with it. Just. . . don't kill him, maybe?"

Priscilla's infamous smirk returned. "You know, John B," she began slowly, her eyes trailing up and down him and his oddly dirty clothes as she spoke. "I don't like Pogues, that's a known fact." John B was anxious to hear where she was getting at, an unrecognisable edge to her words he couldn't really read. "But you — you're the only Pogue I have some respect for. Oh, and Heywards. That whole family are saints, actually — coming from a Saint myself."

John B snorted. "You're a real Saint, Cameron." Sarcasm was obvious in his voice but Priscilla didn't mind, that same smirk resident on her face. "You're just as bad as they say you are, but realistically," John B shrugged, smiling slightly as he said; "You're not that bad."

Priscilla smiled slightly. A true, genuine smile. Not a smirk, not a grin, no — a smile. That was something he had never seen before, not on Instagram nor in real life. "Don't think your compliments will make me forget about that gear in your hands, Johnny."

"Don't think that I just complimented you, Prissy."

Priscilla nodded approvingly. She appreciated the boys bluntness, it wasn't a normal occurrence for someone to talk back to her, apart from the occasional Touron who hadn't learnt the basics of respect.

"Let's settle then." Priscilla offered, holding out a hand for him to shake. "You admit that was a compliment, and I don't ask about the scuba."

John B nodded slowly, taking her hand in his own and giving it a firm shake, "Settled."

"Put it back where you found it," Priscilla told him strictly, moving past him to leave the boat. The sun rose slowly, the orange hue highlight her fresh tan. "Or I'll tell my dad."

John B laughed at the brattiness in her voice, appreciating her rare show of humour. "Don't let that compliment get to your head, Prissy."

Her figure now invisible from his eye-line, he only heard her voice call from below the boat, "It's already up there, Johnny, trapped forever!"

Priscilla wouldn't give John B the satisfaction in knowing he was right — she had just gotten home from a night out with Ronnie. After terrorising the Maybank residence, they headed back to their usual bar on Figure 8 and, due to knowing the owner since they were kids, hung behind the bar and helped pour drinks and serve food for the fun of it. By the time they shut, Ronnie was so drunk she physically couldn't go home. However, she had promised her mum she'd be sleeping in her own bed that night and the two spent the remaining hours trying to sober her up before Priscilla drove her home at 4:29a.m.

By the time Priscilla was ready for bed, the sun had fully risen. She received a text from Rafe. She read it and laughed loudly, knowing he probably heard it from his room across the hall. Luckily, Rafe and Priscilla were the only ones who had bedrooms on the third floor, whilst the remaining members of the family slept on the second floor.

'Why and how the fuck are you getting home at 6am' Rafe's text read. She could hear his annoyed voice in her head, making her giggle even more. She stopped giggling and paled, however, when she realised it actually was six o'clock in the morning and that in four hours time she would be in her fathers office attending a 'meeting' he had scheduled with her earlier that day over text.

Immediately turning her phone, she flung her phone to the side and buried her head into the pillow, praying that four hours of sleep would be enough to suffice her throughout the next day. Somehow she knew it wouldn't be however, and something told her more than a meeting was to occur that day.

author's note

FIRST INTERACTION GET IN
(They absolutely hate each other)

Also John B and Cilla are currently my
favs but just wait till Pope comes into
the story...

Anywhos enough spoilers... it's slowly
developing and gaining structure!
It's been so fun to write this story
so far — PLEASE comment, just
to keep my little heart happy :,)