Chapter Text
Although she would deny it to anyone who asked, Kiara Carrera’s first crush at eleven years old wasn’t one of the boys who had been trailing behind her day in and day out, vying for her attention for years. It wasn’t John B with his floppy brunette waves always falling into his face, Pope with his sharp wit and gentle touch, or JJ with his adventurous and resilient spirit reminiscent of the broken down golden retriever she’d never been allowed to adopt because of her mothers pet allergy.
Instead, it was the one and only Topper Thornton—a kook through and through.
He was older than her, and there was something about his effortless cool that drew her in—maybe it was the way he seemed so sure of himself, or how he always had that perfect smirk on his face. To Kiara, Topper wasn’t just another guy on the island; he was something different, something out of reach, and even at a young age, Kiara Carrera liked a challenge.
They met when Kiara first moved to Figure Eight. Like her best friends, Kiara wasn’t born a kook. She wasn’t as poor as most of those on the Cut, but it took time before The Wreck really took off. But when it did, the first thing her parents did was purchase a home on Figure Eight and move their only child across Kildare County, just blocks away from the island club restaurant, the upscale shopping districts, and the pristine tennis courts.
Kiara Carrera hated tennis.
She hated it with a burning passion, yet every Thursday at 5:15 p.m., she found herself at the club’s tennis court, reluctantly learning the game from a 19-year-old with a One Direction haircut and adult braces. She couldn’t have been less interested, but that all changed the day she saw Topper Thornton for the first time.
The court was a vivid green, the same shade as the grass that surrounded it, and his eyes were the same color, standing out against his freckled face. He was cooler than anyone Kiara knew from back home on the Cut and was the apithomy of everything that made the Kooks who they were.
To Kiara, he wasn’t just another boy—he was different, someone she couldn’t quite have but wanted anyway.
But even back then, she knew better than to admit it.
Crushes on boys like Topper Thornton weren’t supposed to happen, especially for someone like her, who had one foot in each world. So she kept it to herself, burying that first spark of attraction deep down, where no one else could see.
Kiara hadn’t expected to see JJ, John B, and Pope waiting for her outside the club that day. She blinked in surprise, her tennis bag still slung over her shoulder as she rushed over to them, tugging at her olive tennis skirt.
“What are you guys doing here?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
John B grinned. “Did you forget? We’re going to the Break. The waves are perfect, and the sun’s gonna be out for at least another hour or two.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Kiara replied, her excitement building. She glanced around the pristine club entrance, knowing full well her dad wouldn’t be thrilled about her boys from the Cut hanging around. “Could you guys wait here? My dad should be around her somewhere.”
They exchanged quick looks before Pope shook his head. “Nah, let’s just take our bikes. We’ll be quicker that way.”
Kiara nodded, trying not to let on that she hadn’t even considered asking her dad to drive them. He wouldn’t approve of her hanging out with them, not after he’d moved them to this side of the island to give her a “chance at a better life”. But the boys didn’t need to know that.
Just as they were about to leave, a voice called out behind her. “Hey, Kiara! You forgot your racket!”
She turned to see Topper jogging up to her, holding her tennis racket. “Thanks, Topper,” she said, taking it from him with a small smile.
“No problem,” he replied, standing there a moment longer. “You played really well today. Keep it up.”
Kiara felt a rush of warmth rise to her cheeks as she mumbled, “Thanks.” Topper, with a subtle but unmistakable look of disdain aimed at the boys, gave her one last, electrifying grin before turning on his heel and heading back inside the club.
She turned back to the guys, still feeling the warmth in her face, only to find them staring at her, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
John B was the first to crack, breaking the stunned silence with a mischievous grin. “Looks like someone’s got a crush on a kook.”
Pope snickered. “Didn’t know you were into club boys, Kie.”
Kiara rolled her eyes, always hating being the butt of their jokes, but she still couldn’t hide her blush. “Shut up.”
JJ, however, was noticeably quiet. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his eyes were fixed in a hard stare at the club entrance where Topper had just vanished. There was an unmistakable tension in his posture, as if he was holding back a storm of emotions. “Let’s just go,” he muttered, his voice laced with an edge of frustration as he turned sharply to grab his bike.
The teasing died off instantly as Kiara exchanged a quick, questioning glance with John B. She shrugged it off, dismissing the awkward tension as she grabbed her bike and followed the boys. They pedaled away from the club and toward the beach, the rhythmic whir of their wheels and the lure of the open water pushing all other thoughts and distractions to the back of her mind.
Kiara never admitted to the crush, and soon enough, it was quickly forgotten by everyone—everyone except her. The feeling lingered, subtle but persistent, tucked away in the corners of her mind, like the green eyes and freckles she could still picture in her mind. But as time passed, so did the crush.
Growing up will do that to you.
By the time Topper started dating her best friend, Kiara had convinced herself she’d lost all interest. What had once been a flutter in her chest had faded into a distant memory, like a forgotten whisper. The sight of them together no longer stung as it might have once; instead, it barely registered, like a shadow passing over a field of green. She told herself that her feelings for Topper had never truly mattered, and over time, she convinced herself this was the truth.
Yet beneath the surface, the sight of them hand in hand still lingered with a subtle ache, like a lingering green hue at the edge of her vision. It was a pain she buried deep, steadfastly denying any connection to their falling out, even as it quietly colored her thoughts.
