Author's Note: Welcome to my story! There's a dedication that goes along with this story. Liz, this one's for you. I hope everyone enjoys this.

"Yo ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me," Several people chanted as Captain Jack and Mr. Gibbs downed a bottle of rum. It was some sort of a game. Two people would bet how much rum they could drink before collapsing, fainting, or puking. The winner would receive a previously named prize. I watched in disgust as Mr. Gibbs puked up rum in a corner.

"My money, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said. Mr. Gibbs forked it over. "Who's next?"

"This is gambling," I pointed out. "It's stupid, trying to see how much rum you can get into your systems."

"Ye just's a tea totaler. You couldn't win even if you played," Jack smirked.

"Is that a challenge, Jack?" I asked boldly.

"Indeed it is."

After waiting a moment, I declared, "I challenge Jack Sparrow to one liter of rum. If you win, you get all the money in my pockets."

There was an audible gasp as I threw my wad of money onto the table. Jack raised his eyebrows at me. "And if you win…"

"If I win, I get your hat. Do you accept?" There was another gasp. Jack loved his hat. Would he gamble it?

"Aye, I do. Sit and someone pour the drinks," Jack motioned to the seat in front of him. Someone poured our drinks as I sat.

He raised his drink. "Bottom's up," I said as we began to chug our rum.

A few moments later, Jack put down his bottle and announced, "Okay, I'm through."

I emptied my own glass and then we both stood. We started at each other, waiting to see who won. Jack started to sway, and then he fell into a heap with a thud.

I walked over to my fallen opponent, and squatted next to him. "I do believe I have a hat now." I took his hat and put it on my head. I turned on my heel and discarded my half liter bottle that looked like a regular liter bottle in the trash on my way out.

"You really are your father's daughter, Ms. Turner," Mr. Gibbs called after me. I smiled to myself.

On my way home, his words echoed in my head. You really are… Your…Father's daughter... Father's daughter… I had only met my father once. That was when I was ten. My mother told me about him when I was younger. He was quite the swordsman, and he had been rescued by Mum when they were young. He now owned the Flying Dutchman, and he would keep on being the captain until his heart was stamped. If that happened, though, he'd die.

"Abigail!" I was so lost in thought that I had no idea where I was going or who was following me. I walked right into a barrel of who-knows-what. Michael Burton ran up to me. "Abigail. Are you okay?" He asked me. I smiled at him. He and I had been friends since we were little. His father was governor, and Michael told me he was going to be governor one day too.

"I'm quite alright, Michael," I told him. He looked relieved. It was obvious to me that he liked me, but I would only think of him as a friend.

"Great Scott, is that the infamous hat of Jack Sparrow? And Abigail, I mean no offense, but your breathe reeks!" Michael exclaimed incredulously.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," I corrected, "and I won the hat."

"Don't tell me you have participated in that stupid game," Michal said.

"Michael, I need you to do me a favor," I said quietly.

"Your mother doesn't know you're out and you want me to help you sneak back into your own house. What's in it for me?" Don't underestimate Michael. He knew exactly what was going in my head. Well, at least sometimes he did.

"Well… I can't give you much. The satisfaction of helping a friend?" I offered. He simply raised his eyebrows at me. "Alright, fine. That plus the promise that I won't tell your father that you are planning to stow away in his next trip abroad."

"What?" Michael was clearly dumbfounded. "I wasn't planning on-"

I cut him off. "It's your word against mine. Who do you think he is going to believe?"

"His son, obviously," Michael told me, but he didn't sound convinced. We continued walking towards my house in silence. Finally he said, "What do you want me to do?"

I smiled. "I need you to hoist me up to my bedroom window."

"That's absolutely unladylike, Abigail!" Michael exclaimed.

"It's either that or you go up to the door, knock, face the wrath of my mother deprived of her beauty sleep, make up some story while I sneak through the back door. Which is it going to be?" I asked him. He didn't answer. "That's what I thought."