When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Grape Juice

Chapter 2

Thanks to LuckySara for making my cover. ^_^ It's awesome!

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Three weeks, Bailey. Three weeks without a single smile. It has to stop, I told myself sternly.

I stared out of the window at the scenery speeding past. Mum and Dad would not want this.

Being happy is not a sin.

As far as I’m aware. If it is…yeah, I’ll be going to hell if being happy is a sin. For sure. And I’ll most likely have to do something like move a pile of sand grain by grain from one place to another using a pair of tweezers as my eternal punishment.

But getting back to the point.

They hated seeing me sad. They’d be telling me to suck it up and get back to my pranks.

And I’d get mad at them because they didn’t call it art.

Honestly, I hate people who disrespect my art. It’s all “Prank this, prank that!” but it’s not pranks. It’s zonking art!

“I’m sorry?”

“Huh?” I replied wittily, earning admiration from across the world with my superhuman intelligence, and amazingly clever replies.

“Um, you just said something about zonking art. I was wondering what zonk meant,” said the taxi driver.

“Oh, I said that out loud? Ha ha, well that’s just…dang it. I hate thinking out loud. It makes me feel like the whole world has mutated into mind-reading stalkers while I was asleep.” I grimaced.

Okay, information overshare. Was that fact relevant? No. Did I just creep him out? Probably. So that’s one less person in the world to make friends with.

His loss, not mine.

“So what does zonk mean?” the man asked.

“Before I answer, tell me about yourself. Leave out nothing. Give me…an audio auto biography, if you will.”

The man stared at me in confusion via the rearview mirror.

Rearview. Never fails to make me laugh!

“You’re worried for my sanity aren’t you?” I took his silence as a yes. “Honestly. Don’t be. I’m not a random stalker. I’m just bored, y’know?”

The man looked bewildered.

Patience is a virtue. However it is one I do not have. Sadly.

I grinned evilly. “I have a shotgun in my bag,” I said casually, patting my overnight bag.

I felt slightly guilty when I saw the fear in his eyes, but what the hell. I am Bailey Haart. I am trained not to feel guilt.

“Um, I’m Harry,” he said nervously. He believed me? Wow! “45 ears old, father of three, um, twice divorced –”

I cut him off. “So, Harry, 45 years old, father of three, twice divorced. You’ve certainly got on in life. And how are the kids?”

“Fine, just fine.” Poor guy, he seemed pretty confused.

But after three weeks of doom and gloom I needed a break. (No offence, Mum, Dad) So!

“Right, well, since you’ve shared so much with me, I’ll let you in on a li’l secret.

I looked around as if checking no one could hear (although we were in a taxi, just us, on a motorway halfway between Scarborough and London), and leaned in towards the drivers seat.