Copyright © 2013 by roastedpiglet (of Wattpad)

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c h a p t e r  t w o

[  h o w  t o  a n g e r  a  g r a n n y  ]



          When I thought Mr. Kendrick at least told the cab driver to drive me to a decent place like the city library, I was wrong.

          The cab charged me seven bucks—which I was eternally grateful I could afford—for driving me off to a public sauna.

          I repeat, a public sauna.

          You know, where they offer you orange towels and orange shirts and orange shorts in exchange for a full expense of twenty bucks, just so you could stay the night after using their sauna/pool/massage chair service.

          Damn. Wow. There couldn't be a better place in the universe.

          Had Mr. Kendrick really cared for me, he could've at least driven me off to a decent hotel after giving me an allowance, or he could've just easily let me live in the loft. But right now I knew I was being petty, given that I had been pretty inconsiderate despite my own frustration, and thoughts of the apartment only made me remember the question I still had yet to answer: Now what?

          I entered the sauna and paid twenty bucks, changing into the orange outfit they'd given me. I'd indulged myself in all of their services and dried myself with their orange towel, and finally, after exhausting the best this public sauna could possibly offer, I stayed in the main lobby and snared my luggage.

          I reached for my laptop and attempted to write off where I finished, but no words seemed to come out. My hands were steady over the keyboard, and my eyes were staring at a blank page. I was like an orange right now, what with the orange color I seemed to be endorsing, but there was no juice in said orange, therefore making it useless.

          And then, as though wanting to prove me wrong, something came up inside my head.

          Shutting my laptop with a slight bang, I chinned up as an idea plagued me. Rearranging my belongings in my luggage, I rushed over to the counter girl.

          She looked up from trimming her fingernails, and propped a semi-bored smile at me. "Yes, may I help you?"

          "Uh, I'd like to have a bag locker, please?" I replied, unable to wait any longer, my fingers itching.

          Without replying, the counter girl dropped her trim-whatever's-left-of-your-fingernails tools down the counter before her, and proceeded to the threadbare shelf behind her. Then, she went back to her counter girl position and glided the keys towards me. "You can find the bag lockers near the pool."

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