Musically Gifted? Well, I Used to Play the Recorder...

Two: And By "Okay, Thanks," I Mean "Thanks For Nothing, Bitch..."

Here's the next chapter! Thanks for the comments and votes on the first, and I hope you like this chapter as much :) Again, unedited.

-------------------------------------

Two: And By "Okay, Thanks," I Mean "Thanks For Nothing, Bitch…"

Here’s a little fact about me: spending four hours in a cramped bus full of fifty sweaty, screaming kids is not my idea of fun. Call me crazy, but it’s not. In fact, at this exact moment, I am seriously considering grabbing the hammer from the side of the bus and smashing the emergency window, just to make my escape.

            I’m sure even falling face down onto the freeway is a better option than this.

            And apparently, Savannah is having the same thoughts. “Bailey, why did you talk me into this?” she asks, her exasperated expression telling me that she is just a little pissed off.

            Unfortunately, this bus was our only option since neither of us have our licenses, and my mom refused to drive all the way across the state just to take us there (and yes, even after I got down on my knees and begged. There goes my dignity…). So much to my dismay, we were stuck with this method of transport.

            “There’s not long left now,” I tell her, despite not knowing whether this is the truth or not. For all I know, we could be traveling for another three hours yet.

            Anyway, Savannah shouldn’t be the one complaining. She’s been lucky so far. I’m the one who’s pulled the short straw – while her ‘coach buddy’ happens to be a timid girl of about seven years old who wasn’t spoken the entire journey, I got stuck with the most hyper kid on the bus.

            Whose favorite hobby seems to be screaming.

            Yay.

            Just as this thought crosses my mind, the kid, whose name is Jake, starts trying to wriggle free from his seat belt in order to stand up.

            “No, Jake…” I say, in the calmest voice I can manage. Which, let me tell you, isn’t easy when you have spent four hours saying exactly the same thing to fifty kids (with the exception of the girl next to Savannah). Seriously? I think I’m on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.

            Jake shoots me a death glare, and I am slightly taken aback with the severity of his expression. “I don’t have to listen to you,” he says pointedly, before continuing to tug on his belt.

            “Yes, you do,” I tell him, my patience rapidly declining. Now I remember why I don’t like kids. “Now stop fidgeting and just sit down. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

            I put my hand firmly on his belt, preventing him from moving it any more. He sends me another glare, but finally gives up trying. I am about to breathe a sigh of relief, but before I even get the chance, the annoyance resumes. “I need a pee.”

            “Really? But we only stopped at the services half an hour ago.”

            “I need a pee,” he repeats firmly.

            I groan internally, trying not to let my irritation seep through into my appearance. I’ve decided that it’s better to keep a ‘nice girl’ persona during my time as a counselor, especially if I want the kids to actually like me. But honestly… I hadn’t planned on them being as annoying as this.

            “Can you not hold it? We’re only a short while away from camp now…”

            Unfortunately, my attempts to convince Jake to stay seated and quiet appear to no avail, and before I can even finish my sentence, his wailing voice fills the tiny metal space that is the bus.