"We are going to Georgia?" Grantaire asks surprised.

     "Umm... yeah." I reply as I enter I-95. I shrug to emphasize my nonchalant-ness about this idea. I had only told Grantaire where we were going because my phone's navigation tends to be a Chatty Cathy and says my destination. I blame Google. I keep looking at Grantaire from the corner of my eye. He runs his left hand down his face and groans.

     "Why are we going to god damn Georgia for a god damn dress?" He asks in annoyance. I let out a loud laugh.

     "Let me answer that with another question, Grantaire." I reply with a jovial smile. He rolls his wrist as if to say continue on. I grin. "Why not go to Georgia? If Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert taught me anything, it is that the best way to clear your head of--well--everything is to go on a spontaneous road trip to the lovely state of Georgia and have fun!" I exclaim happily. Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

     "Elena also got drunk and Damon also got almost murdered." Grantiare points out. "Plus, they lived in Virginia." I watch as exit signs to cities and towns pass us by. I know that Grantaire is only trying to stay level headed, but he needs to let go. Seriously. I am not taking him to a bar and expecting him to drink his weight in liquor. Of course not. I am not that cruel. We stop at a few places in different states, take photographs, sample a New Jersey pork-roll or two, and just be normal people.

     "Well, what I have in mind is much more fun, less dangerous by like ten times infinity, and no alcohol will be consumed because you are going to break that with my help." I reassure him with a bright smile. "This will be the best few days of your life. I promise you that." I swear. Finally, Grantaire cracks the slightest smirk, but it is there and reaches his turquiose eyes. He sighs and, with fake reluctance, laughs with anticipation.

     "Fine. Let's do this." He agrees. My companion turns up the radio and the song "Best Day of My Life" by American Authors begins to play. I good-naturedly punch his shoulder with my right hand and point to the radio. He is confused and furrows his brow. "What?" Grantaire asks. I smirk.

      "Even the radio says that you are going to have a great time." I tell him before going silent for the next thirty minutes. Don't Stop Believin' comes on after my thirty minutes of silence and focus, so obviously I start singing like James Cordon in Carpool Karaoke. Then, I poke Grantaire so he can sing the lines about the boy from south Detroit. I get him to sing the song with me and I laugh in euphoria. What? He is my best friend. I normally do not be able to get him to do this stuff.

      Three hours later consisting of carpool karaoke, I pull into the exit ramp of the New Jersey turnpike. It is exit number of sixty-three. I drive a short distance afterwards and arrive at my cousin's house. My cousin, Loretta, had died seven years earlier and she leaves her houses in my name in order to sell and gain some money if I so pleased. I drive into the rocky driveway and and park the car. Grantaire gives me a confused look. "What? Get out. We are getting to use the bathroom and then head to LBI for a quick stretch of our legs." I tell him. Grantaire nods in understanding as I unlock the car.

       I get out and feel someone hug me from behind. Turning around, I see a good friend of mine from childhood, Samuel L. Jackson. No, not the actor. I call him Sam. "Sam!" I exclaim happily. He grins and still is a foot taller than me.

       "Hey Belle! How are you?" He asks.

       "Good. Slowly and painfully dying, but aren't we all?" I reply with a smirk. The mild wind picks up momentarily and blows through my hair. I look around the street that I spent ten of my summers at. Claudia Lane, Beach Haven West, New Jersey. All the memories of late-night man hunts and competitive Just Dance parties wash over me in zero point five seconds. I can still smell the marshmellows roasting and the fires from burnt out fireworks. 

       "Um, Belle? The door is locked." I hear Grantaire call. I am broken from the barrage of happy memories that cross my mind. I shake my head and laugh.

       "I'm coming Grantaire. Hold on." I reply. Turning quickly back to Sam, I give him a welcoming smile. "Want to come in?" I ask him before heading to the steps. I hear his footfalls behind me. I pull out my keys and unlock both locks. I turn the handle and open the cream white door. The pink stucco house, known to most of the residence and visitors as number sixty-eight, smells like salt water. The stale sea air mixes with the new sea air and I take a deep breath. I walk inside and inspect the house. Thanks to senior year in college, I haven't visited all year. I smile a bit and head to my room. I sit on my purple, yellow, green, and blue bed and take in my baige walls. So plain, they are. So boring, the are. I remember that I had planned to take up abstract painting and create paintings to decorate my room here once. A smile plays on my face as I remember that. I hear a knock on my white-painted wood door. Looking up, I see Grantaire.

        "Quite a trip down memory lane." He comments as he sits down next to me. The room is only lit by the slowly dying rays of the sun. I nod silently.

        "I spent every summer here for the past ten years. Even after my cousin Loretta died." I explain wistfully. "I am always surprised about how little changed." I tell him. Grantiare laughs jovially. I lay back and look at my fan when I get an idea. "Let's go to Fantasy Island!" I shout. My parnter in crime cocks his head to the side. Right, he doesn't come here often. "It's a kiddie amusment park on Long Beach Island near my aunt's shore house." I get up and look through my closet. I chose an outfit of a leather jacket, a white tank that says "I'm Not Antisocial, I Just Prefer Reading" in fancy black lettering, black skinny jeans, and a black pair of combat boots. "Skedaddle," I begin bossing Grantaire around.

        "Why?" He challenges.

        "I'm changing. Tonight, we are going to the carnival." I smirk.