“Lemonade, sir?” asked Thornilla Thompson, as a harried businessman came walking by. He cut her a wide, suspicious berth, wondering what a grown-ass woman was doing selling lemonade.
Billy slowly rolled up on his CCM bike. “Did you get laid off, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Billy Jorngern.” she said coldly. “Go away, please. I am not here for your amusement.”
“No, ma’am,” said Billy, biking in circles around her stand. “My daddy says you’re here to pay off your mortgage.”
“Your daddy should mind his own business.”
“Is Mr. Thompson still on vacation with that dancer?”
Thornilla glared at him. “Don’t you have school to go to?” she said, wondering how quickly she could choke him to death.
“Duh! There’s no school in July!”
“Billy,” she said, considering garroting him. “Go away!”
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“You don’t own the sidewalk!”
“I own it more than you do!” she countered indignantly. “I pay taxes and you don’t!”
“I’m only eight,” he said with complete reason. “I don’t even have a job!”
Like a snake uncoiled, Thornilla grabbed Billy by the lapels, lifting him right off his bike. “Well, I’m 35 years old,” she screamed in his face, shaking him with every syllable. “My husband’s having an affair with some bimbo half his age, collections people are howling at my door, I’m working 3 jobs not INCLUDING this lemonade stand, just to pay my bills! So GET OFF MY SIDEWALK!”
She then heaved him headfirst into a hedge and ran back to her house, sobbing.
As Billy watched her slam the door from within the hedge, he tried to understand what the feelings he was having meant. Then, to his horror, he saw the Jensen twins across the street, looking at him.
“Billy’s got a girlfriend!” they began chanting. “Billy’s got a girlfriend!”
“Shut up!” yelled Billy, shame burning his cheeks. “She’s not my girlfriend! We have a relationship!”