The Water Fight Professional

by Angela Ruth Strong

  * * *

  Business was good. My dad suggested that when nobody wanted to hire me, I should offer my services for free. That way the person who got wet would pay me to retaliate. Retaliation was fun.

  I stuffed a wad of dollar bills in my pocket. Yeah, it was a wad. In two hours I had made twelve dollars. It wasn’t enough to beat Chance, but I was getting closer.

  A middle schooler in a visor walked by.

  “Hey, kid!” I called from my picnic table.

  He looked my way. “Me?”

  “Yeah.” I motioned him over. “I’m a professional water fighter. Business is slow, so I’ll make you an offer. You pick the person, and I’ll throw two water balloons at him free of charge.”

  The kid laughed. “Free of charge? I’ll go for that.” He pointed toward the bridge that crossed over the creek leading to the lagoon. It led from the park to the Discovery Center, a really cool science museum with a robot display for the summer. “That’s my mom in the yellow T-shirt.”

  I squinted.

  The woman in yellow had short blonde hair and a pointy nose.

  “She kind of looks like my old teacher,” I said.

  The boy smiled. “Mrs. Lyons?”

  “Yes.” Oh no.

  “Soak her.”

  My throat made a weird, croaking noise. “I can’t throw water balloons at a teacher.”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Lyons’s son laughed. “She can’t send you to the principal’s office anymore.”

  I took a deep breath, but shook as if I had just guzzled an energy drink. “All right.”

  Mrs. Lyons strolled closer.

  I scanned the area for a hiding place. Maybe she wouldn’t know it was me who bombed her. But that defeated the whole purpose of offering my services for free. I wanted her to hire me to get her son back. Without another thought, I rushed toward the bridge and ducked behind a tree. “Please let Mrs. Lyons forgive me,” I whispered to God.

  The wooden planks on the bridge creaked, then flip-flops slapped on cement. This was it.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lyons,” I yelled as I leaped to the pathway from my hiding spot. As if it were a reflex, my arms cocked back one at a time and hurled the weapons.

  Mrs. Lyons jumped and let out a short scream as the balloons burst, one against her shoulder and the other against her hip. “Oh, my. Oh, my. Joey?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Lyons.”

  “What … what was that for?”

  “Umm …”

  Her son rolled around on the grass behind me, laughing. Hey, I would probably be rolling too if it were my mom.

  I grinned before I could stop myself. “I’m a water fight professional, Mrs. Lyons. Somebody you know wanted me to throw two balloons at you.”

  The kid jumped up. “I’ll be on the paddle boats, Mom. Bye.” He ran off.

  “You can hire me to get him back.” I grabbed another balloon and tossed it from hand to hand.

  Mrs. Lyons’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you charge?”

  Mrs. Lyons was a cool teacher. It was a bummer I wouldn’t have her for 7th grade. “A cup of water costs fifty cents. A water balloon is seventy-five cents. And the water gun costs one dollar.”

  Mrs. Lyons dug in her purse. “Are there any discounts if I purchase multiple methods?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t a bad idea.

  “Here.” Mrs. Lyons folded two dollars neatly into my hand. “I want you to drench Tristan.”

  I nodded. “Consider it done.”

  But the job was easier said than done. Tristan and his friend’s boat floated on the lagoon out of reach.

  I hurled a couple of balloons, but they fell short of the paddle boat and bobbed on the water.

  Tristan picked them up and tossed them back at me. His arm was better than mine.

  I ended up looking as if I’d gone for a swim. But if I shot from the water’s edge … I pulled out my water gun and stepped forward.

  Onto duck poop.

  Nasty.

  Okay, I would rent my own paddle boat and chase him down. I ran across the playground to the rental booth.

  Mom was there but didn’t notice me. The clerk behind the counter must have asked about her Starlight performance. I could order a tiger’s blood slushy right in front of her, and she wouldn’t even hear.

  “Mom, come on,” Christine’s voice called from behind me.

  I turned around.

  Christine and Isabelle waited in a paddle boat.

  I charged across the patio and leaped onto the bench seat next to Christine, stuck my feet on the pedals, and shouted, “Go, go, go!”

  Isabelle had the other set of pedals. “Where are we going?”

  I leaned forward to see her around my little sis. “Mrs. Lyons hired me to soak her son. He’s on a paddle boat.”

  “Tristan? All right.” Isabelle started to pedal.

  “Wait,” Christine screeched. “Mom wanted to come with us.”

  I pedaled faster. “Mom’s talking about the theater.”

  “Oh.”

  We didn’t even go around the little island that started the journey to the lagoon. Instead, we spun the boat around and headed right down the skinny waterway lined with trees.

  Watch out, Tristan.

  Isabelle pedaled almost as fast as me. “Give me a balloon.”

  “No way.”

  Ducks swam in front of us.

  “Stop!” screamed Christine.

  “They’ll move,” said Isabelle.

  We didn’t stop.

  The ducks got out of our way.

  “Isabelle, if you pedal as hard as you can, I’ll let you have a balloon.”

  “You’re too kind.” Isabelle didn’t sound as if she meant it.

  Christine whined some more. “I don’t want to be in the middle of a water fight.”

  “Then get out.”

  Christine shoved me. “You get out.”

  I started to feel shaky again—this time with excitement, not fear. We floated under the bridge and entered the lagoon. Tristan was to our right.

  We angled our boat toward his, and I kind of turned my head away. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me. I passed Isabelle a balloon and held the other behind my back. Our boat inched closer. “When I say three,” I whispered.

  Isabelle nodded. She looked as if she were trying not to smile.

  “One … two …” I pulled the water balloon out from behind me. “THREE!”

  Both of our balloons hit Tristan. They exploded and water ran down his skin.

  “Hey,” Tristan yelled.

  Tristan’s friend turned to look at me. “Let’s knock him overboard.”

  “Eek!” Christine really panicked now.

  “Retreat,” I yelled.

  Isabelle’s feet spun faster.

  I tried to keep up with her pace, but it was hard to do while pumping pressure into my water gun. I twisted in my seat and shot water across the lagoon.

  It blasted Tristan’s visor.

  “You’re gonna regret this!” Tristan yelled. “What gave you the idea that you could shoot me with your water gun?”

  “Your mama,” I yelled back.

  Isabelle giggled.

  Christine screamed. “Get out, Joey. I mean it.”

  “Good idea.” I pointed toward the edge of the lagoon. “Let me climb out and the guys will leave you alone.”

  Christine practically twisted backward on the bench to watch the other boat. “They’re gaining on us.”

  Isabelle and I stepped on the gas, but we were no match for the bigger boys.

  Crash. Their boat slammed into ours.

  The girls jerked toward me as our boat wobbled and floated a few feet away from our assailants.

  Christine looked near tears. “Hurry,” she whimpered.

  Tristan aimed his boat as if to ram us again.

  We were close to the bank, but we couldn’t get there before the boys got to us.

  I stopped pedaling.

 
“Joey,” Christine shrieked.

  “See ya,” I stood up and dove Superman-style toward land. My hands hit the soft grass first. I pulled my legs forward so they wouldn’t splash in the water. Then I rolled, log-like, away from the lagoon and ended up on my side, propped up by one elbow.

  Tristan stood up as if to follow me, but his buddy pulled him back down. They needed two guys to maneuver the boat.

  I waved then fell back onto the grass. Mission accomplished.