Shaking my head, I turn back to the kids to see them eyeing us like they’re plotting something. That’s when I knew we were in trouble. They stare at the popped balloon on the floor by our feet and the water on the floor for a minute before mischievous grins start spreading across their faces.
“Oh, no,” Grayson groans. “It’s about to get allLord of the Fliesin here, isn’t it?”
Apparently, while I’d been distracted with Grayson, the kids decided to go from a water balloon toss to a water balloon hurl. Within seconds, it’s a full-on water balloon fight. Balloons start flinging from end to end of the station, even bursting on some unlucky attendees and staff members who make the unfortunate mistake of walking by at the wrong time.
This is getting way out of control way too fast.
“Hey, now!” I shout, clapping my hands together again, hard and fast. “This is supposed to be a friendly game! Let’s calm down, okay?”
Unfortunately for me—and Grayson, too, I suppose—the kids have gotten a taste of water balloon war and they’re not going to back down easily.
When I whirl around to stop the kids who are even now grabbing more balloons out of the buckets, a stray balloon launches right at me. Before it can smack me in the face, Grayson dives in front of me. The balloon explodes, absolutely drenching him. He slips on the water, ending up on the floor of the stadium, then looks up at me helplessly. I hold out my hand to try to help him up, but I end up slipping and falling down next to him.
Regardless of how awkward being with him again is, sitting there soaking wet on the floor beside him, I can’t help but laugh.
Grayson chuckles. “The things I do for you.”
“They’re down!” a boy cried.
“Get them!” the other kids shout in unison, mobilizing against us.
The children squeal and laugh, and the sound is music to my ears, even if we’re being bombarded with water balloons.
Grayson takes my hand, helping me to my feet and together, we run and duck behind the water balloon buckets. Laughing, we scoop up balloon bombs and chuck them right back at the giggling kids.
By the time Laura realizes what’s going on and has rushed over to us, whistle blaring, we’re both soaked and my sides ache from laughing so hard even as I notice how amazing Grayson looks with that wet tee clinging to his muscles.
I barely drag my gaze away from all that hotness to see Laura surveying the wet floor, the wet kids, and the two wet adults who were supposed to be supervising them. She clicks her tongue disapprovingly.
“Maybe you two don’t make as good of a pair as I thought.” She sighs. “Can you clean up this mess, please?”
Grayson and I sheepishly grin at each other, trying not to laugh as we nod.
“We’ll get right on it,” he tells Laura.
Grayson and I grab the mops already leaning against the wall for just such an occurrence and quickly begin to soak up the water while Laura and another person from the charity usher the kids to the next station. Our laughter has died down and awkward silence again reigns between Grayson and me as we clean up.
For just a moment, in the heat of a water balloon war, things felt so normal between us again. I steal glances at Grayson, trying to read what’s going through his head, but he’s avoiding looking at me. The way he’s frowning makes me think he’s deep in thought, but he’s probably simply thinking about how much of a mess we made.
“Um, excuse me?” a young voice says nervously.
I turn around to see one of the girls who’d been involved in our little water balloon skirmish standing there. She’s surprisingly dry, but fidgety, and she shifts anxiously from foot to foot as she wrings her hands. Blond with blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose, she’s older than some of the other kids, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
I smile at her as I wring out the hem of my sopping shirt that came untucked during the melee. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for round two? I think Laura put the kibosh on any more water balloon fights.”
Face coloring, she laughs and shakes her head. She opens her mouth and then shuts it again, looking a lot like a goldfish out of water. I’m not sure if she’s worried she’s going to get in trouble for the water balloon fight, or if she’s upset about something else. Either way, I recognize the anxious flightiness of a kid with something to say but no idea how to say it.
“What’s your name?” I ask with another smile, hoping to calm her down.
“Jennifer,” she says in a faltering voice. “Um, Miss Kali—”
“It’s just Kali,” I correct her gently, finally earning a small smile from the teenager.
“Um…Kali.” The girl reached up to tuck some of the hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “I actually wanted to talk to you about going to USC for art. I’m applying next year but I live with my aunt and I’m not sure she can pay for it if I don’t get a scholarship. I guess I just wanted to know how you got your scholarship and how you felt when you did.”
My heart instantly warms in my chest. I can vividly recall my own nervousness when I was applying to USC, and how life-changing it was when I got in. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be where I am today. And I definitely wouldn’t be able to help kids like Jennifer.
“First of all, it’s completely normal to be nervous about such a big opportunity,” I say to her. “It’s very exciting and very scary, I get that. Fortunately, we have Fostering Tomorrow to help you get a scholarship and I’ll send you some information about the particular scholarship I ended up getting, too, if you’d like. Plus, I have a friend or two that work at USC in the art department. Why don’t you email your portfolio to me and I’ll have them take a peek? You can find my addy on our website.”
