“I want to wear the nightshirt!” Teddy exclaimed, waving it over his head.
Erica and Allison exchanged a look before my stepmotherjumped into mom mode. “Teddy, we need your superfast arms to help stuff the balloons into the nightshirt.” She turned to me. “Olivia, how about you wear the shirt while Allison and I blow up the balloons?”
“Dibs on the pump,” Allison said. “My lungs don’t compare to yours, Erica.”
Erica smiled. She’d lifeguarded in high school and still swam regularly. “What do you think, Teddy?” I asked, trying to channel my inner Connor. He was so natural with kids. “You want to stuff me like a turkey?”
Grinning, he surrendered the nightshirt, and I pulled it on over my clothes. Meanwhile, Sage wore her team’s nightshirt with Connor and Bryce doing breathing exercises to ready their lungs.Of course, I thought at the sound of Connor offering pointers on how to most effectively expand lung capacities. He’d mentioned his mom taught yoga on the weekends.
Our five-minute strategy session felt more like thirty seconds, but somehow, everyone seemed pseudo-organized by the time Peggy called time. “Ready…” she teased as Topper raised a plastic whistle to his lips. My heart started to pound. “Set…”
Go!
Swede barked and Beth’s little Posey yipped when the whistle blew, the room exploding with excitement and frantic energy. I identified as the latter. My nightshirt’s hem stopped mid-calf, so I worried the balloons would fall out the bottom. “We’ve got tostuff the balloons in really tightly,” Erica said, reading my mind. “It’ll expand the shirt Santa Claus–style and prevent the balloons from slipping out and getting away.”
She and Allison took turns using the hand pump and blowing up the balloons while Teddy stuffed them under my nightshirt. I caught the two moms motioning to each other, agreeing that they too would shove balloons in, but subtly so they didn’t hurt Teddy’s feelings. It reminded me of when I was a little girl; we’d been on vacation and I’d told my mom I could eat an entire banana split sundae myself. She told me to go for it and congratulated me after I all but licked the bowl clean. It was years later that I found out she’d been sneaking bites while my dad distracted me. Brooke Lupo hadn’t even liked bananas.
Heart twinging, I glanced over at the other teams and couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at their strategies. How had Maisie ended up in the nightshirt? It was so big on her; she looked like a ghostly bride with her long train. All she was missing was a veil. My dad, Charlie, and Beth—my sister’s teammates—were going for optimal balloon production, having formed a full-on assembly line.
I smiled, shook my head, and refocused on my own team. Beads of sweat had formed on Allison’s forehead, and Erica’s hair was falling out of her ponytail. My stomach had also grownenormous, blocking my view of Teddy.
Are we winning?I wondered, pulse racing at the possibility.
Because okay, this was fun.
“Five more minutes to fill your nightshirts!” Peggy said, then held up something that looked a lot like a sewing needle.
“What is she going to do with that?” I asked at the same time Jay shouted, “Mom, you’reevil!”
Beth knowingly laughed, but neither she nor her brother enlightened us. “Ouch!” I squeaked when someone poked me hard in my stomach. “Watch where you put your hands, Theodore…”
“I’m sorry!” Teddy shouted. “And it’s Edward!”
Apologizing, I bent my knees to stop several balloons from escaping my nightshirt.
“Good idea, Olivia…” Erica was almost breathless from the pump.
“Erica, let’s switch after five more,” Allison said. Slowly I was starting to resemble Father Christmas getting ready for bed.
My sister wasn’t far behind; she had started to blow up à la Violet Beauregarde fromCharlie and the Chocolate Factory. Beth urged them on like a field general while stuffing in balloons with both hands. “I—can’t—breathe!” Maisie squealed.
Pop!
Pop, pop, pop!
I stiffened at the balloons bursting against my skin. “Teddy—” I started, but then felt someone’s arm snake up my back.
“It’s not me!” he cried.
“Don’t worry,” Erica said. “I’m squeezing in more balloons.”
At the cost of others!I thought, again feeling the sharp snap of plastic.
“Watch your fingernails,” I gritted out. “They’re popping balloons faster than you’re adding them.”
Erica didn’t respond; instead, one of her nails scratched my back.
“One minute left!” Topper warned as I winced.
