The absurd quality of a water-balloon fight in the rain did not cross Corey’s mind as he made his move on the strategically significant field-house building. The washrooms inside would provide the means to continue the battle indefinitely.
As he drew nearer to his objective, Corey saw movement in the trees to his left. There was a shout as his opponents saw him, as well. Corey broke into a run, leaping over a low hedge and barely clearing the drainage ditch on the other side. If the others reached the faucets before he did, all would be lost.
He almost made it.
“So close,” said Joel, leader of the rival team, as he stepped out of the washroom with a full balloon in each hand and a plastic pistol tucked into his belt.
Corey skidded to a halt, trapped between the two groups. He knew his own allies were close by, on the other side of the park securing the hose by the basketball courts, but not near enough at this moment to even the odds in the standoff.
The rain hammered down. All parties stood still, stoic against the downpour.
“Put down your weapons,” ordered Joel. Corey had no choice but to obey.
He laid his single filled balloon gently on the concrete ground, then straightened. After hesitating briefly, he dropped a handful of empty balloons from his left pocket, as well.
“And the rest,” Joel told the captive, as he hefted a balloon threateningly.
Corey knelt to surrender the tiny water gun that was stuffed into his sock. If he played his cards right, perhaps they wouldn’t suspect that he had a stash of balloons in his right pocket, too.
On his way down, he glanced at Joel and the other boys who surrounded him. He was trying desperately to think his way out of the trap.
Then, as his fingers closed on the green plastic of his hold-out weapon, the idea came. It was a plan they would never see coming, and it could turn the tide of the war.
Corey drew the gun and, at the same time, started off in a dead sprint, through the downpour, for the door to the girls’ bathroom.
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