Free Vulnerable by Elise Pehrson Page B

Michael shouted towards Millie as he ran away towards the small box filled with water ammo and plastic weapons.
                “Not unless I get you first!” She squealed back, following him in the hunt for the best water gun.
                Michael was getting hit left and right on his way to the bucket, but he finally made it there and picked up the biggest one he could find, which wasn’t much considering he was second to last to pick. He stared at the three guns left: a pink handgun, a silver pistol, and a broken blue grenade.
                He heard the mushy footsteps getting closer, and he knew he had to pick before Millie, so he grabbed the pink gun and turned around. He shot the gun immediately, without looking, and accidentally shot Millie where he hadn’t intended. She had been a lot closer than he realized—inches in face (she stood waiting to scare him)—and he shot her right in the eye.
                “OW! OUCH!” she grunted, chaos still collaborating all around her.
                “Ohmigosh, I’m so sorry!” Michael said with his hands now holding her face. “Are you all right?”
                “Yeah…I’m fine,” she said, squinting with her good eye and closing her bad eye as tightly as humanly possible.
                “Come on,” he said as he placed his hand on the core of her back, “Let’s wash that out. I don’t think that’s the cleanest of water.” She nodded and they walked away from the battling group. He turned around and watched as the tubby kid bodyslammed Brother Raymond.
                “Nice,” he laughed.
                “What?” Millie asked, still wincing.
                “Oh, nothing,” he replied, “So where can we go for nice water?”
                “I think we have some water bottles up at the tents,” she said, her voice quieting as they moved away from the cacophony.
                “Sorry that was short-lived,” he said, “And that I didn’t get to beat you.” He winked.
                “Whatever,” she laughed, “I totally would have gotten you soaking wet!” He smiled at her as he searched his bag for a water bottle that he remembered was in there for the hike. When he found it, he thought of something sinister… they were headed towards the water in the tents anyway, right?
                “Well,” he said, “Looks like you’re wrong.” She cocked her head. He unscrewed the lid. “I won’t be the one to get soaking wet.” He dumped the water all over her head. She laughed in disbelief.
                “You—,” she laughed and faked distress as she tackled him to the ground. It was a bad place to land wrong; they were on a hill. Before they could think another thought—before Michael could smell her hair and feel her skin on his—they were tumbling over one another towards the tents.
                Down and down they went, thumping against rock after mud pile after anthill. Finally, they slowed down and coasted to a stop on a tent, settling next to each other. He turned his head and saw her still laughing. She was buried in her hair that fell apart into a wavy bulk beneath her head, softening her head like a soft patch of hay. She turned her head to face him.
                Her eye twitched. He broke out laughing and she just slapped him playfully on the arm before breaking out in a fit of laughter too.
                “You’re ridiculous!” She giggled.
                His face lit up, “You’re right.” He leaned in.
                “Are y’all raht?” A voice rolled out down the hill. Really , Michael thought, every time. He sat up and saw that it was Brother Raymond, which he had suspected from the butter-thick accent.
                “Yeah, we’re okay!” he quickly retorted.
                “We just needed