Kindness Is Thicker Than Water

It was the second to last day of a summer scheme my best friend and I were attending. That day they had a water fight. Even though there was a “ceasefire in the refill zone” rule, most people didn’t obey it. I had just got outside, the last to do so, and a boy with a bucket spotted me. He cornered me and called out to his friend, who also had a bucket, “Target practice!” And they started soaking me.

After I managed to escape, I grabbed a squirty-foam-pole-thingy and ran around hitting people with it because my water gun had very little water in it and I needed to save it for revenge on the boys — at this point, they were chasing me. Combined with my best friend giving me terrible advice, and a girl who was freaking out and splashing a hose at everyone whether they were going for her or not, I wasn’t doing very well.

When I managed to hide behind a bush to gather my bearings and re-organise myself, I spotted three people: two boys and a girl. The boy was squirting the girl, who was squirting back; however, she wasn’t trying to squirt the first boy. She was trying to squirt the boy’s friend, who had nothing and was soaking wet and cowering behind his friend. I threw my squirty-foam-pole-thingy at her to temporarily distract her and quickly scooted over and gave my water gun to the boy.

“Here. It’s not got much water left, but it’ll keep you covered for the rest of the game,” I told him, and he and his friend scooted off, quickly followed by the girl, without so much as a thank you. I picked my squirty-foam-pole-thingy back up, extended it fully, and went around beating people up for the rest of the game. I even braved the hose girl.

Later, in the car on the way home, my dad told me that I was very brave to “take a water bullet” for someone I didn’t know, and that he would have me by his side in a war any day.