The Water Fight Professional

Chapter Six:

  Slip Slidin’ on Waves

  Chance didn’t get kicked out of golf camp. He was right about me being the one to get in trouble. And it helped that his dad had a membership to Warm Springs Golf Course.

  My dad didn’t.

  No, my dad was more than a little upset that Mom paid for my registration, and I wasn’t even allowed to attend. I spent the rest of the week grounded. The most I could do was look out the window. It made golf seem exciting.

  Finally Saturday came. Freedom. My parents originally said I was grounded until Sunday, but I think they got sick of me. I hauled my backpack out from under my bed. Time to get down to business.

  My cell phone played the soundtrack from Pirates of the Caribbean. Chance.

  I clicked the answer button, though now that I could talk on the phone I had nothing to say. And I really didn’t want to hear about golf. I sighed. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Lightning Michaels. Everybody was talking about you at camp. I’m like a celebrity just because I flew into the sand trap with you.”

  “Really?” Cool. I had a nickname and everything.

  “It was awesome. And my parents aren’t mad at you at all. My mom says it’s her fault because she was the one who suggested you try it.”

  I frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  “Oh, just that she should have expected your hijinks. That’s what she called it—hijinks.”

  My nickname didn’t seem as cool anymore. Chance was expected to be the next Tiger Woods, and I was expected to get into trouble.

  “But anyway, I’m calling to see if you want to go to Roaring Springs with us.”

  I dropped my backpack. “Yeah.”

  Dad only takes us to the water park once a summer—whenever he can get the biggest discount.

  “Don’t you need to ask your parents?”

  Unfortunately. “I’ll call you back.” I leaped down the stairs, praying that my parents would let me go. I had learned my lesson. No more hijinks.

  Dad sat at his desk, balancing the checkbook—his favorite pastime.

  “Can I go to Roaring Springs with Chance?”

  Dad didn’t even look at me. “How much money do you have?”

  “I made twelve bucks last week.”

  Dad’s head snapped up. “Why didn’t I know this? Where is it? Did you tithe?”

  There are pictures in Mom’s scrapbooks from my second birthday party when Dad gave me my first piggy bank. It was divided into three sections—one for church, one for the bank, and one for the store. Ever since I can remember I was supposed to divide my money up as soon as I got it.

  Each month my dad would take all the money from the bank portion to deposit it into my savings account.

  The rest was up to me.

  I bit my lip. “It’s still in my pants pocket.”

  Dad shook his head as if he were shocked by such irresponsibility. “Did it go through the wash?”

  I nodded.

  Dad set his pen down and leaned back.

  I should have asked Mom.

  “Even if you don’t tithe or put any of your money in savings, you still don’t have enough to pay for Roaring Springs.”

  I groaned and collapsed into a chair. “Most parents pay for their kids to do things.”

  “And that is one of the reasons our society accumulates so much debt.”

  I have this theory that when my parents die I will inherit millions. My dad stuffs money in the bank like gerbils stuff food in their cheeks. Until then, we will live “with a budget.”

  But maybe Dad was onto something with all his debt talk.

  “So … if you want me to learn about the dangers of debt, you should give me a loan.” I held my breath.

  Dad crossed his arms. “What are you suggesting?”

  “You—” I paused for emphasis “—loan me ten dollars, and I will pay you back eleven before the end of the month.”

  Dad narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t, interest goes up. It will cost you an extra dollar for every week your payment is late.”

  I jumped up. “I promise.”

  Dad yelled after me as I ran for my phone. “This is a one-time offer!”

  Fine. I only needed one full day of play. Then I would be back at my water-fighting business earning enough money to repay my parents—and more than enough to win the bet with Chance.