Page 19 of Savage in the Sweets
Blood rips through my veins at lightning speed. It’s one thing to insult my candy; it’s something else entirely to insinuate that I’m in any way a bad influence on children.
I step away from the alpha-jerk and focus my attention on the jovial birthday goers as they chase each other through the water.
Michael has become a favorite of April and her friends, making them squeal out in surprise as he grabs their ankles as he swims underwater. He’s careful with them, making sure not to pull them under or scare them too much. It’s hard to believe that the polite boy belongs to Mr. Tracksuit.
Jacob is getting noticeably frustrated as the attention that used to belong to him is bestowed on the newcomer to the group.
It’s not that Michael is purposely trying to supplant Jacob. If anything, he’s well-mannered and polite to a fault. He’s just an attention grabber.
“Aunt Lacy, look at me!” April chirps, then dives below the water.
I’ve been working with April for two summers, trying to get her to bob below the waterline, and this is the first she’s ever done so willingly.
I smile and give her a thumbs-up as she continues to show off her new ’skill.’
A couple of the girls grow tired and walk back to shore to work on a sandcastle, while the ones remaining grow bolder, edging closer to deeper waters.
“I think we need to stay close to shore,” I call out.
Mr. Tracksuit and I now stand on opposite sides of the cluster, both staring on at them, determined to be the better protector.
The girls chuckle and practice fancy strokes while Jacob and Michael splash around, in competition with one another.
A shrill screech sounds. “You got water in my eye!”
I look over to see April’s friend covering her face with one hand and pointing an accusatory finger at April with the other.
“You did it on purpose.”
“I did not!” April shouts back. “You’re just being a baby.”
The girl reaches her hand out and pulls April’s hair, and I move in to intervene.
“We do not hit, slap, or pull any part of each other,” I say, taking each girl by the forearm and pulling them apart.
At the same time, the girl says, “She splashed me,” April screams, “You’re never allowed at my birthday ever again!”
It’s hard to get even a word in as they bicker, but through the angry voices, I hear splashing, and even though I’m in a lake, it sounds an alarm inside of me.
I look over to see Jacob deeper in the water, his arms flailing.
My eyes dart to Mr. Tracksuit, who’s already spotted him and is diving to retrieve the small boy.
I cast the girls a firm gaze and make my voice tense. “Not another word from either of you. Get back to shore!”
Their heads nod, and they turn to walk back.
“You too!” I gesture to the other remaining girls, and they comply.
I’m relieved when I look over to see Mr. Tracksuit holding a pale, white Jacob, who is coughing out water.
Thank God Douche Extraordinaire was here.
We make our way back to the shore, and I have to admit, the way my arch-nemesis is talking to Jacob, bringing his mind back to a state of calm, has me more than a little charmed. He has a way with children that tugs at my ovaries, begging me to overlook his lesser qualities.
Which is ridiculous, because he’s a bully.
Once we reach the shore, Mr. Tracksuit sets Jacob down, and the mothers descend upon us.
