Everything—the bright red punch, the glittering ice cubes, the splash of cold—seemed like it was moving in slow motion. Other than Olive’s own heart beating, everything was silent … until someone’s giggle hit her like a wet snowball.
Olive wrapped her arms around herself, but it didn’t help. Maybe her sopping-wet curls would hide her face. Maybe she could go back to Forest’s tree in the park and stay there forever.
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Letay set the cake on the picnic table and gently helped Olive sit on the bench. “I’ll get you a towel, honey.”
A piece of ice fell out of Olive’s hair and plinked onto the picnic table. Cold punch dripped down her arms. Olive met Forest’s eyes: They were big, wet, sad, and more than a little confused.
“Olive don’t want Forest to put out fire?” he asked quietly.
Olive couldn’t even speak—she just shook her head no. She felt shy all over again. Old Olive.
Josie looked at Olive, and Olive saw the flash of an idea in her eyes. “How about we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ now? Go!” Josie said.
Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” (everyone except Olive), and Josie took a deep breath in and blew out her candles in one puff. Olive’s body loosened up with some relief—now Josie was doing the quick thinking. Everyone clapped, and smoke from the candles floated up over the cake like a dirty gray cloud.
At least everyone would be distracted with sugary cake. Olive hoped Josie’s mom would bring back a towel big enough to crawl under and hide until her dad came and picked them up. Josie gave the first way-too-big piece of cake to Olive—and it even had a big purple rose made of frosting on it. A special corner slice. Olive smiled at her, and Josie smiled back.
Herbert scooted onto the bench next to her. There was frosting on his nose and glasses. “Hey, Olive. You smell like the candy aisle in the grocery store.”
Olive sniffed her hair. Herbert was right—she smelled like Wildberry Fruit Punch. “Thanks, Herbert.”
“You’re welcome. I think Forest is trying to get your attention. Should he have a hose?”
Olive looked up to see Forest waving one hand in the air and dragging the hose across the lawn with the other. She didn’t think this day could get worse, but …
Forest angled the hose above his head and took his thumb off the nozzle, dousing himself in water. He let it run down his whole body until his clothes were heavy and dripping. After he was completely soaked, he let go of the hose, which wriggled all over the lawn, spewing water. Kids held on to their cake while they sprang out of the hose’s path.
Now Forest was sopping wet, even more than she was, and she felt so much less alone.
A bubble of shyness popped in Olive, and she laughed. And everyone started laughing with her, including Forest.
“What Olive want to do?” Forest said, his voice booming across the yard.
Olive hopped down from her bench and landed on the ground. Mud shot up from under her shoes—the ground was soaked from Forest’s hose attack—and splatted right onto Josie’s new dress.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
“OLIVE SAY MUD FIGHT!” Forest bellowed.
Forest reached down, picked up a giant fistful of mud, and smacked it all right into his face.
Josie beamed. “Great idea, Olive!” she yelled, picking up mud with both her hands. She gave one handful to Olive.
“Thanks, Josie,” Olive squeaked.
“You’re welcome,” Josie said. And then she splattered mud on her face, too.
