Something in the way he asked the question made Pax frown. “I feel there’s some sort of catch,” she said, eyeing the shifty-looking kid.

“No, really,” he insisted. “We want you on our team. Either you want in or you don’t. The bell’s about to ring. My next tardy gets turned into an absence. I need to know right now.”

Pax bit her lip. She’d only recently heard about the end of school tradition among seniors here at World High—named after one of the founding members of the city. As with many things since transferring here at the beginning of the school year, Pax had so far succeeded in blocking out much of her new school’s quirks and politics. Still reeling from her sudden displacement, she’d spent the past five months living life in a numbed blur.

“I guess,” she said, more to placate the kid than out of any real interest in joining his team.

“Good. Here are the rules.” He handed her a folded piece of paper. “We have a team meeting tomorrow after school at the Starbucks on Queen. Got it?”

She said she did and unfolded the paper. WW XIX sat in bold typeface across the top. World War 2019. How cheesy. World’s annual, unofficial senior game where teams sought to douse each other with water, thus eliminating them from further contention. The object was to ambush as many of the other team members as possible until only one team was left with participants. In today’s age of school-related tragedies, the administration had smartly banned students from any sort of wargames on school property. Despite the fun intentions, it would send the wrong message to students and parents, they reasoned. Pax had listened to this kid—someone she’d only been faintly familiar with in one of her classes–with polite interest. But as he scurried down the hall the warning bell rang, and she took a moment to scan the list of rules:

• Except for playing the game on campus, all participants are fair game anytime, anywhere.
• You may use any water delivery system you choose.
• If you are hit, you are out of the game. Period. People will know if you cheat to re-enter the game, and you will be publicly ostracized in the school yearbook if you do so.
• Teams must be comprised of at least two players, with a maximum of ten per team. At least one player must be a current student.
• The game begins promptly at 2:30pm Friday, May 1, and ends once the leading team is handed the latest World War trophy at the 2019 class graduation ceremony.
• Winners will bask in eternal glory of being crowned champions, and will be included in World’s Hall of Fame display in the school lobby. Losers will bow their heads in shame and will forever be considered unworthy. Happy hunting!!!

Pax finished reading just as the tardy bell rang. She folded the paper and stuffed in into her back pocket. “Stupid school,” she muttered, and knowing she was already late, didn’t even bother running to her classroom.

That night, at the dinner table, Pax told her parents about her invite.

“I don’t like it,” her mother said, cutting into her pork chop. “It seems too militant. With everything going on in schools these days, I’m not sure it sends the appropriate message.”

“I disagree,” her father said through a mouthful of peas. “I think it’s just a harmless way for kids to vent. What’s next? No more dodge ball because it causes PTSD?”

“Oh, Henry. I think you’re being obtuse.”

Her father raised his eyebrows. “You see, Pax? I say something to support you and I’m labeled as being obtuse.”

Pax looked from her father to her mother, wishing very much to be excused from the table. They were at it again. Even before they’d moved, her parents had had a knack for dinnertime disagreements. It was almost as if there had been some marriage vow that had ordered it. After their move almost 1000 miles away, those instances seemed to have become laced with a touch of vitriol she had never seen before. Pax suspected even they weren’t happy with their decision. But she knew that even if they changed their mind and moved back up north it wouldn’t happen until after she graduated. She was stuck at her new school and knew it.

As if reading Pax’s mind, her mother asked, “How are your classes going? You can’t let these silly games distract you from your school work.”

For the next ten minutes she endured the same speech she’d heard a hundred times. Finishing the dishes, she retreated to her bedroom and plopped down on her bed. Hands folded behind her head, Pax listened to the sounds outside her bedroom window. Her thoughts drifted to her friends back home. She wondered what they were doing right then. She imagined them huddled around each other, making homemade cards to send to her. We miss you! or Come back soon! The painful truth, she knew, was that they were probably going about their business, catching rides with each other Uptown to go shopping for prom, giggling as they speculated on how the big night would unfold. They’d be darting amid the busyness of their lives so much that they would barely have time to think of her. Out of sight, out of mind. Pax reasoned that she’d likely been in their thoughts for a week or so, but even she knew the workings of the seventeen-year-old mind. The more she thought about it the surer she was that none of them were lying on their beds as she was now, staring at their bedroom ceilings and worrying about her. They hadn’t been the ones uprooted from everything they’d ever known, after all. It wasn’t their fault if they’d forgotten about her. As much as she wanted them to remember her, pine for her even, Pax felt it would be unjust to have them wallow in her undulating waves of depression.

Picking up her iPhone she found the contact labeled GP and pressed the phone icon. After the sixth ring a familiar voice answered.

“Hey, grandpa. It’s me, your favorite granddaughter.”

“That’s funny, I only have one granddaughter,” the gravelly voice said. “You must have the wrong number.”

She giggled and asked him what he was up to—she hadn’t heard from him since he’d left two weeks ago with his volunteer firefighter group to fight a raging forest fire.

“It’s pretty bad, but we’re doing all we can,” he said through static. “I’m one of the few volunteers who can fly a helicopter. They’re letting me wear my old army uniform, medals and all. I won’t fly any other way from now on; it keeps me young.”

After telling her more about the countless flights he’d had to take and a bit of small talk, his voice changed. “Is something wrong, sweetie?”

Pax said no, but almost instantly her fingers pressed themselves to her lips and she had to fight back tears. For the next hour she spoke of her longing for “home,” and how she’d only felt like a shell of her former self since moving. She explained how hard it was watching groups of friends congregating in the school lunch hall, kids who’d likely known each other their entire lives. She told him of going to the mall and buying ice cream for herself, watching young couples stroll by hand-in-hand and sets of best girlfriends sharing laughs. No, she didn’t have a date for prom, she explained, and didn’t want to go stag. One pimply junior nick-named Tony-Tone had invited her, but Pax had declined, giving the excuse of having to appear in a non-existent church play the night of the dance.

When she was finished talking, her grandfather’s gravelly voice softened more than she’d ever heard it. “What you’re going through is normal, sweetie. I went through depression as a teen. My mother died when I was in high school and I blamed the world for it. She was everything to me, and I felt a bit like you do now. I was lost and angry and didn’t think that anyone understood me.”

Telling him she felt a bit better already, Pax remembered to tell him about the senior water war, and how after re-thinking it had decided to accept her invite to a team. She hadn’t made any friends yet so she reasoned it could only do her good to put herself out there.

“That’s ironic,” he said, laughing.

“Me joining their team?”

“No, the fact you’re playing a war game. Your name–Pax. It means a period of extended peace.”

“Mom always told me it was biblical.”

“Well, it can be both.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

She told him to be safe. He told her to call him whenever she felt the need, that he was only a phone call away.

“You’re coming to my graduation, right?” she asked-told him.

“As long as I’m not tied to an anthill with honey poured on me,” he said, and she giggled again despite herself. After she hung up she instantly broke into tears, not so much out of sadness but out of an appreciation for her grandfather she felt she’d never truly be able to communicate, let alone repay.

The next day after school she walked into the Starbucks at the prescribed time and was met by the surprised faces of a group of kids she recognized from school. The boy who’d invited her the day before broke from the group and pulled her aside.

“Hey look, Pax—um, I’m sorry, but we already have ten in our group.”

Pax counted nine kids at the table, huddled around a large map. “But you specifically asked me to join your team,” she said, feeling her face flush.

“I know. Someone who said they couldn’t join changed their mind. Sorry. I’m sure there are other teams who will take you. The game doesn’t start for another week.” The kid offered a sheepish, dopey sort of grin, then headed back to his friends.

Pax stood watching them for a moment, not sure of what to do. Part of her wanted to storm over to the table and curse the kid out, to tell him it was rude to invite someone only to later uninvite them. But the longer she stood watching them the more she understood that anything she said would be useless. It wasn’t their fault she was an outsider. They’d been friends for years, no doubt, had grown up together during a time she herself had been developing her own friends and a life up north. A larger part of her, a more prideful part, insisted that they not know what she was going through. Feeling bad was one thing. Having virtual strangers see your pain plastered across your face was another. Refusing to allow the latter, Pax pulled out her iPhone and placed it to her ear. As she walked by the group, she spoke into the blank screen about how she would love to go shopping at the mall, she just had to meet a few friends for lunch first. After she pushed her way out the door, she pocketed her phone and drove home in sullen silence. When she walked through the front door her mother took one look at her and asked her what was wrong, that it looked as if she’d been crying.

“What do you think is wrong, mom?” she shot back, and took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time.

* * *

The water war began as many real ones do, with skirmishes and probing maneuvers, until all combatants appeared to get their blood up and full-scale battles erupted. Pax had been at the library when she’d first glimpsed the war’s arrival. Studying for an English Lit paper, she’d just checked out and had been heading to her car when a carload of kids had screeched to a halt in the parking lot. Not realizing what was going on, Pax had stopped in her tracks and watched in confusion as three boys leaped from the car, all holding bright-colored plastic objects. Not until they ran upon two unsuspecting girls carrying books and began to spray them had Pax understood what was happening. Shrieking, the girls attempted to run in separate directions. But the three boys also parted, and with surgical precision they proceeded to pump streams of water from what Pax now realized were super soaker water cannons. Dropping their books, the girls threw their arms around their heads and cried out for the boys to stop, that they’d gotten them, and officially surrendered with shouts of frustration. Laughing hysterically, the boys announced their first victims of the war had been taken, high-fived each other, and piled back into the awaiting car. As quickly as they’d arrived, they disappeared, music booming from the car’s open windows.

The following days produced an increasing escalation of hostilities. All around town, signs of “combat” were evident.  On a Tuesday afternoon, while waiting in line at a fast food drive-thru, she watched with little humor as the kid manning the drive-thru register become yet another “victim.” From her position behind another car, Pax had watched a kid stand up in the car’s open sunroof and lob a pair of bloated water balloons through the open window On Thursday, when Pax had taken the family dog for a walk through their neighborhood, she’d seen a girl she recognized from her AP Biology class jogging on the opposite sidewalk. As the girl ran by a gray-colored house, another girl burst from behind a hedge, garden hose in hand. The ambush succeeded in brilliant fashion, as the jogging girl received a blast of reclaimed water straight to the face.

For the next two weeks Pax counted at least a dozen other “battle” episodes. Teams were soon whittled down until only three retained enough members to continue. It irritated her that the team from which she’d been uninvited was the clear leader. In fact, none of their members had been taken out. So far, they’d employed tactics so successful that nobody had been able to ambush them to break through their combined defenses. They’d taken to sleeping over at one member’s house, taking extraordinary measures not to be taken out of the game. As the contest wore on, they began arriving to school at 3am and leaving after dark so as to frustrate other teams who quickly tired of the waiting game. One member of the leading team was even confronted by another team who surrounded his car once he arrived home late one night. Squirt guns ready, the four members of the opposing team told him they were willing to wait all night for him to finally exit his car. He didn’t. Not that night, and not all the next day. He had stashed enough food and water for a week in his backseat, and he’d placed his dashboard protector over the windshield when using a bucket for bathroom necessities. This had happened on a Friday evening, and when he still had not exited his car by 6pm Sunday, the exhausted and frustrated opposing team gave up and left.

Since school property was off limits, they glided through the hallways, gloating of their soon-to-be-victory. A very real change seemed to have occurred in them. Where before the team had been comprised of a mixed bag of personalities, they now seemed to have coalesced around one another, forming one shared and bloated ego. What bothered Pax the most wasn’t the mere fact they were winning. It was more the fact they’d forgotten all about her. Never one to need inclusion in a group, she nonetheless felt the need for basic human interaction. In some way, she felt as though having been a part of something larger than herself, albeit a silly adolescent game, would have helped her get past her own sadness. Admitting it probably had more to do with actually succeeding in something, she raised the issue one night at the dinner table.

“I thought you didn’t want any part of it,” her father said, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“I didn’t. I still don’t. It’s just, well—it’s just that I feel everything is passing me by. As stupid as it sounds.”

“What you need is to find a nice boy to take you to the prom,” her mother piped in.

Pax rolled her eyes. “You would say that.”

“Yes, I would say that. I’m your mother. Mothers mother. It’s what we do.”

“Well, I don’t need some geeky guy to take me to the prom for me to feel better about myself. I just brought it up as something to talk about. You don’t always have to try fixing me, you know.”

Her mother looked across the table at her father, who shook his head tightly.

“I’m not trying to fix you, Pax. I’m trying to help you.”

“And what if I don’t need help? What if I just need someone to listen?”

“I am listening.”

“No, mom. You aren’t just listening. You’re fixing.”

Her mother placed her knife and fork on her plate and leveled her gaze on Pax’s scowling form. “I think you’re being too hard on me. On me and your father. Is this about moving, because ever since we got here you’ve been treating us very unfairly.”

Having bitten her tongue for the most part, Pax took the opportunity to delve into a subject that had been consuming her for the better part of six months.

“You know what’s unfair, mom? Taking me away from every friend I’ve ever had. Moving at the beginning of my senior year when I used to be able to walk to school, and now have to drive twenty minutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Making me quit the job I had for three years and two families I’d been babysitting for since I was thirteen. Neither of you had to go through that. You were born in the same town, went to school there, and only moved to go to college. You basically kidnapped me.”

“Now, Pax, don’t you think that’s being unfair,” her father said diplomatically.

Pax stuttered. She looked between her parents, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, I see. You two are teaming up against me. You’ve talked about this before. You rehearsed it. What is your next part, mom? You’re supposed to give me some long speech about changing times, how you’re trying to give me a better future and to be more grateful? Then you, dad, after that you’re supposed to agree with mom and tell me it was a difficult decision, but that’s what adults do. They make difficult decisions for their kids because they don’t know any better. Well, I do know better. I know that it sucks here, and I absolutely hate it. I’m not the kind of girl who makes friends overnight. You both know that, but you moved us anyway. Do you know that you never even asked me about it? I came home from work one day and you guys put your finger down on a map and said, ‘this is where we’re moving to in two months.’”

Pax’s mother shook her head, defiance in her eyes. “We didn’t ask you because it wasn’t your decision, young lady.”

“Exactly,” Pax said, triumphant. “That’s just what I mean. Because I was seventeen, I wasn’t old enough to know any better?”

Her parents exchanged looks of frustration before Pax placed her napkin on her plate.

“May I be excused?” she asked, already getting up from the table.

“No, you may not,” her mother said sternly.

Pausing mid-way to her feet, Pax stared across the table at her mother. “Are you serious?”

“Just because you’re graduating next month doesn’t mean you aren’t still my child. I don’t feel as though we’re done talking about this.”

Pax took her seat.

“Thank you. Now—your father and I truly are sympathetic to your situation, honey. Making this decision was harder than you think. Both of us had to leave friends and jobs we’ve had for years. We did what we felt was best. If that hurt you, we’re sorry. We hope you’ll learn to forgive us and be happy.”

Pax didn’t respond. She stared at her mother, resolute that no matter what, she wouldn’t utter another word. If her mother intended to invoke her authority, fine. She could have the floor and could keep it. Pax felt that even if offered a million dollars to say one word just then she’d happily have refused.

“I agree with your mother,” her father said, breaking his long silence. “We love you, even if it doesn’t seem like it. We’re trying to adapt to moving too. Things will turn around, you’ll see.”

Still, silence. Pax made sure to keep her expression flat. Despite her feelings, she didn’t want to resort to outright disrespect. She felt she’d driven her point home, as if by the point of a knife, and something inside her felt compelled to twist the handle once or twice as an expression of her own independence.

After several more moments of silence Pax’s mother sighed and excused her from the table. Making sure not to step too heavily on the stairs, Pax climbed them and found sanctuary in her bedroom. She tried to read but couldn’t. She decided a Biology assignment could wait for later. Right now, she needed someone to talk to. Someone other than her parents. She phoned her two best friends from back home, but one didn’t answer and the other was busy right then, but I’ll call you back in ten minutes, I promise! When the friend hadn’t called back thirty minutes later Pax texted her. Kelly, one of her closest friends since grade school, apologized and said she’d try to call tomorrow, something came up that can’t wait.

Defeated, she called the only other person she could think of. Pressing ‘GP’ on her contact list, Pax felt her throat thicken as she fought back tears. When her grandfather answered, she was relieved to feel the stinging at the corners of her eyes dissipate and the lump that had begun to grow in her throat fade away.

They talked for the next two hours. She about her life and her feelings, and even about the dumb school game she hadn’t been a part of but had been witness to. She told him about the team having uninvited her but that she was choosing to not take it personally. Being that they were the last remaining team, all that was left was for them to collect their trophy on stage at the off campus outdoor graduation field. “Let them have it,” she said. “I can’t worry about stupid games anymore.”

He told her about the forest fire finally being extinguished and how he was now back home tending to his garden once more. He said he looked forward to seeing Pax for her graduation next month. “No way I’d miss my favorite granddaughter graduate,” he said, and this time it was she who reminded him that she was the only granddaughter he had.

He also spoke of a few minor health issues, but that it was all a part of getting old. “We weren’t made to last forever,” he said ruefully, and something in his voice told Pax he may have been thinking back to his army days and the buddies who hadn’t been lucky enough to experience the aches and trials of old age.

For the next four weeks Pax slogged through life. Each day passed devoid of color or zeal. Her mother at first tried talking to her but had soon relented, giving Pax space enough not to force conversation. Dinners were quiet, abrupt. On the eve of her graduation, she considered not even walking but changed her mind after a short but productive talk with her father. As the ceremony itself began the next day, Pax sat in her cap and gown, hearing but not really listening to what the principal said. Most of the names were still foreign to her anyway. Why did it matter who won valedictorian, salutatorian, summa cum lade and—to roars of laughter from the crowd–class clown? Pax tried to focus but couldn’t. The wind fluttered the tassel atop her cap, tickling her face. She scanned the bleachers for her parents and found them in the last row of bleachers. But she couldn’t find her grandfather. He’d called the night before and said he would make the trip but may be a bit late.

She slumped in her chair, her mood mimicking the scattered clouds overhead. The principal announced her name, and for a moment Pax thought she might stand and denounce herself, to shout to everyone that she wasn’t worthy of graduating from anything, that she still felt very much in the before, as her mother used to say. The principal repeated her name, and only after a nudge from the student next to her did she reluctantly stand and make way for the stage. She accepted her diploma, faced the cameraman with a forced smile, then retook her seat on the lawn. When everyone’s name had been called and tassels had ceremoniously been switched, the principal made a special announcement.

“Today as you all embark on the next journey of life, we are reminded that life is not always so serious. As hard as you have worked, and for all your successes in the classroom, we should not lose the brevity that can interject some fun into our lives. This school has had a tradition of honoring this mantra by having seniors participate in a fun, yet responsible water fight. Last year’s winning team was comprised of a future Harvard enrollee, two US military academy attendees, and other students who would go on to find success in a multitude of ways. The students, and even the faculty, take this game seriously. Now that this ceremony concludes, I would like to congratulate this year’s winning team, seated here to my left.”

The principal motioned to a row of beaming students in the front row. All ten members stood and waved their acknowledgments to their fellow graduates and gathered guests. Pax huffed, reminding herself that none of it mattered, that just as the principal himself had just said, they were all embarking on their own paths soon, real ones that didn’t have time for games and silly competitions. She watched the row of students file onto the stage and was herself suddenly distracted by a curious sight in the distance. The clouds had since parted to reveal a bright overhead sun, and the faint glint of something metallic in the sky grew larger, turning the attention of all in attendance. Pax frowned, wondering what in the world the object could be. But then she realized what it was, perhaps before anyone else—and why shouldn’t she? There, growing closer, and at low altitude, flew a small helicopter. Below it hung yet another object, this one even more curious-looking, and not until the wispy trails of water could be seen leaking from it did Pax realize it was a bucket or some other large container, like those used to fight forest fires. At the controls sat a grinning, white-haired man, the army medals on his lapels gleaming in the midday sun.

In those precious moments before the helicopter flew directly over the stage and unleashed a torrent of water, soaking the principal and the entire team that had come mere seconds from winning, Pax understood for the first time in her life the full value of love from another human being, and that no matter where her path led her from here she would be perfectly okay.