The Kings of Summer

six.

The rain pours down on the four friends, completely soaking them. Empty bottles and buckets surrounded them, catching the clean water. Patrick sits with his head tilted towards the ceiling to capture any stray water droplets. Joe sits next to him and Charlie as he draws a map. It was detailed and very artistic—Charlie was impressed.

"All right," the brunette states. Water droplets traveled along the bridge of his nose and fell to the map below. "We need cool names for everything. Like, awesome, mythical names."

"No, we don't," Patrick replies, his mouth getting filled with water. He holds it in his mouth, planning to attack his best friend with a mouthful of water to the face.

"Oh! How about, uh, The Trees of Destiny?" Charlie laughs, pointing to a small patch of trees drawn on the map. Patrick just launches himself over the girl's lap, then, spraying Joe's pale face with rainwater. "No! The map!" Charlie laughs. She quickly opens her mouth to collect water, spitting it at both boys there. Biaggio takes this at the perfect opportunity to collect water and join in on the fight.

"No! Stop!" the girl squeals as Biaggio sprays water at her. It hits her in the side of the face, nearly missing her ear. "You're goin' down," she taunts.

Her mouth is full of rainwater quickly, and she jumps on Biaggio's back to spit the water at him. He lets out a high-pitched scream and tries to wiggle himself out of her grasp. He gets what he wants when both Patrick and Joe grab Charlie. They then proceed to spit water at her.

The four of them continue their water fight, the only sound coming from their lips being playful screams and laughter.

~

"So, Patrick's a wrestler?" the male police officer inquires.

"Oh, a very good one," Mr. Keenan replies.

"So what's that? Greco-Roman or arena?"

"Don't answer that," Mrs. Keenan blurts out. She didn't want her husband to be giving in to the likes of this man. He was trying to do something to his mind.

"Greco-Roman," Mr. Keenan answers anyway. "What's arena?"

"Arena is pro," the male officer replies, a smug look coming across his face. Patrick's father rolls his eyes, clearly not up for his games.

"Do you think that Joe would run away to prove a point?" the female officer asks.

"Oh, hold on now. We don't know that they've run away. I mean, there is absolutely no reason that Patrick would run away," Mrs. Keenan brags.

"Not for Patrick to run away, no," her husband supplies.

"You're right. It's a classic kidnapping. They took our children and the canned goods and pasta," Frank Toy announces. His usual bored tone was very present. He sat back and watched as Patrick's parents grasped desperately at an idea that was so ludicrous it made Frank cringe.

"All right, look, I hate to admit it, but Frank is right. Right now, we have to assume that these are voluntary disappearances."

"Wow. What do you know? The police, always pushing their pig Irish agendas." Her husband gasps. She has never said something like that before.

"Mrs. Keenan, I assure you, there is no other agenda than to find your son right now."

"No. The Irish are the blacks of Europe," Mrs. Keenan explodes. Everyone in the room goes silent for a while, not expecting her outburst at all.