“Fuuuck!” hoots Ned, as everything happens at once.
For a few seconds, the water rushes only upwards, as though there’s no gravity. Then it comes crashing down over our heads, soaking us, as everyone runs from the kitchen. Now it’s spraying every which way as Ned tries to stem the flow with his hand, only making things worse. It sweeps everything before it in a tide, cups and mugs and bottles crash to the floor. Then Thomas’s cake.
The four of us watch, drenched.
Frozen.
Then a bedraggled Sof catches my eye. And, unbelievably, she laughs.
After a second, I crack up too—and suddenly we’re all hysterical. I’m holding on to Sof and we’re staggering about, both of us shrieking as we keep slipping across the floor. The water’s still spraying and Ned’s still trying to stop it and giggling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and this strikes me as the funniest thing ever.
Every time I look at Sof I collapse into giggles. My legs are weak like noodles. And every time she looks at me, she does a startled-donkey snort. Pretty soon we’re unable to hold each other up and we hit the floor, taking Thomas down with us—which only sends us into further hysterics as we flap about, beached fishes. I can’t see where the wormhole is, and I don’t care.
Ned flops down into the water too, even though he doesn’t need to, straight onto the cake, which makes Sof cackle even more. Breathlessly, she snorts at me, “Look—at—at—” She’s laughing so hard it takes her ten attempts to add, “Ned!”
“Fuck you, Petrakis,” Ned says, splashing her with water. “Shit, my camera.”
It’s Thomas who finally calms us down.
“Ned, Ned,” he says, struggling to sit up as the giggles fade out. “Get towels from the bathroom, your bedsheets, laundry—anything, there’s a load in my, Grey’s, that room. G, is the shed locked? Is there a mop or anything? I can’t think, um … Okay, Sof, can you turn off the music?”
Ned helps Sof to her feet and they head off, following instructions. Thomas nudges me: “The mop?”
“Shed, yes,” I say, still faintly delirious.
“Right. Can you handle—this?”
I nod—I don’t have a choice—and he runs off, slipping in all the water on the floor and banging against the walls.
There’s a saucepan on the drying rack and I grab it, approaching the sink like it’s a rat I need to kill. I try holding it down over the tap but it just redirects the spray right in my face. Trying again, both hands now, I manage to use it to sort of deflect the spray back down into the sink. Half of it is still going all over the counter, the windows, but at least not me.
Distantly, I hear the music stop.
A few seconds later, a dripping Sof squelches back out of Ned’s room. She comes to stand next to me, tilting her head at the saucepan.
“Clever,” she says. I glance at her, my arms shaking with effort. Her beehive has fallen apart, and her eyeliner drips in black streaks down her cheeks.
We stare at each other for a few long seconds, considering. Then she grins.
“You know who’d LOVE this?” She jerks her head at the überdestruction. “Grey.”
“Yeah,” I agree quietly. “Yeah, he’d think it was hilarious.”
“And”—Sof hip-bumps me pointedly—“he’d think we’re really stupid.”
I hip-bump her back.
“I’m sorry I yelled,” I tell her.
The kitchen’s a disaster. Papa’s going to kill us. I sort of don’t care. I’m weightless, the same way as when you haven’t done your homework and the teacher calls in sick—everything’s going to be okay. A reprieve. Wormhole, schmormhole.
“Come on, give us a go,” Sof says, putting her hands over mine on the saucepan.
“Okay, hold it tight,” I tell her, shifting aside. As soon as I let go, the pan flies out of her grasp, clunking against my wrist and spraying water over both of us again. Sof dissolves in giggles as we slip and slide in the water.
“Stop iiiit,” I say, snorting. “Come on, you have to hold it, I need to find a way to stop this.”
“Scout’s honor,” Sof swears, picking the pan up again.
As she braces her arms against the pressure, I kneel down. “Budge over.” I crawl past her legs and nudge open the cupboard under the sink. There’s got to be a stop button or something. The wrench is on the floor where Ned dropped it. From my hands and knees, I can see how filthy the tiles are—dirty water and discarded drinks, everything that was on the counter has been swept down here by the tidal wave.
“Gross, gross, gross,” I mutter as I peer inside the cupboard. I yank at a thingamajig. “Anything?”
“No,” Sof bellows.
I hit a whojamewhatsit and tug something else, and the thundering in the sink above me stops. Finally. I crawl out of the cupboard backwards, butt first. Bash my head as I stand up.