I don’t tell Ivori my plumbing experience only goes as far as the two-minute YouTube video I watched this morning.
She peers under the kitchen sink while I crouch down inside the cabinet.
“See this?” I point to the U-shaped PVC tube. “All I have to do is twist this ring, and the water will stop leaking.”
I secure my wrench around the bolt, and give it a few cranks. Immediately, the droplets stop falling. “There! I did it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep. Let’s just give it one more spin for good luck.” I yank the wrench, putting all my strength into it, ensuring the bolt is as tight as it will go. “Go ahead. Turn the water on.”
Ivori leans forward to twist the lever on the faucet, and I grin from ear to ear when the pipe remains dry. But just as I begin toback out from under the sink, a spray of cold water shoots out from the pipe like a thumb over a champagne bottle.
A shocked scream rips from my throat, and I press both of my hands to the source of the gushing water. “Turn it off!”
I guess Ididneed to shut the water main outside like the guy in the YouTube video suggested.
I scramble to my feet, and bolt outside. Spotting the red knob attached to the pipe on the side of the house, I frantically twist it to the right.
Snap.
The knob breaks off in my hand, and water rushes out, dousing me completely. I scream again as my hands fumble to block the chilly spray. I attempt to twist the knob back onto the pipe, but it’s hopeless. The thing is broken.
I yank on the roots of my hair, and squeeze my eyes shut.
This is probably going to cost a lot of money to fix.
“Ainsley!”
I spin around at the sound of Landon’s deep voice.
He jogs across the lawn, eyes wide. “Why is all this water—” The second his sneakers hit the mud puddle forming on the grass, his legs slide out from under him. He flies up, and then crashes down onto his back with a thud.
I gasp, and cover my mouth with my hand.
Landon doesn’t try to get up. He remains on his back with his arms and legs sprawled out wide, mud splattered all over his basketball shorts and grey T-shirt. He blinks up at the sky.
Then his jaw ticks, and that slight movement is my undoing.
A loud, obnoxious laugh bursts from my throat.
Landon glares up at me, and I throw my head back and laugh harder. He plants his palm on the squishy ground, but it slips out from under him and he collapses back down. I hunch over, and brace one hand on my knee while the other clutches my stomach.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
I’m panting. “Your legs ... they went up ... like a cartoon.”
Landon reaches up, and yanks my wrist. I fall forward, belly-flopping into the mud beside him.
I squeal. “You jerk. Now I have mud in my hair.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
“It was worth it.”
As my laughter dies down, a pause stretches between us.
Sunlight illuminates the flecks of gold around Landon’s irises, giving them an ethereal glow, and the breeze ruffles his dark hair. I drink him in, noting the slight differences in his face. The sharp cheekbones, the hard jaw, the mature edge he now possesses. Everything about him is the same, yet it’s all so new. He’s familiar and foreign at the same time.
