“What’s going on here?” she demands, turning to face everyone.
“It seems Max pu—” the camp manager begins, but the woman cuts her off.
“It’s Maximillian,” she corrects.
“I’m sorry, it seems your son pushed Abby off the playground equipment, and as a result, another child punched him.”
“What?” she shrieks, steam billowing from her ears. “Who punched my son?”
“I did,” Lucas speaks up, jutting his chin out like the little badass he is. “Max is a bully and pushed Abby, making her cry.”
The woman glares daggers at my kid, and I step in front of him, needing to take control of the situation before she can say something she’ll regret.
“Lucas was taught it’s never okay to hurt a girl, and if he sees one hurt, to defend her. He shouldn’t have punched your son, though, and I’ll be speaking to him.”
“And you think it’s okay for your son to put his hands on mine?”
“No, I don’t,” I tell her. “And I’ll be speaking to him.”
“Good.”
“Just like I hope you’ll be speaking to your son about laying his hands on a girl.”
She scoffs and looks at her son. “Did you push that girl?”
“I was just trying to help her go,” her son says, playing the innocent card. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“There you go,” she says, lifting her nose into the air. I’ve dealt with enough of these entitled, stuck-up moms over the past several years to know better than to argue with them. They know no wrong, and they’re the reason their children will grow up to be entitled assholes, just like their parents.
“That’s not true!” Presley yells. “Max pushed her off, and when she fell and cried, he laughed and told her she was a baby.”
“Look,” the camp manager says with a sigh. “There are a lot of stories, but what it boils down to is that we can’t have anyone hurting anyone, regardless of the reasoning. I’m going to ask the parents of everyone involved to take their kids with them today to give them time to cool off, and tomorrow, we’ll start fresh. But if this happens again, the child who put his or her hands on another child will not be allowed back.”
“This is ridiculous!” the bully’s mom hisses. “I have plans at the spa today, and my husband is on the golf course. What am I supposed to do with him?”
I refrain from saying what I want to say, like how about you take care of your damn kid? and grab my two before either of them says anything else to make it worse.
But before we can make it out, the stuck-up witch steps in front of me. “This is all your little brat’s fault. Now I—”
“Excuse me,” Sawyer says, cutting in. “Don’t you dare call a child a brat. That sweet, protective little boy was standing up for a young girl, and if more boys were like him, we would have fewer women being abused. He was taught to respect women, and maybe if your son was taught the same, we wouldn’t be here right now.” She turns toward Lucas, giving the woman her back, and kneels in front of him. “Thank you for protecting my little girl. Maybe in the future, unless you’re in a situation where hitting someone is necessary, instead, you can tell an adult. That way, you’re not using violence to stop violence, and you don’t risk getting in trouble, but you’re still making sure she’s okay. What do you think?”
The way she speaks to my son with respect and patience reminds me of his mother, and my heart swells in my chest, the way it always does whenever I think about her.
“Yeah,” Lucas says, looking at Max. “I’m sorry for punching you, but if you ever hurt Abby or my sister, I’ll make you—”
“And now it’s time to go,” I say, cutting him off. “Thank you for saying sorry.” I glance at the camp manager, who’s clearly forcing herself not to laugh at my son. “I’ll have a more thorough conversation with my kids, and when they return tomorrow, they’ll behave.”
“Well, we won’t be returning,” the stuck-up bitch announces. “I’ll not only be reporting this to the hotel, but I’ll be taking my business elsewhere.” Dragging her son behind her, she stomps out of the room.
“Good riddance,” the camp manager says under her breath, her eyes going wide when she realizes she spoke loud enough for us all to hear. “Umm, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Can we go swimming and get ice cream?” Presley asks once we’re outside.
“Yeah!” Lucas agrees. “And then go to the beach!”
“And can Abby come?” Presley adds.
“Yeah! Abby, you want to get ice cream and go swimming?” Lucas asks as though no parents are a part of this plan.
“Can we, Mommy?” she asks Sawyer softly, her cute puppy dog eyes matching her mom’s green ones.