The pizza van pulled up to the lawn of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.
“Oh my God, we did it!” I cried, staring. I thought it was a joke when someone suggested getting pizza delivered to the lawn itself. The museum had closed, and we were hungry high school field trippers.
Pizza was distributed, and we dug in. It was a perfect spring afteroon on the pristine lawn.
After we had eaten, we spoke of telling the other students about our adventure. Then I heard a strange hissing sound from under Evan’s soda.
When he lifted the can from its convenient holder, we were horrified to see a sprinkler.
As the hissing increased, Evan slammed his hands over the sprinkler. We saw water seep through his fingers. We fled.
Sprinklers sprang on around us, raining down large arcs of water. We ran to the safety of the pavement. As we stood there in damp clothes, we heard a sound behind us.
We turned to see the museum guard laughing. We joined in and knew we had a better story to tell our classmates.