The bell rings for the end of school: freedom for everyone. 

Everyone except me, Andrew, and Jonathan who are stuck in the principal’s office for detention, cleaning up the nasty, wet floor. 

“Ya know what, man,” Andrew says, stretching his back. “Let’s make a deal. Whoever can blow ze biggest bubble out of soap wins. Loser has to clean up.” 

“You bet! I have my money on Dawn,” Jonathan says, wrapping his hands around the neck of the clear, blue Dawn dish soap bottle featuring a picture of a fluffy, yellow duckling. “Nah, Ajax definitely will,” Andrew scoffs. “Ze fact that ya use Dawn means that it won’ win. Yer always wrong.” 

“No way! Wanna bet googol dollars?” Grabbing the can of multicolored, recycled straws, Jonathan takes one and drops a pinch of blue Dawn soap on the wooden countertop. Setting one eye of the straw on top of the liquid, he draws a big breath and blows hard into the other end. A little bubble emerges, but as it expands, a rainbowish hue slides along the surface of the dome.

Strips of red, blue, and violet streak it. It seems as if it will never stop growing

POP! Jonathan scoots back, drying his face with a paper towel. “Aw man, it was so big!” Giving it another shot, Jonathan takes a deep breath and blows again, as hard as he can, even harder than last time. It grows bigger than before, almost twice as large before popping. “HA! Betcha guys can’t beat that!” Jonathan grins. 

“Give me that,” I snatch the Gain bottle from the rack. 

Complete silence ensues as I blow into the soap using another straw. But the bubble doesn’t reach half of Jonathan’s first one before disintegrating like a leaf in flames. Taking an even deeper breath, I blow as hard as I can. It surpasses Jonathan’s first one but not the second when it pops. 

“Slow and steady wins the race guys,” Another attempt to impress them. Instead of blowing insanely hard, I try to blow steadily. It does grow. But, not a lot. 

“Looks like you chose wrong,” Jonathan mocks, breaking the silence. “Could never be me.” 

“Nah, bro. Lemme try again.” 

“Ya really wanna win, dontcha?” Andrew says. I reach for another straw, but the straw can is missing. Jonathan stands nearby, a mischievous look on his face. “Whatever,” I sigh. For the last time, I repour a dime-size amount of soap onto the table. The soap is a little close to the edge, but I dismiss it as a minor issue. I am wrong. As soon as the Gain soap crosses the edge, it bursts, excess Gain soap spilling onto the floor. I leap back, but the Gain soap has already soaked my shoes. 

“Screw this thing,” I mutter, clenching my fists. I grab up the green Gain bottle and hurl it against the wall. It bursts open, the crumpled container dropping on the ground, the soap oozing out of the hole in the bottle. The cap has flown off and is now rolling along the floor like a runaway train before finally bumping into a table leg and falling over. 

Jonathan jerks back, staring at me like I’ve just grown ten heads. “You know that you’re going to have to clean that up right?”

However, Andrew smirks and says, “At least I know that I’ll beat someone this time.” Jonathan smirks. Grabbing a straw, he puts orange Ajax soap on the table and blows into his straw. With barely any effort, the bubble expands to twice the size of Jonathan’s. He throws his hands up in a giant V and yells, “JACKPOTTT!” 

Blowing again, he tries my strategy: blowing slowly and steadily. Unlike mine, which barely grew at all, his bubble grows to almost twice his original one. “Han’ over ze money, guys!” “I’m going to just… clean this up a bit,” I mutter, grabbing a mop from a nearby closet. “At least I’m not last,” Jonathan says, eyeing the mess on the ground. 

I grab the mop and start cleaning. The mop clears up the bulk of the soapy mess, but I still need to grab paper towels. I use half a roll, setting them in the messy space. I try everything at my disposal, including dish rags, sanitizing wipes, and more soap. But it just seems to make things worse. 

“Are you guys wrapping up?” The principal says, walking over. 

Looking at my mess I realize the true extent of the breakage: white paper towels covering every inch of the floor and every hint of brown wooden boards; the green-handled mop strewn across the paper towels, with soap seeping out of its cloth strands. Empty Lysol sanitizing spray bottles lie next to the mops and towels. Green Purell wipes pile up beside the wreckage. Dish rags with strands of cloth rip out. 

“Is there a sink nearby?” 

“There’s one over there,” Jonathan appears out of nowhere and gestures toward the closet. 

Walking over, I turn on the sink. Or, I try to open the faucet. The problem: no water. “Huh???!!??!??” I glance under to look at the pipes, but there seems to be no damage. I try to slam the sink into oblige, but to no avail. 

“Guys, I need the pa-” I turn, but the paper towels aren’t there. I spy them running down the hallway, the paper towels clutched in their hands. “Hey! We still have to clean up!” I run after them, but I fall and slip in the spillage. My knees crash down and land on the spray bottles, the opening spewing out tons of sanitizer. The paper towels rip, smearing soap on the floorboards. 

“What are you up to?” the principal calls, walking over. 

“They ran away with the paper towels,” I explain. 

“That’s it! Andrew! Jonathan! Detention for a week! Come back and clean things up!”