Mackenzie Lambert stopped in the Apthorp kitchen for a snack. She had just come back from a martial arts convention in San Francisco, where she had been a participant in a panel discussion on the morality of martial arts and a demonstrator during a session open to the public. She rinsed off an apple, took a bite, and picked up a note from the kitchen table. It was from Anthony, telling the Apthorp residents to close their windows because he was going to wash them with the hose.

“Why’s he doing that?” Mackenzie asked Audrey, who was sitting at the table eating a bowl of granola. “I wash my windows myself.”

“So the tops of yours open?” said Audrey.

“Of course.”

“Mine do, too. I told him that,” said Audrey. “Still, mine are dirty, so if he wants to wash them with the hose, I say let him try.”

Mackenzie shook her head. “He’s ridiculous, but at least he left a note. When’s he doing it?”

“He’s out there right now,” said Audrey.

“Ridiculous, but industrious.” Mackenzie bit into the apple, paused, and said, “Oh.” She ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

In academics, as in all parts of her life, Mackenzie abhorred doing less than outstanding work. She had positioned her desk directly in front of two of her apartment’s windows, and her most recent grade report was carefully squared up in the center. It showed all A’s. At the moment Mackenzie opened her apartment’s door, the grade report rose up on the current of water flowing in from the two open windows. The report floated gracefully off the edge of the desk and fell to the floor.

The spray of water moved back and forth across the desk. At the left end of each sweep, water bounced off the Coastal College of California mug that held Mackenzie’s collection of fountain pens. At the other end, the water soaked two stacks of yellow legal-sized sheets of paper positioned neatly near the back corner of the desk.

One of those stacks contained exam preparation notes, the other outlines for two term papers. Mackenzie wrote notes and outlines using her fountain pens, before entering them on her laptop. She found this method helped her focus and clarified her understanding. As a result, every word in both stacks of paper had been written with the water-soluble blue ink which she used in her fountain pens.

As spray from the windows washed over her papers, Mackenzie’s precise handwriting blurred to illegibility, dissolving into blue-tinted water that ran across her desk.

Mackenzie slammed the windows shut, cutting off the water. She snatched up some of her notes, and the sodden yellow paper hung limp in her hand. She could see Anthony down on the lawn, directing the stream of water back and forth. Clutching the ruined notes, she rushed out of her room.

When she came around the corner of the Apthorp, Anthony had moved down the lawn to the end of the building and was spraying the last set of windows. The ground narrowed there, and he stood at the edge of a steep slope that fell down to the ocean.

Mackenzie stalked toward him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Anthony gave her a big smile. “I’m washing the windows. See?” He waved the hose so the stream of water ran across the windows above him. “Isn’t this a great idea?”

Mackenzie stopped in front of him and pushed his hand and the hose to one side. “No,” she said. “It’s not. You’ve destroyed all my work.” She waved her soaked notes in his face.

Anthony leaned back. “What? Your windows were open?”

“Why didn’t you check before you began? Oh wait, you’d have to be aware to do that.”

In her anger, Mackenzie took a step forward, and the expression on her face, her tone of voice, even her posture, made Anthony retreat. He was well aware of her skill in martial arts, and even more aware of her fist, clenched around the wad of yellow paper. Agitated, he waved the hose around, spraying the lawn, the bushes, and the open air. “But I left a note!” he said. “Didn’t you see my note?”

“I wasn’t here. Did you ever think of that, you idiot?”

“You weren’t here? Ohmygod. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I was trying…” He stepped back, and his foot slipped off the sharp edge of the slope behind him. He began to fall.

Trying to regain his balance, Anthony flailed his arms and the hose. The stream of water played briefly on Mackenzie’s feet. It sported with her knees. It swept upward past her waist to gambol about her breasts. Then it headed for her face.

“Ah! What are you doing?” Mackenzie jerked a hand up to protect herself. Water cascaded off her arm and filled the space between them, bouncing and spattering.  Anthony completely lost his balance and fell backward, nothing behind him but the drop to the beach.

Instinctively, Mackenzie grabbed Anthony’s shirt and yanked, pulling him upright. He overbalanced and stumbled forward against her. She lost her balance and went down, still pulling on his shirt. She landed full-length on her back, and Anthony came down on top of her.

Everything seemed to stop. Anthony was stretched out on top of Mackenzie, his legs forcing hers apart. They stared into each other’s eyes, and water gushed from the hose onto the lawn.

Isabella’s voice floated down from above them. “So, was it good for both of you?”

Mackenzie pushed Anthony off with a furious grunt, rolling him onto his back. She got to her feet, brushed at her soaked clothes, and marched away. Anthony lay face up, the hose still in his hand.

Over his head and a little behind him, he saw Isabella leaning on her window sill. “Did you see her?” said Isabella. “She actually flounced. I didn’t think she could do that.”