Though it didn’t hit him any higher than the knees, Henry threw his arms up to shield his face. Water—cold water—soaked the front of his trousers, and another burst of laughter rolled through Henry’s chest as he did the same back to Charlie.
“Beat you there!” he shouted, and then took off for their spot in the woods.
“You bloody charlatan!” Charlie cried after him, and Henry heard his feet hitting the ground as he gave chase.
Head tossed back with another laugh, Henry kept running. Even with Charlie calling him names from behind. Even with the odd looks he received from people he passed. Henry ran. Because he could. Because his body and lungs, filled with fresh air and fresh energy, could do it. Because he wasn’t running for his life. Henry ran now for the sheer joy of it. To feel the w
