I’m Amy. My boyfriend, Zach, and I moved into our new home last November. Our neighbors are a single mom, Sarah, and her two boys, Richard and Bill, ages seven and twelve. When we first moved in, Sarah was very sweet and welcoming. Her sons would say hi to us sometimes as well. That didn’t last long.
The house and neighborhood are lovely, but we haven’t had much sunny weather lately. Recently, though, it’s gotten better, and we’ve had a few hot days. A couple of weekends ago, Zach and I were enjoying a particularly sunny day sitting in our garden. We could hear Sarah’s kids playing in their garden next door. We didn’t mind until a jet of water came over the fence and hit me square in the face.
“Zach!” I shouted, wiping water from my eyes.
Zach looked up, confused. “What happened?”
“Water,” I said with my eyes burning. “Why is there water coming from out of nowhere?”
Just then, another jet of water shot over the fence, hitting our garden furniture and plants. We scrambled to get our books and the rest of our little picnic inside before everything got soaked.
With the water still flying over the fence at intervals, I decided to go upstairs to see what was happening on Sarah’s side. From the window, I saw her two boys with huge water guns, aiming over the fence and spraying our garden.
I hurried back downstairs. “Zach, it’s Rich and Bill with water guns! And they’re still doing it!”
Zach was already at the fence, calling over. “Richard! Bill! Please stop spraying water over here!”
The boys went quiet and disappeared. But no more than two minutes later, just as Zach dried off and walked into the kitchen to fetch his book, they started again. The water jets were relentless.