Just One More Game

“I’m nervous,” J said, hugging me. “I’ve never played laser tag before.”

“You’ll love it!” I reassured her.

We were on our last field trip of the year to a bowling alley, part of the final celebrations for our fifth graders during a week we deemed “Blast Off Week.”

After listening to the instructions, we went into the dressing room to gear up. J turned to me in her giant vest and I helped her tighten the sides.

“I don’t get it,” she told me mid-battle. “How do I know where I’m aiming?”

“See the red dot?” I asked, showing her the laser beam of my gun against the barrier we were hiding behind. “When you click the trigger, you’ll see it. Here, try.”

She pulled the trigger, aiming her gun at the barrier. She saw the red dot, her eyes lighting up, grinned, and ran off to attack her friends.

Ten minutes later, when the game ended, she had been converted: “That was soooo fun, I want to play again!”

I laughed. “We only get one game, but I’m so glad you had fun!”

I went to sit down next to another student who was fading, not having gotten much sleep the night before. J squeezed in next to me.

“Ms. Amy, can we please play another round?”

“I told you, it’s just one game, but you can come back another time with your family or friends.”

“What if I asked the girl who works here?”

“What’s going on?” M asked, walking over.

“I want to play laser tag again!!” J explained.

“Me too,” M agreed.

“Can we please ask the girl?” J pleaded, giving me puppy eyes.

“Alright, go see if you can charm her,” I told them. They skipped off, but came back defeated.

“She says it’s just one game and her manager isn’t here.”

“I told you! We had one game included in the package,” I said, thinking this was it.

It was not.

For the next ten minutes straight, J wouldn’t give up.

“Please, Ms. Amy! Please ask them to let us play another round of laser tag.”

Soon her friends joined in.

“Please, Ms. Amy, this is our last field trip ever!”

“Come on, Ms. Amy!”

“Ms. Amy, please!!!”

“Can we ask the woman again?”

“You can ask again,” I told the group, “but they already gave an answer!”

Two girls went off with high hopes and came back with news: “She said we only paid for one game, but that if we want to, we can each pay $10 for another!”

“$10 for each of you is a lot of money. There are 21 of us including teachers.”

“Not everyone has to play!”

“Yeah! I don’t care if I play alone!”

“Well,” I wavered, “I’d still have to ask your parents, and we’re leaving soon. It might be too last minute…”

“My mom will happily give $200,” E said.

“That’s a lot of money!”

“She’ll give it if it’s for us having fun!”

“Please, Ms. Amy!”

“My mom will say yes to give me $10!”

“This is the time to do it, Ms. Amy!”

By this point they were all practically on top of me, J laying in my lap with those puppy eyes, singing a chorus of “please”s.

“Alright, give me a second.”

I pulled out my phone and texted one of the moms who is always sure to respond quickly: The girls are begging us to play another game of laser tag and they won’t let us unless we pay $10 per kid. I’m only texting because they have never asked me any question so many times in a row. 😂😂😂

Her response was not what I expected: Happy to pay! Want me to Venmo you?

Do you think the other parents would too?

I’ll send you the money and text the parents. If they want to cover, fine. If not, I’ll handle it.

And that is how J and the other girls got just one more game of laser tag.