When Water Balloons Changed Everything
Copyright© 2026 by Jackstoryteller
Chapter 13
Saturday, June 26, 1965
I woke smiling, though I could not say why. By breakfast, my parents had turned the previous night’s “big meeting” into a running joke. I was considering a reply when the phone rang.
I answered. “Jack, what are you doing this morning?” Vicky asked.
“Well, good morning to you too.”
“No, really. What are you doing? I have a plan and want to go over it with you.”
“I just finished breakfast, and my parents are giving me a hard time over you.”
“Good. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
She hung up before he could answer. I set down the receiver. “Vicky’s coming over. She says she has a plan.”
His mother raised an eyebrow, but I refused to explain what I did not yet understand.
I had just washed my cereal bowl as the doorbell rang.
When I opened the door, Vicky was already looking past me toward the kitchen. Whatever had brought her over, she meant to get to it quickly.
Mom grinned. “Good morning, Vicky. Coffee? It’s just percolated — not as good as Jack’s new coffee maker will be.”
Vicky paused. “That’s actually why I’m here. I was up most of the night thinking about what Jack has done this summer. I want to help—organize his work, sit in on presentations, and learn what he’s learning.”
I studied her. I had not asked for help, and she was already defining the job. “I’m not sure I need an assistant. There are practical issues—money, Rubbermaid, time. Can we talk it through?”
“Only if you talk openly in front of me,” Vicky said. “I want to understand how all this works. Besides, you haven’t even asked about my plan.”
Jack’s dad stepped in. “Okay, I’ll ask. What’s your plan?”
“Jack told me he has more toy inventions he hasn’t presented yet. Sid was instrumental in introducing him to companies. I think we should review these ideas and involve Sid as much as he wants. It’ll distract him from his troubles — and let me be part of the next round of presentations.”
Jack’s mother looked from Vicky to me. “Working closely with a friend can get complicated. What happens if you disagree?”
Jack’s dad added, “What do your parents think?”
Vicky lifted her chin. “They’re waiting to see what your response is. They’ll want to approve whatever arrangements we make.”
I nodded. “Okay. Here’s the situation. I have a company — Bigg Dreams. Dad is President. Mom is CEO and CFO. I’m Chairman of the Board. Dad is technically unemployed and working for me. The company has no cash. Anything I’ve spent has been a loan from my generous parents. As for involving Sid ... Dad?”
Dad shook his head. “You skipped the original question. How do we feel about Vicky involving herself in your business — and how would that work? I don’t have a problem with her involvement, but Vicky, what are you expecting in return?”
Vicky answered immediately. “Jack is gaining real‑world experience. You can’t learn this in a classroom — not at our age. I want to learn beside him. If someday a few dollars come my way, great, but that’s not my main interest.”
Dad nodded. “Would you be willing to sign an agreement stating you’re here for the learning experience only — and not entitled to compensation from any licensing agreements you help with?”
Vicky hesitated. “Give me an example.”
“For any of Jack’s current inventions — and any future ones — if you make suggestions or help with presentations, you do so as an unpaid apprentice.”
“What if I come up with an original invention?”
“As long as it’s truly original and not a derivative of Jack’s ideas, we’ll help you bring it to market.”
“A derivative?”
“An improvement, expansion, or alternate use of one of Jack’s ideas.”
Vicky nodded. “Okay. I agree.”
“Excellent,” dad said. “Your first task is to put all this into an agreement we can understand and sign.”
Vicky’s face fell. “I hope I can remember everything.”
Dad smiled. “First lesson: always have a notebook. Be prepared. Now scoot along — and take your boyfriend with you so he’s out of our hair.”
I stood. Vicky followed me to the door, still objecting to the agreement.
“I want to help you,” she said, voice rising. “Learn your inventions, organize your files — not negotiate some agreement. Why are we suddenly doing this? We don’t need paperwork to work together.”
As I kept walking, her words came faster—files, inventions, presentations, everything she intended to learn. The more she described the arrangement, the less room I seemed to have in it.
On her porch, I finally spoke.
“Last night you decided what our friendship meant without asking me. I let it pass because I didn’t want an argument.”
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