November 2004, D.C. trip 
Jesse had learned two things on the D.C. school trip so far:
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Rudy and Malik (and most of their class really) should never be trusted within five feet of water (or toasters)
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Mrs. Gomez, their chaperone, had a sixth sense for trouble.
Which made what happened next inevitable.
By the morning of day two, Jesse was running on approximately three hours of sleep, half a bottle of Coke, and whatever residual adrenaline was left over from Rudy almost setting off the hotel’s fire alarm at 1 a.m. with a Pop-Tart. Not on purpose, supposedly. Jesse wasn’t sure if he believed him.
The sky was that washed-out spring blue, the kind that made everything feel brighter than it had any right to at eight in the morning. Jesse swore he wasn’t even looking for trouble that morning, they’d just gotten off the bus at the National Mall, everyone buzzing on a lethal combo of vending machine Red Bull and zero sleep, and Rudy had somehow convinced half their group that the reflecting pool was, and I quote, “basically a natural water park.”
Jesse was still half-asleep, earbuds dangling around his neck, hoodie shoved up to his ears, but Rudy was already egging him on before Jesse had even slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Bet you a dollar you won’t go in,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. Jesse shook his head. “A dollar? Dude, I don’t even get out of bed for a dollar”
“Fine. Five dollars.”
“Still not worth the lifelong tetanus. Plus, Mrs. Gomez would actually bury me behind the Lincoln Memorial.”
Malik showed up out of nowhere, smirking. “He’s scared.” Jesse shot him a look. “I’m not scared. I’m just not an idiot. there’s a differen-” Before Jesse could finish, Malik gave him a playful shove. One sneaker hit the freezing water, and everything went to hell, “What the-DUDE!” A duck exploded out of the pool like it had been waiting for this exact moment, flapping straight at Jesse’s face in a blur of feathers and chaos. Jesse jumped swearing ,stumbling backward, hoodie soaked, almost taking Rudy down with him. “It attacked me! I swear that thing had murder in its eyes!”
Which of course meant every other kid in their class turned to stare. The group erupted into laughter. Mrs. Gomez’s voice cut through the air like a thunderclap. She stomped toward them, sunglasses perched like a crown of doom. “JESSE VAUGHN, STEP AWAY FROM THE WATER!”
Jesse shot Rudy a look that said, I’m killing you later, but Rudy was doubled over, wheezing like this was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
“Man, you should’ve seen your face!” Rudy wheezed.
“Yeah? Keep laughing, Rudy. Just remember, when the ducks rise up and take over, I’m telling them you started it.” Jesse tried wringing out his sleeve. “I swear I felt claws. Do ducks even have claws? I’m suing.”
The jokes didn’t stop all day. Every five minutes, someone would quack under their breath. Rudy kept losing it. Even Mrs. Gomez cracked a smile when she passed him at lunch.
By the time they piled back onto the bus, Jesse had already accepted defeat. Rudy spent the whole ride dramatically recounting “the vicious duck ambush” to anyone who’d listen, adding new details every time: that Jesse screamed (he didn’t), that he’d tripped over a toddler (also false), that the duck had teeth (Like, legit, razor-sharp teeth,) “Swear to God, man, it was feral,” Rudy finished.
Jesse pulled his hood over his head, leaning against the window. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughing. One day that duck’s gonna come for you, and I’m not saving you. Fair warning.”
Yeah, he’d probably never live this one down.
And for the rest of the year, whenever someone wanted to mess with him, all they had to do was quack.