Three hours later, I found myself surrounded by twenty-seven kindergarteners in matching blue T-shirts, all vibrating with the uncontainable energy of children hyped up on Halloween candy.
"Mr. Ryker, is it true sharks can smell blood from miles away?" A freckle-faced boy tugged on my sleeve while simultaneously unwrapping a contraband lollipop.
"Well, actually—"
"Mr. Ryker! Amelia says octopuses are aliens. Are they aliens?" Another child materialized at my elbow.
"Technically, they're cephalopods—"
"I need to go potty!" announced a little girl with pigtails, doing an unmistakable dance.
I glanced desperately at Lily, who was calmly checking off names on her clipboard. She caught my eye and winked. "Having fun yet, volunteer?"
Before I could answer, a commotion erupted at the touch tank. Two boys were engaged in what appeared to be a splash war, while a starfish sailed through the air.
"Move out of the way!!" I shouted, lunging to catch the airborne sea star. My foot slipped on the wet floor, sending me sliding into the "No Tapping on Glass" sign beside the jellyfish exhibit.
"Class, remember our aquarium rules!" Lily called out, her voice somehow cutting through the chaos without rising above a conversational level.
I scrambled to my feet just as the pigtailed girl announced, "Too late," with a puddle forming beneath her light-up sneakers. Thankfully, her mother was the only other volunteer.
The next hour was a blur of bathroom trips, lost lunch boxes, and one particularly memorable moment when a boy named Tommy convinced half the class that the dolphin show was a secret alien communication ritual.
"They're not buying it," Tommy whispered urgently as we huddled in the underwater viewing tunnel. "The dolphins, I mean. They're spies."
"That's... fascinating," I managed, while simultaneously preventing the twins from licking the glass of the shark tank.
By the time we reached the penguin exhibit, my shirt was soaked with an unidentifiable sticky substance, I'd lost count of how many times I'd said, "Please don't touch that," and I was pretty sure I had a goldfish cracker in my ear.
"Okay, everyone, gather around for our special penguin presentation!" announced the aquarium guide, a college-agedkid whose bright smile hadn't yet dimmed in the face of elementary school chaos.
As if on cue, the fire alarm blared.
"Nobody panic!" Lily shouted, immediately taking charge. "Line up by the exit door!"
"But I didn't get to see the electric eel!" wailed a child clutching a stuffed dolphin.
"Was it the aliens?" Tommy asked, eyes wide with vindication.
I helped Lily corral the children toward the emergency exit, only to discover the source of the alarm—a small boy standing guiltily beneath a pulled fire alarm.
"Marcus," Lily sighed, "what did we discuss about emergency equipment?"
"That's for emergencies," he mumbled. "But Jimmy said penguins can't fly, and I wanted to see if they could fly away from a fire."
Outside in the parking lot, surrounded by evacuated aquarium visitors and apologizing to the fire department, Lily turned to me with laughter in her eyes.
"So... how bad can it be?" she quoted me from this morning, raising an eyebrow.
I pulled the goldfish cracker from my ear. "I think I owe you approximately seven hundred apologies and possibly a new career."
"Just wait until we take them to the gift shop," she whispered, as the all-clear was given. "That's where the real adventure begins."
I groaned but couldn't help smiling at the mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'm already covered in suspicious liquids and fish snacks. What's a little impulse shopping to top it off?"
"That's the spirit!" Lily laughed, her clipboard tucked under one arm as she began herding the children back toward the entrance. "Okay, Blue Dolphins, remember our gift shop rules!"
Twenty-seven voices chanted in unison: "Two things only, nothing alive, nothing that makes noise!"