George and the Whistle Lady
The man with the marshmellows reached into the fire to grab the stick back. His quick snatch couldn't keep the fire from burning his hand, as he pulled the rod away from the flames. "Shit that burns!"
The kids all looked at the man in shock. He cursed. They'd heard that kind of language before, but never on these church outings. The other chaperones shot him a nasty look. "George, be careful with your language. These kids look up to you.", said the lady with the whistle on her neck.
"Sorry ma'am.", George replied. He wasn't used to this role model thing just yet.
The flames continued to jump into the air in front of the kids as they reached their metal rods into the flame, melting their marshmellows down to a gooey mess. George watched as they pushed and shoved each other to position themselves next to the fire. The tips of his fingers throbbed with pain still. Their wasn't any ice left, so George licked at the burns on his fingertips.
The lady with the whistle spoke again. "Now, George, that isn't something you do in public. You know better."
George tucked his wet fingers into his pockets. He couldn't wait to go home.