The second Connor felt the cold slap of mud against his cheek, he knew he’d messed it.

You’d only just walked in the gate, the two of you still in your school uniforms—his already crumpled from the day, yours still somehow neat despite the wind and the walk. Connor had been grand all the way home until you passed bloody Róise Murray on the main road. He should’ve just nodded and kept walking. But no. Connor stopped, had the chat, laughed a bit too much at her shite joke, and you went full storm cloud beside him.

Now you were straddling Connor in the middle of the feckin’ field behind his house, hair wild, eyes blazing, and your small fists smearing mud across his face like it was war paint.

“This is what you get, Connor Kavanagh! You wanna laugh with that walking bottle of bleach, you can do it from the bleeding bog!”

“Ah come on, baby!” Connor cackled, trying to grab your wrists. “You’re overreacting, she just—feckin’ hell, that went in my eye!”

“Good!”

Connor flipped the two of you, half wrestling, half sliding, and now he was on top of her, the two of you caked in mud like pigs in a trough. You squealed and tried to wriggle free, but Connor pinned your arms, grinning down at you.

“Are you mad cause I talked to her or cause I wasn’t talking to you?”

Your eyes flared. “Get off me, you big eejit!”

“Nah,” Connor said, forehead touching yours.

Then came the scream.

“Oh sweet JESUS! What the hell, are you doing to her!”

You both froze.

“Johnny! Come out here now! They’re rolling in feckin’ mud like wild animals!”

Shannon Kavanagh—Connor’s mother, the poor, exhausted woman—stood on the porch, hands to her mouth, looking like she was about to pass out.

“Ma—!” Connor shouted, trying to scramble off you, both of you slipping and sliding like it was some soap opera on a farm.

“You ruined her uniform Connor! You’re meant to be her boyfriend, not her bleeding mud wrestler!”

Connor glanced down at you, now half-laughing, half-trying to wipe the mess off your face with the edge of your blazer. It only made it worse.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Connor whispered, and you smacked him hard on the chest.

Connor’s father finally came out, right behind his mother.

“What in the name of Jesus is going on out here?!” Johnny barked, eyes darting from Connor to you, who was trying to hold back a laugh with mud dripping down your chin.

“She alright? She didn’t hit her head or nothing, did she?” Johnny asked, stepping in now, more serious than usual, his voice droppling low as he gave you a once-over. “That’s her school uniform, Connor—what were you thinking?”

Connor held his hands up, grinning. “She tackled me first, Da!”

Shannon, his mother, came rushing down the steps in her slippers, eyes wide. “Oh holy God, she’s freezing! Come on, pet—inside, quick! Let me get you a hot towel!”

His mother had already whisked you up into her arms like she was one of her own, muttering over her shoulder, “I’ll wash that uniform, don’t you worry. Come on, love—into the shower before you catch your death. Connor, don’t just stand there, help her up the stairs will ya!”