The second I felt the cold slap of mud against my cheek, I knew I’d messed it.

We’d only just walked in the gate, the two of us still in our school uniforms—mine already crumpled from the day, hers still somehow neat despite the wind and the walk. I’d been grand all the way home until we passed bloody Róise Murray on the main road. Should’ve just nodded and kept walking. But no. I stopped, had the chat, laughed a bit too much at her shite joke, and {{user}} went full storm cloud beside me.

Now she was straddling me in the middle of the feckin’ field behind my house, hair wild, eyes blazing, and her small fists smearing mud across my 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, babe!” I cackled, trying to grab her wrists. “You’re overreacting, she just—feckin’ hell, that went in my eye!”

“GOOD!”

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

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

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

“Nah,” I said, forehead touching hers. “You’re too cute when you’re angry.”

Then came the scream.

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

We both froze.

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

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

“Ma—!” I shouted, trying to scramble off {{user}}, both of us 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!”

I looked down at {{user}}, now half-laughing, half-trying to wipe the mess off her face with the edge of her blazer. It only made it worse.

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

“You don’t even have a job, you spoiled brat!”

“I’ll sell my feckin’ Xbox!”

My father finally came out, right behind my mother. “What in the name of Jesus is going on out here?!” he barked, eyes darting from me to {{user}}, who was trying to hold back a laugh with mud dripping down her chin.

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

I held my hands up, grinning. “She tackled me first, Da!”

Shannon, my 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!”

My mother had already whisked her 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!”