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“What’s so funny?”
“Romance in the mud? How did I even think of this?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound like fun.”
“I know!” I say. “It’s because I have a dirty mind! Get it? Dirty mind?”
“You’re hilarious,” Langston says in a flat voice.
“Oh, come on. You thought it was funny, admit it.”
“I guess it would be funny if you’re into dad jokes.”
“You’re nothing but a big old grump.” I bend down and scoop up a handful of soggy mud and fling it at him. It lands square in the middle of his back.
“Oh, no you didn’t!” Langston spins around, bends down to get his own scoop of mud, and I quickly duck to get my own. I’m sensing that I just started World War III.
But as I’m reaching down to get more ammo, Langston’s shot hits me right on the crown of my head, mud splattering everywhere.
“That was loud.” I lob another shot at him, and this time, I hit him in the shoulder.
“You’re asking for it.”
And bedlam breaks out, each of us scooping up handfuls of mud and tossing it at the other as quickly as possible. The horses are covered, we’re covered, and the trees around us are covered.
Marshmallow backs away from us, not that I blame him, and I allow it. He didn’t ask to be a part of our war zone. I reach down to grab my next handful, but there’s something different about this pile of mud. It’s warm. Before I can think too hard about what that might mean, it’s out of my hand and splatting into Langston’s cheek.
It registers just as his eyes go wide. “Did you just throw manure at me?”
“I—uh… I didn’t know it was manure. I thought it was just mud.” But there’s a stench on my hands.
“You’ve taken it too far this time.” Langston charges, and we both hit the mud with a loud splat.
Langston is on top of me, mud dripping from his face to mine. How romantic.
“You’re cutting off my air supply.”
He laughs and rolls off of me. “Truce?”
“Fine. Truce.”
I get back to Marshmallow, who seems to have calmed down now that we’ve ceased fire.
“I’m not looking forward to the walk back.” Oh shoot. “How am I going to get in my car like this?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll hose you down,” Langston offers.
“Or we could just go jump in the lake again,” I say.
“I’ll pass. I’m not in the mood for that icy water again.”
“I thought you were all tough. What happened?”
“Once every year or two is enough for me.”
I laugh as we head back to the stables. My parents are sitting on their back patio when we get there. They like to eat breakfast out there sometimes.
“What happened to you two?” my mom calls to us.