“Why would I get mad at that?” I ask, putting the deodorant on. “It’s not like you’re calling me a bitch or anything… Well, I guess you kind of did, but so what? I’m happy. That’s not bad, is it?”
She shakes her head and slides the elastic off her wrist. “No, it’s good, but like I’ve said a couple of times, sometimes it feels like you’re trying to be sad.”
I take in what she said as I put the cap back on the deodorant. “Well, I’m not now, so…”
She secures the elastic around the end of her braid. “So, is the reason why you’re not trying to be sad, because of this?” She points a finger at the pipe. “Or because of a certain someone who likes to draw and who has a freaking hot-as-hell body? Because if it is, I have to say again that I don’t think you should act on it. He’s not boyfriend material.”
“I never said I was looking for a boyfriend.” I take my perfume out from my bag and flick the cap off. “And when did you see his body?”
She giggles under breath. “I kind of accidentally walked in on him while he was changing.”
“Why were you walking into his tent at all?”
“Um…” She tenses. “Because I was confused.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know…” She drifts off, letting the braid fall down her back, then she straightens her legs out and slaps her hands on top of her thighs. “Hey, you know what I should do?”
“Tell me why you were in Quinton’s tent?” I say in a sarcastic tone. “Was it to try and get him to kiss you again?"
“No, silly.” She slaps the top of my leg. “That’s not even important. I was only messing around when I did that.”
I spritz myself with perfume, trying to cover up the stench I know has to be flowing from me. “Then what should you do?”
Her eyes stray to the veil of rain outside and the mud splattering the ground like wet paint. “Actually, it’s a we thing. We should go out and play.” A lazy grin spreads across her face as she glances at me.
I drop my bottle of perfume in my bag. “Are you crazy? I’m already filthy.”
“Then what does it matter if you get a little bit dirtier?” she asks, collecting her pipe from off the tent floor. She takes a few more hits and then pushes it at me.
I take it because it’s there and I don’t really want to say no. I take a few more inhales of it, and the more the smoke enters my lungs, the more warmed up I get to the idea of what she said.
My eyes start to water as I think about what my dad would say if he were here, besides the fact that he’d probably be disappointed in me. He always loved to play in the rain.
“It’s good to play in the rain,” he said once when I was younger.
“Why, Daddy?” I’d asked, looking up at him. “Won’t we get all muddy?”
He nodded and took my hand as he headed for the door. It was pouring down outside, making a muddy mess of the grass. “That’s the point, Nova. To let go and have fun.” He opened the door, and raindrops fluttered into the house. “Besides, it’s more peaceful when it’s raining. It means everyone else is inside and you get the whole world to yourself.” He winked at me and I’d laughed, then we’d sprinted out into the rainstorm, dancing and jumping in puddles until our clothes were soaked and our cheeks hurt from laughing.
God, how simple life used to be. I want it to be simple again.
“Okay,” I say to Delilah. “Let’s go play in the rain.”
Her smile broadens. We take a few more turns with the pipe, because it’s there and it makes the idea of running out into the rain easier. By the time she snatches my hand, my thoughts and feet are moving really slow. She laughs as she jumps out and runs out of the tent, dragging me along with her. The first contact of rain against my skin sends an icy shiver through my body, but as the mud splashes up on my bare legs I bask in the freeness.
We sprint out of the tent area and dive into the madness going on in the field, where people are covered in mud, sitting in it, dancing in it, throwing it at each other. As I sink into the mud up to my ankles, I slip my fingers from Delilah’s hand and span my hands out to my sides. Laughing, I tip my head back and shut my eyes, whirling in a circle, pretending that no one else is here with me, that I’m completely sober and calm, and that the whole world is mine.
For a moment, life feels perfect.
Rain trickles across my face and my hair gets drenched, along with my shirt, but it’s worth it because it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this free: free from worrying, counting, trying to keep things together and fix things that I know I can’t fix.
“What the hell are you two doing?” I hear Quinton’s voice and I lift my eyelids open.
He’s standing at the edge of the field with Tristan and Dylan behind him, their hair and clothes soaked from the rain. Dylan looks annoyed, arms crossed, jaw set tight, Tristan is distracted with his phone, and Quinton appears utterly fascinated with the scene.
Delilah stumbles up beside me and her fingers wrap around my arm. “Playing,” she calls out to them and then shoves me back.
I trip over my own feet and fall into the mud right on my ass. They laugh at me and so does Delilah, so I grab her leg and jerk on it, causing her to fall down, too. She lands on her hands and knees and laughs so hard she gasps for air. I laugh, too, then wipe some mud on the side of her face.
“You’re a terrible friend,” I say, as we slide around in the mud.
She rolls her eyes trying to wipe the mud off her face, but she only makes a bigger mess. “Oh yeah, the worst.”
She smiles at me and I smile back. We start to laugh, then throw mud at each other. After we stop, she springs to her feet, doing a little twirl before sprinting across the field. She runs right at Dylan, who shakes his head, glaring at her.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns, backing away.
But she keeps running at him, and when she reaches him, she wraps her arms around him, getting mud all over his shirt and jeans.
“What the fuck, Delilah,” he curses and shoves her back, kind of roughly, and just like that the rain and the moment of magic it brought disappears as she lands on the ground hard.
I start to hike through the mud toward her as Dylan rushes off, cussing. Delilah jumps to her feet, and she’s crying as she chases after him. I want to scream at her for being an idiot and to leave him alone, but I can barely get my legs to move, so all I do is stand there.
Tristan roams off toward the truck area. Quinton waits for me at the border of the field where it shifts to grass, making it is less muddy. He has shorts on and his shirt off, and his skin is wet and gorgeous and all I want to do is touch him.
When I reach the edge of the mud, he extends his hand out to me. “God, I leave you alone for ten minutes and all hell breaks loose.”
“You’ve been gone for more than ten minutes,” I say, taking his hand. He helps me out of the mud, trying not to laugh at my appearance. “I got bored.”
“That’s a nice look for you,” he comments, and I can tell he’s trying really hard not to laugh at me. The rain is slowing down and the mud on my skin, clothes, and hair is starting to dry out and become crusty. He runs his eyes over me, stopping on my eyes. “Are you high?” he asks, and when I don’t answer, he frowns. “Nova, you’re too good—”
I cover his mouth with my hand, because I don’t want to hear it, just like I never wanted to hear it from Landon. Not only because the similarity of their words makes my heart feel like it’s rupturing open, but because right now I’m not too good for anything, stuck in the subdued state of being high. I’m just me. Nova. Good and bad. “Don’t say it.”
He keeps frowning as I lower my hand and I start running my fingers through my hair, plucking out the chunks of mud. Quinton begins wiping off my legs, but we only cause the mud to smear everywhere, and by the time I’m done I look like the monster from Swamp Thing.
Finally, he pulls his hands away and stands up straight, letting out a sigh. “I think you’re shit out of luck, Nova. It’s not coming off.”
I frown as I pick a large chunk of mud out of my leather bands. “It has to come off.”
He snorts a laugh and I stick out my tongue, tossing the chunk of mud at him. It hits him square in the forehead and he picks it off, frowning. I pull a whoops face, and I start to back away as fake aggravation crosses his face.
“You’re so going to pay for that,” he says, matching my steps as I speed for the mud pit, because I know I’m safe there.
I reel around to run, but he snags the back of my shirt and pulls me toward him. I thrust my hands out, putting all my weight forward, trying to get away, as my shirt stretches. But he maintains his hold on me until I get close enough to him, then he encloses me in his arms, picks me up, and heads toward the field.
“Quinton, don’t,” I halfheartedly protest, because I’m already muddy and it doesn’t really matter if he throws me back in it.
“No way,” he says, constricting his hold. “You don’t get away with throwing mud on me.” He wades a little into the mud, then drops me on the ground right on my butt.
I roll onto my back, and mud oozes all over my skin, hair, and clothes as I sink into the ground. “You’re mean.”
He grins at me, placing his hands on his hips as he stares down at me, looking pleased with himself. “And you’re a mess.”
I stick out my tongue and then spit when I get a mouthful of mud. He laughs, hunching over and clutching at his gut, like he thinks I’m a freaking comedian, and suddenly lying in the dirt becomes worth it.
I stick out my hand. “This is getting gross. Can you help me up?”
Shaking his head, he smiles and slips his fingers through mine. I give him no time to react as I tug down hard on his arm. His knees give out, and he collapses into the mud right on top of me. His hands spring out and he catches himself before he squishes me. Mud covers him as he hovers over me, supporting his weight with his arms.
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” I say, smearing my muddy hand across his forehead just because I can.
He brings one of his hands up and rubs it all over my face while I squirm and laugh. “I blame it on those beautiful eyes of yours. They make you look like a trusting person.”
I hold my breath inside my chest, part of me wanting to fully hear, see, and feel the moment and fight against the high, yet part of me wants to embrace it and not feel anything at all. The rain softly trickles down on us, and my skin is wet and muddy. In the distance the band is playing an acoustic song. There are people everywhere, and mud flies through the air. My heart beats in my chest like a tiny drum that wants to play a song so goddamn badly it hurts, and maybe I finally will. Maybe I’ll really make good on my promise and pick up a set of drumsticks again and play for Quinton like I told him I would.
Quinton’s beautiful honey-brown eyes are on me, the ones that first drew me to him, as rain beads his skin, lips, jawline. I want to kiss him, and he must want to kiss me, too, because he start to lean down as I sit up and we meet halfway, colliding together at the precise moment that lightning snaps and thunder booms.
