Begin Again(41)

“Permission granted,” I say breathlessly, after heaving our snowball another few feet. “What do you have in mind?”

Tyler’s eyes gleam. “Well . . . if you’re committed to the whole upside-down thing . . .”

Tyler runs off to a neighboring dorm and comes back five minutes later with one large bucket and zero explanation, and twenty minutes later, we’ve perfected our snowman. He is just over five feet tall—we used my five-foot-one self as a measuring stick, as did several other teams nearby when they overheard us doing just that—and upside down . . . on top of a “keg.” Ellie sacrificed her BB-8-themed belt, so it’s now protruding from the snowman’s mouth into the bucket. The bagels in my bag make up the eyes and nose, which Harriet artfully added a spare nose ring to. And after several doomed attempts to name him, Shay was the one who decided on “Slushed,” which is precisely what we tell the judge when she comes around.

“Top-notch work, Knights,” she says, clearly delighted by our creation. When we present our white ribbons, she hands me and Harriet and Ellie each three red ones, which I already know from watching the other judgments is the most you can get in this round. “I’m impressed.”

We’re still admiring our work when the first hit takes Harriet down—a snowball that lands squarely in her side with enough force to knock her into Ellie, who then falls into Tyler, like human dominos. We hear someone yell “SNOWBALL FIGHT!” just as the quad erupts into lawless, snowy chaos around us.

I turn to Shay, expecting her to bail, but she’s already scooped up a fistful of snow straight from Slushed’s butt and is aiming it at the crowd. “Not on my turf,” she mutters.

I file away a note to re-add “Drama” to her prospective majors, because this scene is nothing short of theatrical. It’s like Werewolf night in the dorm, only with a bajillion more people, no clear alliances, and—

“Honey Nut Cheerios!” I yelp when someone clocks me right in the hip.

Shay attempts to snap her gloved, snowy finger at me. “Keep your head in the game, Rose.”

I shove my ribbons into my jacket pocket and do a quick spin around to see if there are any more incoming snowballs headed my way when I spot a tall, mildly alarmed head bob briefly above the fray. Milo must have been distracted by his phone and walked straight into the melee.

“Target acquired,” says Shay, “aaaaand locked.”

When her snowball makes contact with him square in the chest he doesn’t so much as flinch, glancing over at us mirthlessly. “Uh-oh,” I mutter, wondering if we’ve actually upset him. But then he pulls a snowball out from behind his back and returns fire at Shay so fast that he must have been hiding his ammo the whole time.

“Watch out!” I yell, diving in front of Shay.

It would have been action movie-worthy. Slow-motion splendor, an orchestra welling up in the background, a close-up of my heroic but determined face. That is, if the snowball didn’t end up lodging itself precisely between my coat and my jeans.

When I manage to recover from shock as the ice leaks from my hips all the way down to my knees, I see Shay laughing hysterically and Milo with his mouth tweaked in that almost-smile of his. Maybe it’s the near frostbite, or the sleep deprivation, or the sugar from all the cookie dough cream cheese I’ve eaten today. But something compels me to follow that hint of a smile by loading up a snowball of my own, and charging straight for him.

“Aw, c’mon, new kid,” says Milo, standing still as a statue in the midst of the chaos. “Cut me some—oof!”

Ellie, bless her heart, has tag-teamed with Harriet to hit him with two snowballs from behind. I launch my own at him while he’s distracted, but apparently he’s not distracted enough, because he opens a gloved hand and catches it.

“Hmm,” he says, examining it, then examining me. “What ever should I do with this.”

We’re at close range now. If he throws it I’m going to become a human icicle. “You wouldn’t.”

One of the corners of Milo’s lips quirks. I quirk mine right back, but only because I can see the scene unfolding behind him. Tyler has returned with another bucket full of snow, and he shows no mercy. Before I can give myself away by laughing, Tyler has emptied it directly on top of Milo’s head.

This time he’s the one to give out a graceless yelp, and he launches himself forward so fast that I don’t account for how little space was between us until he is, quite literally, on top of me. He seems to realize we’re toppling to the ground before I do, grabbing my shoulders and pivoting us around so that we land in the snow with him hitting first, me landing on top of him with a breathless thud.

For a second we’re both too stunned to move. The noise of the snowball fight drowns out around us, and we’re both wheezing into each other’s faces, Milo’s rib cage expanding and contracting under mine with enough force that it feels like our hearts are pressed together. I’m about to apologize profusely, but before I can I’m blinking into the green of Milo’s eyes, and there’s this heat creeping under the surface of my skin that feels downright unnatural given the amount of snow currently lodged in my pants.

It’s Milo who breaks the silence. “You okay?”

I have no idea, but I nod slowly anyway. It’s like my mouth has forgotten how to make words. Milo reaches a hand up then, pulling something out of my hair—a chunk of snow. I only notice it in the periphery. I can’t seem to tear my eyes off his.