“He’s fabulous,” I say.
We use smooth black pebbles for eyes and a crooked little carrot for a nose. Maya takes off one of her scarves and wraps it around the snowman’s neck.
Mateo brushes snow off Mr. Sledworth’s “shoulders” then bows low. “Your Snowjesty,” he says in a deep, exaggerated voice, “we are honored by your presence.”
Maya curtsies beside him. “May your snow never melt!”
I join in, offering the most dramatic bow I can manage without falling face-first into the snow. “Long live Mr. Sledsworth.”
Just as we start to pack up—mittens soaked, cheeks flushed, and thermos lids twisting shut—a snowball comes sailing through the crisp winter air and hits Mateo square in the back. He freezes mid-motion, standing straight. Slowly, he turns around.
Maya is standing a few feet away, one mittened hand suspiciously behind her back, the other raised in mock innocence. “It wasn’t me.” she says, trying and failing to suppress her grin.
Mateo narrows his eyes. “Oh,” he says in a deep ominous voice, “it’s on.”
And just like that, all hell breaks loose.
Maya yelps and takes off running, boots crunching through the snow, her high-pitched laughter echoing through the trees. Mateo scoops up a handful of snow and begins packing it like he’s preparing for war.
“I need backup!” he yells, ducking behind a park bench like a soldier in a dramatic war film. “We’re under attack! Commander Chula, are you with me?!”
I laugh so hard I nearly drop the thermos. “I’m a civilian!” I call out, hands raised. “Leave me out of this!”
“Too late!” Mateo shouts. “She’s compromised. We can’t leave witnesses!”
Before I can even run, a snowball hits me square in the shoulder. “Hey!” I shriek, spinning around with wide eyes. “You hit me!”
Maya’s peal of laughter rings out from behind a tree. “It was Mateo!” she squeals.
Mateo gasps, scandalized. “Maya! You sold me out!”
I scramble behind a low stone wall, clutching a handful of snow. “I’m choosing violence,” I say under my breath. “You two are going down.”
The snowball fight that erupts could be written into the town’s history books. Maya is agile and quick, darting behind trees and pelting us from every angle. Mateo hams it up to theextreme, ducking dramatically and yelling things like, “Incoming!” and, “Cover me!” as he belly flops into the snow. At one point, he grabs a sled and uses it as a makeshift shield, crawling behind it like he’s storming the front lines.
I try to stay out of it, I really do, but Maya’s too good at sneak attacks. She pops up behind me and drops a snowball right down the back of my jacket. I shriek like a banshee.
“That’s it!” I cry, charging after her with two hastily made snowballs in hand.
She screams and sprints toward Mateo. “Save me!”
He scoops her up mid-run, spinning her into the air like she weighs nothing. “Retreat! Retreat!” he yells, while she shrieks with delight, clinging to his neck.
I take my shot and nail him in the chest.
He stumbles backward, grinning like a fool. “Commander Chula has turned on us!” he bellows.
“Commander Chula is sick of being cold and wet!”
“You’ll pay for your treason!”
“I’m not scared of you.” I laugh, crouching low and throwing another snowball that goes wide.
He pretends to collapse into the snow, Maya toppling with him in a dramatic heap. “You got me,” he groans. “Tell my story.”
“Nooooo!” Maya cries, crawling over his chest like she’s straight out of a telenovela. “Don’t die on me!”
We’re all laughing too hard to breathe. My stomach hurts. My face aches. My gloves are soaked through and I’m pretty sure there’s snow down my pants, but I don’t care. The joy in this moment is blinding.
