Spring. Yes, it was a beautiful time.

The yellow dandelions poked out of the damp earth, their sunny cheerfulness greatly contrasting the dark green of the new grass. The sky was a robin's egg blue, with fluffy white clouds fairly dancing in the warm breeze. The trees held the tiniest mist of green, tiny buds poking forth, refreshed from their winter slumber.

Amy couldn't help but laugh as she surveyed the scene around her. It was all so . . . so beautiful. Her lips twisted upward in a smile and she spun around in a circle, her arms outstretched with joy. Her hair flew around her face, tiny strands catching on her eyelashes. One stubborn strand clung to the bridge of her nose.

Amy didn't care. She left the locks of shining auburn gold where they were and fell down on her knees, smelling the dirt and grass and flowers and old grass and new dirt and . . . spring.

She collapsed onto her stomach and rolled over onto her back, staring up at the bright sky. Squinting, she counted the clouds, listened to the birds chirping merrily as they darted back and forth, playing in the new day.

"Ahem." Said a voice.

Amy looked up and hurriedly scrambled to her feet. "H-h-h-hello, Ian." She stuttered, quite embarrassed to have been caught at her child's play.

"I didn't know the leader of the Madrigals and head of the Cahills would be quite so . . ." Ian sniffed "childish."

Amy blushed. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was watching."

Ian arched an eyebrow. "A leader, Amy, always conducts himself with an air of dignity, pride and . . ." Ian stared at her, "Maturity."

Amy turned a deep crimson, felt the heat spread over her face and cleared her throat, trying to pretend that her face was not the color of Natalie's cherry lipstick. "Have you ever tried being immature, Ian?" She asked.

Ian blinked. "I . . ." He swallowed, cleared his throat nervously, shuffled his feet and said with a look of lordliness on his face that Amy was itching to wipe off, "Kabras are never immature."

"Really?" Amy said, arching an eyebrow. "How unfortunate for you."

Ian rolled his eyes. "At least I won't be caught with grass in my hair and leaves and sticks all over my clothes. And . . . is that your hair stuck to your eyelashes?"

Amy turned red . . . again. (Would she ever outgrow this pitiful blushing?) She sighed. "Yes, Ian, it's hair. I was too lazy to brush it away. You see, I was having fun." She stared at him, searching his eyes. "Ian, do you know what fun means?"

Ian did a double take. "Of course I know what fun means." He straightened up. "Fun: activities that are enjoyable or amusing; verbal wit (often at another's expense but not to be taken seriously); violent and excited activity, uh," He paused, tapping one long finger against the bridge of his nose.

Amy held up a hand and shook her head. "Let me guess. Oxford Standard Dictionary?"

Ian blinked. "Well, yes."

Amy placed her fingertips gently against her forehead, shaking her head. "Ian, what am I going to do with you?"

Ian stared at her, his eyebrows arched to such a high point that Amy found herself wondering why his skin didn't crack.

"Have you experienced fun?" Amy asked, grinning stupidly.

"Uh . . ."

"No." Amy said. "You haven't."

And then she grabbed him, grabbed his hands and swung him around in a circle, laughing.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ian shrieked.

"Having fun!" Amy responded.

And then, just when Ian adjusted to being swung around in a circle at an insane speed, Amy fell to the ground and began rolling him down the hill.

It was a comical sight, Amy knew, two teenagers, one laughing, one reluctant, rolling down the grassy knoll. But she was having fun. And Ian was going to have fun, even if she had to stay on this hill for five hours.

As she rolled behind Ian, she grabbed a handful of grass and when she hit his body, she sprinkled the grass all over his face.

"Amy Cahill, you will be the ruin of me!"

Amy laughed. "So? At least you can say you had fun!"

Ian stared at her. And then he reached over and pulled her face down to his. "Let me show what my idea of fun is." He whispered, staring into her eyes.

His amber eyes were dark, but they were laughing.

And then his lips crashed against hers and she was aware of nothing more than Ian: his lips, his hand in her hair, his tongue dancing wildly in and out of her mouth.

When at last she pulled away, gasping for breath, Ian looked up at her, a signature Ian Kabra smirk plastered on his gorgeous, slightly grass-stained face. "Now that is what fun is." Ian said.

Amy shook her head. "I'll only say it was fun if you say rolling down the hill is fun."

Ian paused. "Do I get another kiss if I say it was fun?"

Amy laughed. "Hmmm . . . let me think about that. Yes."

"Fine!" Ian said. "It was fun."

"To get the kiss," Amy said, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. "you have to roll down the hill again."

Ian groaned. "Since it's supposedly fun I might as well get up and do it, and have more fun at the bottom."

This if for Champ. Happy Spring, my dear friend! May you . . . I don't know *grins* . . . have fun doing spring stuff, like rolling down hills and smelling the dandelions, and relishing the fact that you're almost done with this year's school!

I also know you guys are wondering what the heck is wrong with me, posting a Carian. I already explained that sooo...

But anyway, this is Amian, so y'all should be happy now, right?

Happy Spring, Champ!