Cat Scratch Courage

Band-Aid on my arm, cat scratches still stinging, I stood at the edge of the rodeo grounds watching the bull spin and kick in the chute. My best friend Marcus bounced on his toes beside me, energy radiating off him like he'd mainlined Mountain Dew.

"You're actually doing this," he said, half mocking, half impressed.

"Shut up." I adjusted my snapback, trying to look chill. "It's just a bull."

"Bro, that thing weighs like fifteen hundred pounds. My cat scratched you this morning and you almost cried."

"That's different. Mittens has personal issues."

Marcus cracked up, and I felt myself smiling despite the knot in my stomach. We'd been friends since seventh grade, back when being cool meant wearing your backpack with both straps and pretending you didn't care about anything. Now we were juniors, and the art of not caring had become an actual lifestyle.

But here's the thing—I did care. About everything. About looking stupid in front of Jessica, who'd definitely come to watch. About letting down Marcus, who'd signed me up for this charity event as a "joke" that suddenly wasn't funny anymore. About being seventeen and still scared half the time but not allowed to show it because that wasn't how teenage boys worked.

"You're up, bro."

The bull snorted, sending dust into the air. My palms were sweaty. I thought about my cat waiting at home, completely unimpressed by my attempt at bravery.

"Deep breaths," Marcus said, his voice different now. "You don't have to do this."

But I did. Not for the crowd or Jessica or whatever video might end up on TikTok. For the part of me that was tired of being the guy who watched from the edges while everyone else lived.

I climbed over the rail.

The next eight seconds were chaos—muscle, dust, the bull's powerful body twisting beneath me like anger given shape. I stayed on longer than I thought possible. When I hit the ground, sliding through the dirt, the entire world felt clearer.

Marcus pulled me up, grinning. "You actually rode that thing!"

"Eight seconds," I said, dusting off my jeans. My heart hammered like it wanted out of my chest. "Tomorrow I'm gonna pet Mittens and never leave the couch."

"Deal." Marcus bumped my shoulder. "But also... you were kinda badass."

I looked at my arm, the Band-Aid barely holding. Thought about the bull, the friend, and the way fear and courage lived in the same body.

"Yeah," I said, surprised to mean it. "I kinda was."