Lightning Strikes the Bull

The mechanical bull at Jake's party sat like a challenge in the center of the room, its fake leather gleaming under strobe lights. I grabbed another solo cup of whatever punch someone's mom had made too sweet, wishing I hadn't let Elena drag me here.

"You're going on it," she said, not asking. Elena was that kind of friend - the one who made decisions for both of you.

"No shot. I'll look stupid."

"You already look stupid standing in the corner pretending to text your mom."

She had me there. Elena had just made varsity padel, which apparently made her an expert in confidence. Me? I was still trying to figure out why my hands sweated whenever Jordan from history class walked by.

Speaking of. Jordan materialized next to me, smelling like vanilla and something expensive. "Hey Marcus. You gonna ride the bull?"

My brain short-circuited. "Uh. Maybe."

"Jake's older brother says he's going to crank it to max speed. Someone's gonna get wrecked." Jordan laughed, and something in my chest did a little flip. Not quite lightning, but close enough.

Then Elena, because she had zero chill, shouted, "Marcus is going next!" to like, everyone.

The crowd parted. Jake's brother grinned maniacally from behind the controls. I climbed onto the mechanical bull, my heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. This was it. This was how I died - thrown off a fake bull at a house party while Jordan watched.

"Hold on tight!" someone yelled.

The bull jerked beneath me, and suddenly I was airborne, my body flailing, dignity already gone before I even hit the inflatable mat. People cheered. I caught Jordan's eye as I tumbled - they were actually laughing, but not mean. Like, genuinely cracking up.

I landed hard, elbow smarting, heart still racing.

Jordan reached down to help me up. "That was legendary."

" Legendary as in humiliating?"

"Legendary as in you got owned by a plastic bull and still stuck the landing." Their hand lingered in mine for maybe a second longer than necessary. Lightning struck somewhere outside, the thunder rattling the windows, and I thought: oh.

Outside on the porch later, nursing a bruised ego and possibly a bruised butt, Jordan found me again. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I play padel too, you know. At the rec center."

"You do?"

"Every Saturday. You should come."

The night air smelled like rain and possibility. "Yeah," I said, and for the first time all night, I wasn't faking it. "I'd like that."