Mechanical Bull and Broken Hearts

The county fair smelled like funnel cake and desperation. Exactly where I didn't want to be on a Friday night, but here I was, standing in front of the mechanical bull while Jordan from my English class watched.

"You gonna ride that thing or just stare at it like it's your ex?" Jordan called out. Their baseball uniform was stained with Gatorade—practice had just ended. I'd been watching them from the bleachers for weeks, trying to work up the courage to say more than "pass me a worksheet."

"I'm totally gonna ride it," I lied. "Just psyching myself up."

Truth was, I'd never even been on a horse, let alone a mechanical one designed to humiliate teenagers. But I had five bucks in my pocket and Jordan's attention, which was more than I'd had all semester.

I climbed onto the bull. The operator raised his eyebrows like he'd seen hundreds of kids like me—awkward, desperate, about to eat dirt in front of their crush. The bull lurched beneath me, and suddenly I was clinging to fake leather like my life depended on it.

"YOU GOT THIS!" Jordan shouted. They were actually smiling. My stomach did something that had nothing to do with the bull's violent jerking.

I lasted twelve seconds. The bull threw me off, and I skidded across the padded floor, dignity gone. But Jordan was there, helping me up, actually laughing with me not at me, and their hand was warm and everything was suddenly okay.

"That was actually kind of legendary," they said. "Wanna go get some fair food? My treat."

We walked past the game booths, and Jordan suddenly stopped. "Wait here."

They returned five minutes later, holding a plastic bag filled with water. Inside, a tiny goldfish swam in confused circles.

"I won it for you," Jordan said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Since you survived the bull and all."

I named it Chaos. It died three days later, but I kept Jordan's number in my phone long after the fair left town. Sometimes the most embarrassing moments become the best origin stories.