Mechanical Bull Summer

My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip the laminate with my employee badge on it. First day at Splash Zone, and I was already five minutes late.

"You're the new lifeguard?" Marcus asked from the break room fridge, cracking open a Coke. He had that effortless cool kids spend years trying to fake.

"Yeah. Sorry, I got turned around."

"No worries, bro. I got you." Marcus became my first real friend at the park. He showed me the shortcuts, told me which managers were chill, and warned me about the kids who tried to duck under the rope when I wasn't looking.

The water shimmered turquoise in the July heat, smelling of chlorine and coconut sunscreen. I'd spend hours watching the crowds, blowing my whistle when some kid decided to test gravity by running on the wet concrete. The job wasn't glamorous - mostly telling people not to eat near the pool and fishing out band-aids - but it paid for the car I wanted.

The mechanical bull sat by the arcade, an electro-plated beast that deposited teenagers onto inflatable mats every thirty seconds. Everyone wanted to ride it. Everyone except me.

"That's so bull," my friend Jaz complained after wiping out spectacularly. "I totally had that."

"You were sideways, Jaz," I said, and she threw a french fry at me.

By August, I'd stopped counting the number of times I'd watched people conquer their fears on that thing. Marcus kept telling me to try it.

"What's the worst that happens? You fall on foam?"

"What's the best that happens? I look like an idiot?" I shot back.

But three weeks before school started, after a particularly brutal shift where I'd had to jump in for a real rescue (some kid who'd cramped up in the deep end), I found myself standing in front of it during my break.

I climbed on. The operator raised his eyebrows like, you sure? I nodded.

The bull moved under me, first slow, then jerking sideways. My grip tightened, knuckles white, arms burning. And then - for like three glorious seconds - I was riding. Not holding on for dear life, actually riding. The crowd cheering, Jaz recording, Marcus grinning from the side.

Then it threw me. I went airborne, spinning, and landed flat on my back in soft foam.

"YESSS!" Marcus yelled, pulling me up. I could barely feel my legs but I was grinning like an idiot. My palms were raw, hair everywhere, dignity nowhere.

"Again," I said.

Maybe growing up's like that. You get thrown around a lot, you land on your ass sometimes, but eventually you learn to hold on. And if you're lucky, you've got people there to cheer when you finally get it right.