Mechanical Bull Summer

The air smelled like funnel cakes and desperation. County fair, Friday night, and somewhere between the tractor pull and the livestock pavilion, my entire social life was about to end.

"You're actually gonna do it?" Marcus asked, already pulling out his phone to record. "Bro's gonna eat dirt."

I shoved him playfully. "Shut up, I got this."

The mechanical bull sat there like a judgmental metal beast, all flash and no chill. A challenge I'd drunkenly accepted at Skye's party last weekend, back when I was trying way too hard to impress her. Now the viral video of me claiming I'd ride it for eight full seconds had made it to the entire junior class. The comment section had absolutely roasted me alive.

Skye stood by the fence, wearing that vintage band tee I'd complimented once like a month ago. She looked equal parts amused and concerned. "No pressure, but if you bail now, I'll never let you live it down."

"Way to be a supportive friend," I muttered, climbing onto the bull's fake leather saddle. My palms were sweating. My heart hammered like I'd just mainlined three energy shots.

The operator cracked his gum. "You sure, kid? Last guy ended up in the ER."

"Just start it."

Outside the pavilion, lightning cracked across the sky like someone had taken a photo of the exact moment my dignity died. The bull beneath me lurched forward without warning, and suddenly I was holding on for dear life, jerking side to side like a broken ragdoll in a washing machine.

People were screaming. Marcus was definitely livestreaming this. I caught Skye's eye mid-buck—she was laughing, but like, actually laughing, not the mean-girl laugh I'd been paranoid about.

Six seconds. My arms burned. Seven. The bull did something that defied physics and sent me flying—

—I landed in the sawdust, chest heaving, ears ringing, but I was grinning like an idiot. The small crowd gathered around actually cheered.

Skye reached down to pull me up. "Seven and a half seconds. Respectable."

"Totally planned the dismount," I lied, dusting myself off.

"Sure you did." Her smile was different now. Less distant. "You running to the food trucks with me? I'm starving."

Outside, thunder finally caught up to the lightning. The first heavy drops of rain began to fall as we sprinted toward the corn dog stand, Marcus trailing behind us, still recording.

Some nights, you eat dirt. Some nights, you find something real in the chaos. Either way, you keep moving.