Mechanical Bulls and Palm Sweats

Jordan's palms were sweating through his denim shorts. Like, actually sweating through the fabric. Standing at the entrance to Spring Fair with his friends, watching Nina laugh at something Tyler said, Jordan felt like he was about to throw up. Which was hilarious because literally ten minutes ago, he'd been bragging to his mom about how he was totally chill about finally asking Nina out.

The carnival was packed with juniors and seniors, everyone strategically positioned around the food trucks and rides like they were part of some massive social pyramid that Jordan had definitely not been invited to climb. Tyler, of course, was at the top—varsity jacket, effortless grin, currently demonstrating how to operate the mechanical bull like he hadn't spent three weeks practicing in his backyard.

"You gonna try it?" Nina asked, appearing suddenly beside Jordan. Her eyes were bright, expectant.

Jordan's brain short-circuited. "The bull?"

"Unless you see another mechanical animal around here." She grinned, and Jordan's stomach did that stupid flip thing. "I dare you."

He should say no. He was about to say no. But then Tyler was screaming something about being the king of the rodeo, and everyone was watching, and suddenly Jordan was nodding like an idiot.

The operator strapped him in, and Jordan immediately regretted every life choice that led to this moment. The bull started slow, then faster, jerking side to side until Jordan was gripping the handle with white knuckles. He lasted maybe seven seconds before flying off, landing in the hay bales with zero dignity.

Nina was doubled over laughing, but not in a mean way. In a way that made her hair fall over her face and made Jordan forget about the hay currently stuck in his underwear.

"That was legendary," she said, reaching down to help him up. "Seriously. That fall? Artistic."

Jordan's dog back home would've been embarrassed for him, but Nina was still holding his hand, not letting go even after he was standing. Her palm was soft against his, and suddenly Jordan's sweaty palms didn't matter at all.

"Want to get food?" she asked. "My treat. For the entertainment."

"Yeah," Jordan managed, still feeling the ghost of her hand in his. "Yeah, absolutely."