Palm Reader's prophecy

I stood outside the rodeo grounds, sweating through my flannel. Tyler texted again—*u coming or what?*—and I stared at my **iphone** screen until it went black.

"You're being a little **bull** about this," Maya had said that morning when I told her I wasn't going to Emma's party. "Just because she rejected you in front of everyone doesn't mean you hide forever."

But she didn't get it. The humiliation still burned fresh—Emma laughing when I tried to kiss her, her friends giggling behind their hands. I'd spent the last two weeks scrolling through Instagram, watching everyone live their best lives while I lay in bed overthinking every awkward moment.

My **dog** Buster nudged my leg with his wet nose, like he knew exactly what kind of loser spiral I was spiraling. We'd found him behind a dumpster sophomore year, half-starved and terrified. Now he went everywhere with me, my emotional support animal before I even knew what that meant.

A text from Tyler popped up: *rodeo starts in 10. mitch is riding the midnight bull. you gonna wimp out?*

I sighed. Mitch—of course. The guy who'd made my life hell since seventh grade, who'd started the rumor that I cried when we dissected frogs in bio, who'd somehow made everything feel like one endless contest I kept losing.

But I'd been practicing. Every weekend since the incident, I'd been secretly taking riding lessons at the stable outside town. Old man Miller said I had natural talent, said I reminded him of himself before he got too old and broken.

I looked down at my **palm**—the same one Maya's crazy aunt had read last summer, predicting I'd "face my fears and find unexpected courage." I'd laughed it off then, but suddenly I wondered.

"Alright Buster," I said, tossing him a treat from my pocket. "Time to stop being everyone's punching bag."

The rodeo was already packed when I arrived. Mitch sat on the massive black **bull**, his smirk visible even from the bleachers. The crowd roared as the gate opened.

Three seconds. That's all he lasted before getting thrown into the dirt, his hat flying off, the crowd exploding with laughter. I'd never seen him look so human, so small.

Then the announcer called my name.

My heart hammered as I lowered myself onto Midnight's back. The world narrowed to the rope in my hand, the powerful animal beneath me, the breath I couldn't seem to catch. The gate opened.

Eight seconds of pure terror and electric joy. I hung on longer than anyone else that night, dismounting on my own terms while my phone buzzed in my pocket—Emma, probably, or maybe it didn't matter anymore.

Buster waited by the fence, tail thumping like he'd never doubted me for a second. Some things, I realized, didn't need a filter to be real.