Riding the Bull

The text message lit up my screen during third period: "U coming to Jake's? There's gonna be a mechanical bull."

I stared at it. A mechanical bull? In suburban Connecticut? Only Tyler would think that's cool.

"You should go," said Maya, reading over my shoulder. Maya was my oldest friend, the one who'd held my hair back when I puked after cheer tryouts freshman year, the one who knew I took a gummy vitamin every morning because I was terrified of getting sick before competitions.

"I have swim practice," I said, though practice ended at four and the party started at seven.

"Lame excuse." Maya raised an eyebrow. "You're not still scared of Jake's crowd, are you? The Padel King and his tennis elite?"

She meant Tyler, who'd become obsessed with padel—that tennis-paddle hybrid thing—over the summer and suddenly started hanging with the popular kids who wore expensive athleisure and talked about stocks. We'd been drifting apart since he made varsity and I didn't.

"I'm not scared," I lied.

"Then prove it."

So at 7:15 PM, I walked into Jake's backyard where a mechanical bull lurked beside the pool like a drunk zoo animal. Someone had dragged it there for the party, and now a lineup of boys were trying to prove something by staying on eight seconds.

"Hey!" Tyler appeared, holding a red Solo cup. "You made it. You gonna ride?"

I'd ridden horses since I was six. How hard could this be?

"Watch this," I said, stepping up.

The operator smirked. "First time?"

"Just start slow."

The bull jerked beneath me, and suddenly I was gripping for dear life as it bucked and spun. People were cheering, but all I could hear was Maya yelling "YOU GOT THIS!" and Tyler shouting "EIGHT SECONDS!"

I made it to seven before flying off, landing in the woodchips laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

Tyler pulled me up. "That was actually sick."

"Told you," I said, dusting off my jeans.

Later, we sat by the pool while Tyler talked about his padel tournament next weekend. "You should come watch," he said. "It's actually kind of fun."

"Maybe I will," I said, and I meant it.

Maya elbowed me. "See? Still friends."

I looked at Tyler, who I'd known since kindergarten, and realized we'd both changed—but that didn't mean we had to drift apart. Sometimes you just had to hold on tight, enjoy the ride, and see where you landed.

"Next time," I said, "I'm staying on eight seconds."