Rodeo Nights First Rides

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she had to wipe them on her jeans twice. The county fair lights flickered overhead as Jake leaned against the fence next to her, looking annoyingly calm.

"You're not backing out, right?" he asked, that stupid grin plastered on his face.

"I'm not backing out," Maya lied, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The mechanical bull—this year's addition to the fair—loomed in front of them, its vinyl hide gleaming under the neon signs. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Liam appeared behind Jake with two corndogs, handing one to Maya. "Last year you made me go through the haunted corn maze. Like, carried me through half of it because I'm dramatic. This is me returning the favor."

"That maze had actual chainsaws, Liam. This is just..." She gestured at the mechanical bull that was currently bucking some poor college guy sideways. "That."

"Just be sly like a fox, Maya," Liam said around a mouthful of corndog. "Outsmart it. Ride it like you own it."

Since when did Liam use idioms? And since when did she, Maya Chen, who had once cried during a group presentation because her voice cracked, agree to ride a mechanical bull in front of half her high school?

Oh right. When Jake had texted her at 11 PM last night with 'wanna ride the bull tomorrow' and she'd said yes before her brain could catch up with her thumbs.

The operator, a guy with more tattoos than teeth, waved her over. "You up next, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Maya wanted to die. But she stepped forward, climbed onto the bull, and gripped the handle with everything she had. The crowd noise swelled.

"You got this!" Jake yelled, actually sounding like he meant it.

The bull jerked to life. Maya's first thought was that she was absolutely going to die. Her second thought was that she was absolutely going to die and everyone would witness it.

But then something clicked. She stopped fighting the motion and started flowing with it. Lean back when it bucked forward. Shift weight when it spun. Her palm grip on the handle became natural, instinctual. For eight seconds—she counted them, each one stretching into eternity—she wasn't the girl who overthought everything. She was just riding.

When she finally flew off (somewhat gracefully, she hoped), landing on the inflatable mat, the first face she saw in the crowd was Jake's. He was cheering. Actually cheering. And grinning.

"Seven point six seconds!" the operator announced. "Not bad, not bad at all."

Maya lay there staring up at the sky, cheeks burning but feeling weirdly amazing. Jake appeared above her, extending a hand.

"So," he said, pulling her up, "same time next year?"

Maya wiped her palms on her jeans again, but this time she wasn't sweating. "Maybe," she said, trying to play it cool. "Ask me again when I can feel my legs."

Liam appeared with a snow cone. "Seven point six? Dang Maya, when did you get cool?"

She didn't have an answer. But as they walked away from the bull, the fair lights spinning overhead, Maya thought maybe that was the point. Maybe you didn't become cool all at once. Maybe it was just about seven-point-six-second moments when you surprised yourself, and the people who mattered noticed.