Running with Bulls

Maya's cat, Luna, had zero chill. The furball decided the night before the biggest track meet of sophomore year was the perfect time to go full drama queen and vanish. Typical.

"Luna!" Maya whisper-yelled into the darkness, her phone flashlight cutting through suburban shadows. "Please don't do this to me, girl."

She was already spiraling. Sectionals were tomorrow. Coach Henderson had been hyping her up all week, going on about how Maya could totally crush the 800-meter if she just "believed in herself." Whatever that meant when you were busy overthinking everything.

A flash of white near Mrs. Ramirez's fence. Luna.

Maya took off running, her Converse slapping against pavement. The stupid cat led her on a wild chase through three backyards before cornering herself against—no joke—an actual bull.

Like, a full-on bull. In the middle of suburbia.

It was just chilling there, massive and confused, staring at Luna like *what even is your problem?* Then it looked at Maya, and for some reason, the absurdity of it all hit her. She was scared of Sectionals? She was worried about what varsity girls thought of her? Meanwhile, there was literally a bull in her neighbor's backyard.

Maya started laughing. Like, actually wheeze-laughing. Luna darted up the bull's leg—*the audacity*—and perched on its back like she owned it. The bull didn't even flake. Just stood there being a thousand-pound cat tree.

"You're ridiculous," Maya told the cat, scooping her up. "Both of you are ridiculous."

She walked home, Luna purring against her chest, still buzzing with adrenaline and random joy. The next day, Maya PR'd by three seconds and placed second. The varsity girls still barely acknowledged her, but whatever. She'd literally gone toe-to-toe with a bull and won.

Some things were just more important than being cool. Like finding your fierce. And maybe keeping a better eye on your cat.