Signal Lost

The mechanical bull at Jake's Arcade was practically calling my name. Or maybe that was just the peer pressure from Skylar and her posse of perfectly imperfect friends standing way too close to the railing.

"You gonna ride that bull or just stare at it like it's your ex?" Skylar smirked, flipping her hair with that practiced casualness that took me months to figure out wasn't actually casual at all.

I'd never even had an ex. The closest I'd come was almost holding hands with Tyler at the spring formal before he ghosted me for Savannah—the girl whose dad owned the local cable company. Apparently, having premium channels was a personality trait worth dating for.

My dad was different. He was the guy who climbed telephone poles in any weather, splicing cables for people whose Netflix kept buffering at the worst possible moments. The guy who'd played minor league baseball until an injury sent him home to a town that felt too small for his dreams.

"I'm thinking about it," I lied, adjusting my flannel like armor.

The truth? I was terrified. But not of falling off.

My dad had picked me up from practice yesterday, still wearing his work gear. The other varsity baseball players had seen his company truck with the ladder on top, heard him ask how my swing was coming along. Coach Peterson had given me this look—part sympathy, part assessment. Like he was calculating whether my dad's failed baseball dreams meant I'd choke under pressure too.

That was the real bull I'd been avoiding all season. The expectations that hung heavier than any humidity, the way everyone assumed I was either destined for greatness or destined to disappoint. There was no middle ground in this town.

"Five bucks says she bails," someone whispered behind me.

Something snapped. Maybe it was the whisper, maybe it was Tyler laughing with Savannah by the prize counter, or maybe it was just seventeen years of feeling like I was living someone else's life.

I handed Skylar my flannel. "Hold this."

The bull operator raised his eyebrows. "First time?"

"First time for everything."

My first time riding a mechanical bull ended approximately 3.7 seconds later with me face-planting into the padded surrounding. But as I pulled myself up, dizzy and breathless and laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, I caught Skylar's expression. Not mocking. Impressed.

"Okay," she said, handing back my flannel with something like respect in her eyes. "That was actually kinda sick."

The varsity game the next day? I hit a double that should've been caught, sliding into second with dirt in my mouth and my dad's work cables dangling from the pole beyond the outfield fence. Coach Peterson nodded from the dugout.

Some signals don't need cable to connect. Sometimes you just have to ride the bull to find your own frequency.