Snapback Truth

Jake pulled his black snapback **hat** low over his forehead, checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The hat was his armor—without it, he felt naked, exposed as the farm kid who'd transferred to Northwood High three weeks ago.

"You coming or what?" his brother Marcus yelled from downstairs. "The **bull** is not gonna wait forever."

Family duty. Jake's stomach tightened. Today was the annual community fair, and his dad had roped him into helping with the livestock showcase. The only thing worse than being the new kid? Being the new kid who smelled like hay.

Outside, the September air was crisp. Jake hopped on his board, carving down the driveway. At the end of the cul-de-sac, he grabbed his bike from where it lay tangled in a mess—someone's **cable** TV wire had fallen during the storm last night, and he had to lift his bike over it carefully.

At the fair, chaos reigned. Jake's job: help kids with the petting zoo. He stood near the fence, watching a toddler scream because the miniature **bear** (a huge, docile thing that had been rescued from a roadside attraction) had just rolled over for a nap instead of performing tricks.

"Bro, is that you?"

Jake froze. It was Her—Ashley Rodriguez, who sat behind him in English and wrote poetry in the margins of her notebook. The one person he'd actually wanted to impress since day one.

She was staring at his tractor hat.

"Yeah," Jake managed. "It's... my dad's. I have to work here."

"That's actually kind of dope," she said, surprising him. "I mean, it's awful that it's literally 90 degrees and you're wearing wool, but the farm life? That's hardcore."

Jake hesitated. Then he pulled the hat off and shoved it in his back pocket. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. He felt exposed—but also lighter.

"It sucks," he admitted. "But someone has to feed the animals."

Ashley smiled. "Wanna help me name this bear? I'm thinking Potato."

"Potato," Jake agreed. "Because he just lays there."

"Exactly." She pulled a sketchbook from her bag. "Hey, after this—you want to get food? My treat. You look like you're about to pass out from heatstroke."

Jake grinned, really grinned, for the first time in three weeks. "Only if I can keep the hat off."

"Deal."