Summer of the Mechanical Bull

The summer I turned fifteen, my mom made me get a job at Uncle Jerry's Vitamin Barn. The place smelled like wheatgrass and desperation, and I spent eight hours a day arranging bottles of pills in rainbow rows while my friends were at the pool posting thirst traps.

'This builds character,' Mom said, as if character could be extracted from a gel capsule.

The highlight of my week became the County Fair, where Leo—the cutest junior from our rival high school—worked at the mechanical bull ride. I'd make excuses to wander over, watching kids get thrown off while he leaned against the railing in his flannel, looking effortless and gorgeous and completely unaware of my existence.

'You gonna ride or just stand there looking cute?' he asked one Thursday, grinning.

My face burned. 'I don't have cash.' Smooth. Really smooth.

Leo waved me over. 'First ride's free for pretty girls.' He winked. 'Don't tell my boss.'

The second I climbed onto that bull, I understood why everyone lasted three seconds max. It thrashed like it had a personal vendetta, and somewhere between 'let me off' and 'I'm actually gonna die,' I locked eyes with Leo and found my balance. I rode that thing for twelve seconds—longest anyone had gone all summer—while he whooped like I'd just won the Olympics.

Afterward, sitting on the grass with my legs shaking, he sat beside me and shared his smuggled-in energy drink. 'You've got moves, Vitamin Girl,' he said, and I decided right then I didn't hate my nickname anymore.

That night, my golden retriever Bear slept across my feet while I scrolled through our text thread, smiling at my phone like a total cliché. My first job might've smelled like supplements and desperation, but somehow, it had given me exactly what I needed.