Taking the Bull by the Horns

Maya's iphone buzzed for the third time in two minutes. Group chat exploding, of course. Everyone at school would be at Tyler's party tonight—everyone except her, apparently. The notification sat there like a dare: *U coming????*

She groaned and buried her face in her cat, Mr. Whiskers, who was currently loafing on her stomach like a furry, judgmental loaf of bread. "You think I should go, don't you?" she muttered. Mr. Whiskers responded with a slow blink that clearly said, *I'm a cat. I don't care about your teenage drama.*

But Maya did care. She cared way too much. That was the problem.

Her phone lit up again. This time a DM from Jordan—the Jordan she'd been lowkey crushing on since September. *hey heard you might not come 🙁 party's lame without you*

Maya's stomach did that annoying fluttery thing. Jordan noticed she wasn't going? Jordan noticed her at all?

"Okay," she said, sitting up so suddenly that Mr. Whiskers gave an offended meow and stalked away. "Okay. I'm going. I'm taking the bull by the horns."

Her grandpa's voice echoed in her head. *Life's too short to stand on the sidelines, kiddo. Sometimes you gotta grab life by the balls—or the bull.* He'd always said it with a wink, usually while they were watching the rodeo highlights he taped religiously. He'd passed last year, but that particular piece of advice stuck.

Maya stared at herself in the mirror. Glasses, slightly crooked bangs, vintage band t-shirt she'd thrifted because actually liking the band felt too basic. Not exactly party royalty material. But then again, when had she ever been?

She grabbed her backpack—no, her actual bag, the cute crossbody one her aunt gave her. Touch up the lip gloss. Mess with her hair until it looked intentionally messy, not accidentally messy.

"I'm going," she announced to her empty room. "I'm going to talk to Jordan and I'm going to have fun and I'm not going to overthink every single social interaction for once.*

Mr. Whiskers poked his head back in the doorway, as if to say, *That's the spirit. Also, feed me.*

Maya laughed. "Later, drama cat."

Her fingers hovered over Jordan's text. Then she typed back: *bet. saving u a dance 😉*

Hit send before she could chicken out.

Her heart was hammering. Her palms were sweating. But underneath all that anxiety, something else was bubbling up. Something that felt suspiciously like courage.

Grandpa was right. Sometimes you had to grab the bull by the horns. Or in this case, grab your metaphorical bull by the horns, put on your bravest face, and show up.

Maya grabbed her keys and headed for the door, iphone in hand, ready to finally be part of the story instead of just watching it unfold from the sidelines.