The Bear, The Bull, The Truth

Chase's vintage cowboy hat sat on my desk like a judgmental cloud. He'd left it there after the party—the same party where I'd told everyone I used to bull ride back in Texas. Total cap. I'd never even been to Texas.

"You coming to the rodeo tonight?" Maya leaned against my locker, her eyes doing that crinkly thing that made my stomach flip.

"Wouldn't miss it," I said, trying to sound chill. "Rodeos are practically my second language."

She grinned. "Perfect. My uncle's the announcer. I'll save you a seat."

The arena buzzed with energy—dust motes dancing in the floodlights, the smell of popcorn and adrenaline. Maya's uncle introduced the main event: Bear vs. The Bull, a legendary local bull that had tossed every rider that season.

"Think you could take him?" Maya asked, nudging my shoulder.

"Absolutely," I lied, then immediately regretted it. "I mean, theoretically. If I wasn't retired."

Suddenly, the rider flew off the bull. The animal bucked toward the fence—straight toward us. People scattered. Maya grabbed my arm and we bolted toward the exit. But my foot caught on something, and I went down hard.

The bull skidded to a stop inches from my face. A massive shadow loomed over us—Bear, the bull rider, hauling the animal back by its harness.

"You okay, kid?" Bear asked, extending a hand that was roughly the size of a catcher's mitt. He wore Chase's hat. No, not Chase's hat—THE hat. Same ridiculous patch on the brim.

"That's my brother's hat!" Maya exclaimed. "He's been looking everywhere for—" She stopped. "Wait, Chase said he left it at YOUR house."

I lay there in the dirt, covered in arena dust, busted. "I may have exaggerated my rodeo experience."

Maya started laughing. Not mean laughing. The real kind. "You're such a dork."

"Retired dork," I corrected.

"Retired dork who owes me a proper introduction to bull riding," she said, pulling me up. "The real kind. Where you watch, not lie about it."

Bear tipped the hat. "Smart choice, kid. These things'll mess you up."

Later, walking to the concession stand, Maya slipped her hand into mine. "So, besides fake rodeo skills, what else are you hiding?"

"I'm actually terrible at mini-golf," I admitted. "Like, impressively bad."

"Deal," she said. "Next weekend. And no lies."

Some truths were harder than getting thrown from a bull. But holding her hand? Definitely worth the fall.