The Bull Rider's Selfie

Maya's fingers trembled as she unlocked her iPhone, the screen illuminating her face in the darkness of the hay bale. Zero likes. The photo she'd posted three hours ago—her leaning against the County Fair's iconic orange concession stand—had ghosted into the algorithm abyss.

"You good?" Diego asked, sitting beside her. His nose was dusted with powder from the funnel cake they'd split earlier, when the night still felt full of possibility.

"Yeah. Just checking... stuff." She tilted the phone away, embarrassed. Diego didn't know she'd spent the whole night obsessing over social media instead of actually, you know, living.

The announcer's voice boomed over the crackling speakers. "NEXT UP, OUR FINAL RIDER OF THE NIGHT—GIVE IT UP FOR TYLER 'THE HURRICANE' MILLER!"

The crowd roared. Maya watched as Tyler Miller—the same Tyler who sat two rows behind her in pre-calc—climbed onto the massive bull in the arena. The animal snorted and pawed the dirt, muscles rippling beneath its glossy coat. Tyler looked tiny up there, barely visible in his oversized protective vest.

Then the gate burst open.

The bull exploded from the chute, bucking and spinning so violently Maya flinched. But Tyler held on, his face contorted in pure effort, legs gripping with everything he had. The crowd went absolutely feral, screaming, stomping, someone behind Maya shouting "HOLD ON, BRO!" at the top of their lungs.

Eight seconds. Nine. Ten.

The buzzer blared. Tyler vaulted off the bull as it charged toward the gate, and the place went nuclear. Maya found herself on her feet, screaming herself hoarse, not even caring that her phone was still clutched in her hand, dark and forgotten.

Afterward, in the crush of people congratulating Tyler, she spotted him across the arena. He was grinning, adrenaline still radiating off him like heat. Their eyes met for like, half a second. He gave her this little nod—not a fake Instagram-perfect smile, but something real.

Later, curled up in bed, Maya opened her photos. There it was: the grainy, imperfect shot she'd grabbed of Tyler mid-ride, all motion and chaos, nothing aesthetic about it. She hit post.

Within minutes, notifications flooded in. Her friends. Kids from school. Even Diego. But she didn't care about the numbers anymore. Her thumb hovered over Tyler's name, then typed:

That was legit as hell.

He replied instantly: haha thanks. your pic is actually fire.

Maya's stomach did this weird flip, and she stared at her ceiling, grinning into the dark. Tomorrow, she'd put down the phone and actually talk to people. But tonight? This was enough.