The Mechanical Bull Incident
Jordan's grip tightened on the fence rail as Tyler—varsity jacket, perfect grin, zero chill—egged her on.
"Come on, it's barely moving! Don't be such a—"
"Don't say it," Jordan cut in, but Tyler just grinned wider.
"Chicken."
The **bull** snorted beneath some poor sophomore who was currently clinging for dear life, the mechanical beast bucking like it had something to prove. County fair lights flickered overhead, casting everything in this weird neon glow that made Jordan feel like she was trapped in a particularly cringey coming-of-age movie. Which, honestly, she kind of was.
Her **iphone** buzzed in her pocket—the group chat blowing up over someone's vaguepost about WHO was hanging out with WHO behind the bleachers on Friday. Because apparently Jordan's social life was now a spectator sport.
"Five bucks says you wipe out in three seconds," Tyler called, already pulling out his phone to record. The betrayal stung more than it should've. They'd been best friends since seventh grade, but lately Tyler had been leveling up his social currency while Jordan remained firmly NPC-tier.
The thing was, Jordan didn't even want to be here. She'd rather be home finishing her AP English paper on the **sphinx**—riddle creature, devours those who can't solve its puzzles, metaphor for impossible beauty standards, blah blah blah. At least Oedipus got to stab out his own eyes afterward. Jordan just had to live through junior year.
Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
Frowning, Jordan unlocked it. A photo filled the screen—her golden retriever, Buster, wearing the plastic sphinx headpiece she'd made for history class, soulful eyes peering through the papier-mâché like, *please human, why have you forsaken me*. Then the caption: *Your mom sent me this. Said you'd need motivation. Call me? —Aria*
Aria. The new girl. The one who'd sat with Jordan at lunch yesterday when everyone else was "busy" doing literally anything else. The one who'd actually laughed at Jordan's awful sphinx jokes instead of politely pretending she didn't hear them.
Jordan's **dog**, of all things, had somehow become her wingman.
"You going or what?" Tyler shouted over the music, and something in Jordan just—snapped.
She grabbed the mechanical operator's arm. "Let me on."
"Jordan, wait—"
She mounted the **bull** with shaking legs, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to break out. The operator grinned like he knew exactly what was about to happen.
The first buck nearly launched her into orbit. Jordan gripped with everything she had—thighs burning, dignity disintegrating second by second. Tyler was definitely recording. This would absolutely be on someone's story by midnight, complete with a sound effect and a caption like *when u think u can but u really can't even.*
And then—she was actually doing it. Leaning into the motion, finding something like rhythm, like flow. Like she wasn't the quiet girl who sat in the back and made sphinx jokes to herself. Like she could be someone who rode mechanical bulls at county fairs and didn't overthink every single thing.
The **iphone** in her pocket buzzed AGAIN.
*Also,* Aria had texted, *I heard the bull ride is like, actually impossible. So even if you eat it, which you won't, I'll still be impressed. Also Buster sent his regards.*
Jordan laughed, lost her balance, and went flying into the safety padding.
Tyler was howling. A group of seniors had gathered to witness the catastrophe. And somewhere in the chaos, Jordan's hand found her phone, thumbs moving before she could talk herself out of it.
*Busted,* she typed to Aria. *Tomorrow lunch?*
The response came instantly: *Only if you bring the sphinx head.*