The Palm Tree Protocol

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she might actually slide right out of her grip on the red solo cup. The beach party was legit—like, actually legit, not just Trevor saying everything was fire when really he was just hyped about free chips.

The Pacific Ocean was crashing twenty feet away, a massive water wall glinting under the July sun, while someone's Bluetooth speaker blasted something bass-heavy that made Maya's chest vibrate. She took another sip of her orange soda, trying to look casual. Like she totally belonged here, instead of wondering why she'd agreed to come when her whole social strategy consisted of "avoid eye contact and maybe hide behind a cooler."

Across the party, Jaxon was laughing with his friends, his sun-bleached hair practically glowing. He'd actually said "hey Maya" in homeroom yesterday, which had felt like winning the lottery while simultaneously being struck by lightning.

"No way," Trevor was saying, gesturing at a group of seniors setting up something near the palm trees. "They're not—"

"Oh they absolutely are," Sienna replied, grinning. "Senior bull riding tradition. They strap this inflatable bull to a palm tree and see who can stay on longest. It's objectively ridiculous and somehow still impressive."

Maya watched as Jaxon volunteered first. Of course he did. He climbed onto the inflatable bull like he'd been training for this moment his whole life, while everyone cheered and someone's phone recorded it for TikTok.

"Watch this," Sienna whispered, pulling a Vitamin Water from the cooler. "This is the best part."

Maya squinted. Jaxon was doing surprisingly well—like, actually impressive balance, his arms tight around the bull's neck while someone jerked it side to side. But then Sienna pointed, and Maya saw it: one of the seniors' little brothers, maybe eight years old, creeping toward the palm tree with a bucket.

The kid dumped the entire bucket over Jaxon's head.

Water, obviously, but Maya still gasped as Jaxon sputtered and slid off the bull, splashing into the sand while everyone lost it. He was laughing too, shaking water from his hair like a wet dog, and when he looked across the crowd and caught Maya's eye, he actually grinned.

"Your turn," Sienna said, nudging her. "Unless you're chicken."

Maya's heart was doing that thing where it forgot how to beat normally. She glanced at Jaxon, who was wringing out his shirt by the cooler, still grinning. Then she looked at the stupid inflatable bull strapped to the palm tree, and the crowd waiting for someone to step up.

"Hell no," she said, putting down her orange soda. "I'm not chicken."

And as she walked toward the palm tree, palms still sweating but heart pounding in a good way this time, she thought maybe—just maybe—she didn't have to hide behind coolers anymore.

Maybe she could just be the girl who rode the bull. Even if she only lasted three seconds. Even if she fell into the sand and everyone laughed. At least she'd be laughing too.