name they call, I’m afraid that Crash Junction’s gonna go to someone else and I won’t get my chance.
That is, right up until Wayne calls my name. He reaches into the box and looks at the slip of paper for a moment before looking up and right at me.
“...Crash Junction!” he says.
I let out a whoop, and next to me, Raylan laughs.
“Never seen someone so excited to get his ass handed to him,” he says.
“Just you wait,” I say, grinning as Wayne pins Crash Junction next to my name on the board for day three.
On the other side of the small amphitheater, I see a camera move. As she lowers it, Mae smiles at me for half a second, and then looks away.
I crack my knuckles, the adrenaline already spiking through me the way it always does. There’s five hours until the rodeo starts and I ride Train Robbery, Mae watching.
Bring it the fuck on . I got this.
* * *
T he hours crawl by , then fly, then crawl again. It feels like a high schooler sings the National Anthem for two hours, but the first block of bull riding is over in thirty seconds. I watch as much of it as I can, hanging over the barriers, looking at how each bull moves and kicks and spins, judging how each rider handles them. It’s good practice to always watch the competition.
Across the arena in a gated-off press area are Mae and Bruce. She’s snapping away, talking to him, and he’s taking notes. I keep thinking that she’s looking over at me, but it could be my imagination. Even as I’m watching, I can’t get that kiss out of my mind. Her hands in my hair. The feel of her heartbeat underneath my lips when I kissed her neck.
Then there’s just a couple of rides until it’s my turn, so I jump down to get ready. I put on the protective vest that keeps me from getting gored. I’ve got my glove and my chaps and my hat, and then I’m just hanging around the bull pens, jumping out of my skin from nerves.
I watch another cowboy get on his bull, wrap the rope around his hand. He nods and the gate man swings the gate outward and the bull launches himself out of it, kicking and bucking and spinning. The cowboy’s off in six seconds and he lands in the dirt and rolls.
The rodeo clowns come in and chase the bull toward the exit chute. Once the rider’s off, the bulls are more easygoing, and this one trots to the exit chute without causing any trouble.
The cowboy stands up, grabs a gate, and climbs over, and then it’s my turn.
I’ve done this a thousand times, but it’s impossible not to feel like my whole body’s on fire with anticipation and nerves. Eight seconds isn’t long, but it’s long enough.
I jump onto Train Robbery’s back, and even in the confined space of the bucking chute, he’s not happy about it. The handlers hold him steady for a moment while I get situated, wrap the bull rope around my gloved hand, and take a deep breath.
In that last moment, I find the blond head above the camera, and I smile at Mae.
Then I nod at the gate man. He opens the chute, and Train Robbery flies out.
13
Mae
W hen I watch bull riding , I feel like I’m watching a horror movie. Roping events aren’t that bad: some men ride horses, tie up cows, and then let them go. That I can handle, no problem.
But bull riding? I want to watch through my fingers. Every time someone falls off, I gasp despite myself.
Even when a rider can stay on for the full eight seconds, there’s no graceful dismount from a bull. It’s not like the bull stops and someone comes up to it with a stepladder.
The rider still has to jump off a bucking bull and land in the sand. Every time someone gets up, I take a deep breath of relief, because right now all I want is to not watch someone die today.
Of course, I’m the one person in this arena who can’t close her eyes. I photograph rider after rider, cringing every single time. Even the rides that go well look painful.
Then the announcer calls Jackson’s name, and I start to sweat. Next to me, Bruce leans forward
That is, right up until Wayne calls my name. He reaches into the box and looks at the slip of paper for a moment before looking up and right at me.
“...Crash Junction!” he says.
I let out a whoop, and next to me, Raylan laughs.
“Never seen someone so excited to get his ass handed to him,” he says.
“Just you wait,” I say, grinning as Wayne pins Crash Junction next to my name on the board for day three.
On the other side of the small amphitheater, I see a camera move. As she lowers it, Mae smiles at me for half a second, and then looks away.
I crack my knuckles, the adrenaline already spiking through me the way it always does. There’s five hours until the rodeo starts and I ride Train Robbery, Mae watching.
Bring it the fuck on . I got this.
* * *
T he hours crawl by , then fly, then crawl again. It feels like a high schooler sings the National Anthem for two hours, but the first block of bull riding is over in thirty seconds. I watch as much of it as I can, hanging over the barriers, looking at how each bull moves and kicks and spins, judging how each rider handles them. It’s good practice to always watch the competition.
Across the arena in a gated-off press area are Mae and Bruce. She’s snapping away, talking to him, and he’s taking notes. I keep thinking that she’s looking over at me, but it could be my imagination. Even as I’m watching, I can’t get that kiss out of my mind. Her hands in my hair. The feel of her heartbeat underneath my lips when I kissed her neck.
Then there’s just a couple of rides until it’s my turn, so I jump down to get ready. I put on the protective vest that keeps me from getting gored. I’ve got my glove and my chaps and my hat, and then I’m just hanging around the bull pens, jumping out of my skin from nerves.
I watch another cowboy get on his bull, wrap the rope around his hand. He nods and the gate man swings the gate outward and the bull launches himself out of it, kicking and bucking and spinning. The cowboy’s off in six seconds and he lands in the dirt and rolls.
The rodeo clowns come in and chase the bull toward the exit chute. Once the rider’s off, the bulls are more easygoing, and this one trots to the exit chute without causing any trouble.
The cowboy stands up, grabs a gate, and climbs over, and then it’s my turn.
I’ve done this a thousand times, but it’s impossible not to feel like my whole body’s on fire with anticipation and nerves. Eight seconds isn’t long, but it’s long enough.
I jump onto Train Robbery’s back, and even in the confined space of the bucking chute, he’s not happy about it. The handlers hold him steady for a moment while I get situated, wrap the bull rope around my gloved hand, and take a deep breath.
In that last moment, I find the blond head above the camera, and I smile at Mae.
Then I nod at the gate man. He opens the chute, and Train Robbery flies out.
13
Mae
W hen I watch bull riding , I feel like I’m watching a horror movie. Roping events aren’t that bad: some men ride horses, tie up cows, and then let them go. That I can handle, no problem.
But bull riding? I want to watch through my fingers. Every time someone falls off, I gasp despite myself.
Even when a rider can stay on for the full eight seconds, there’s no graceful dismount from a bull. It’s not like the bull stops and someone comes up to it with a stepladder.
The rider still has to jump off a bucking bull and land in the sand. Every time someone gets up, I take a deep breath of relief, because right now all I want is to not watch someone die today.
Of course, I’m the one person in this arena who can’t close her eyes. I photograph rider after rider, cringing every single time. Even the rides that go well look painful.
Then the announcer calls Jackson’s name, and I start to sweat. Next to me, Bruce leans forward
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