Page 88 of Stick Around,
Chapter 28
A Woman Who Stuck Around
Quinn
The noise inside the convention center swelled around me as I fixed Thunderbolt’s mane for the hundredth time. My hand shook slightly as I smoothed down each synthetic strand, ensuring the perfect bounce for my upcoming run.
Why I thought doing this was a good idea was beyond me. I could have just continued to do my little videos and do the occasional workshop for kids.
“You’re going to give him a bald patch if you keep fussing.” A woman not much older than me in a sequined riding jacket stopped next to me. I was pretty sure her stick horse had real horsehair and hand-painted details on the stick.
“Just pre-competition jitters. It’s his first big event.” I wanted to add it was my first one not under duress or with liquid courage but stopped myself.
The woman nodded, understanding in her eyes. “This is my third, but this is the largest crowd yet, thanks to you.”
I glanced around the room filled with hobby horse enthusiasts of all ages. Children practiced jumps in the warm-up area while a group of college-aged women reviewed a complex dressage routine together. Someone nearby debated the finer points of stick horse gait transitions.
Not long ago, I would have found this entire scene ridiculous. Now, watching all the dedication and sheer grit of everyone, all I felt was impressed.
The individual dressage competition had finished an hour earlier, and while I hadn’t competed in it, I’d taken meticulous mental notes. The way the top performers moved fascinated me. Next time, I’d be entering that division too.
My insides twisted as the announcer called for intermediate jumpers to gather near the entry gate. While I would have preferred to remain novice, winners of any placement in that division had to move up.
“Number forty-two, you’re second in the lineup,” a volunteer with a clipboard informed me.
I nodded, suddenly unable to speak as my mouth went dry. Second. That meant almost no time to watch others and adjust my strategy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the intermediate jumping division of the Western Regional Hobby Horse Invitational!”
My confidence plummeted as cheers erupted from at least a thousand people who had paid money to watch. I scanned the audience, looking for anyone making fun of what was about to transpire.
But then I spotted them.
In the third row of bleachers sat six familiar faces. My parents sat awkwardly but proudly in brand new western shirts. Beside them, April jumped up and down, her hair dyed a new shade of purple that matched her sparkly eyeshadow.
And next to them were my three cowboys. Reid sat slightly hunched, clearly uncomfortable with the crowd screaming around him. Kellan beamed with excitement, phone ready to document everything. Enzo tried to look casual, but I could see the intensity in his posture.
Something shifted inside me. These people—my people—had traveled all this way and were about to cheer for me as I pranced around on a stick horse. And not a single one of them thought it was stupid.
The volunteer called for the first competitor.
I bounced lightly on my toes, preparing my muscles for the upcoming jumps while keeping an eye on my cheering section. My mom caught my eye and gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Kellan waved frantically while Enzo nodded once, his secret signal that I had this.
Reid seemed to notice my nervousness from across the arena. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, making eye contact, then mimed taking a deep breath. I followed his lead, my nervous system instantly calming down.
“Next up, number forty-two, Quinn Porter!”
The noise was almost deafening as I tucked Thunderbolt between my legs and trotted into the arena. I prayed to the hobby horse gods that I didn’t faceplant and become a meme all over social media.
The course spread out in front of me. I took a breath, ran toward the first jump, and cleared it clean. Thunderbolt stayed tucked between my legs, my landing soft like we had practiced.
A wave of cheering hit me, louder than I expected.
I turned sharply and aimed for the next obstacle. One jump, then another. I stumbled a little on one landing but caught myself and kept going. My legs burned, but I didn’t stop.
The rest flew by in a mix of jumps, turns, and the sound of my own breathing. When I cleared the last jump and crossedthe finish, the crowd erupted. People were on their feet, clapping and whistling, some even chanting my name.
I dismounted, and as I exited the arena, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
