Page 3 of Stick Around,
I bit the inside of my cheek hard to stop myself from laughing hysterically or bursting into tears. At this point, either reaction seemed equally likely.
A young woman ahead of me misjudged a jump, face-planting onto the ground. She popped right back up with a cheerful wave and finished her round while the crowd roared their approval.
Somehow, the possibility of falling hadn’t even crossed my mind until now. My stomach lurched as the announcer called my name.
“Number thirty-seven, Quinn Porter!”
April gave me a thumbs-up from the sidelines. “Channel your inner Black Beauty!” she shouted, taking a video with her phone.
I glared at her, silently promising revenge involving her makeup collection and possibly superglue.
I stepped to the starting line, clutching Sparklehoof, feeling ridiculous beyond words. Too many eyes were on me to quit now. All I had to do was jump the hurdles, and then I’d go get drunk at the buffet while eating a mountain of crab legs.
A bell rang, signaling me to start my run.
I didn’t know if it was the rum, the absurdity of the situation, or the accumulated pressure of the past few weeks of heartbreak finally finding a productive emotional outlet, but something inside me snapped. Not in a bad way, but in the most liberating way possible.
With a battle cry that startled even myself, I charged forward, Sparklehoof between my legs, galloping with more commitment than I’d given to anything in a long time. My hair flew behind me as I approached the first jump, and instead of the timid hop I’d planned, I launched myself over it with what felt like grace and height.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
The rush was immediate and intoxicating. I attacked the second jump with even more ferocity, adding a flourish with my free hand. My knees were pumping, my form was impeccable, and for the first time since my breakup, I wasn’t thinking about anything except the ridiculous joy of the moment.
“Look at number thirty-seven go!” the announcer shouted. “We’ve got a natural!”
I cleared the third jump with a technique that seemed to come from some hidden part of my brain I didn’t know existed. Someone started a “Thir-ty-sev-en!” chant.
I flew over the final jump, adding a totally unnecessary but dramatically satisfying twist in midair, and galloped triumphantly to the finish line. The crowd erupted, and April was screaming like I’d won a gold medal instead of making a fool of myself.
Panting and flushed, I clutched Sparklehoof to my chest, suddenly aware I was grinning from ear to ear. The last minute had been the most fully present I’d been since seeing the app notifications on my ex’s phone.
“That was incredible!” April threw her arms around me, nearly knocking us both over. “You’re like the Michael Phelps of hobby horsing!”
“I think I’m more like the person who tries paddle boarding once and doesn’t fall off.”
But that wasn’t true. Because I didn’t just kill it with the jumping event, but soon after, I also did well in freestyle.
There was something to be said about not knowing what the hell I was doing and about emptying April’s flask.
The novice division was complete, and I was standing with the other competitors, nervous and staring at the floor. I wasn’t even sure why I cared how I did. An hour ago, I was contemplating making a run for it. Now, my heart hammered against my ribs with actual anticipation.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the convention space as he announced second and third places. “And now, the winner of the novice division... number thirty-seven, Quinn Porter!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. April’s scream nearly shattered my eardrums as she shoved me forward.
How had I gone from a respectable elementary school teacher to a woman winning a hobby horse competition while strangers cheered for me?
A woman in riding pants and boots handed me a trophy that had a fake gold horse perched on top. “Congratulations, Ms. Porter.” She draped a sparkly blue ribbon around my neck like I’d won the Kentucky Derby. “Your form and performance were exceptional for a first-timer.”
“In addition to this trophy, we’re pleased to present you with this.” A man with a Stetson hat, cowboy boots, and a weathered face handed me a certificate. “This is a fully paid stipend for a week-long horse experience at a ranch. You get to embrace your inner horse goddess and hone those skills for your next competition.”
I bit my tongue to avoid blurting out that there would be no other competitions. “A ranch? With real horses?”
“Absolutely.” The cowboy nodded. “Got to nurture that natural talent. You’ve got a real gift.”
As I stepped back into the sea of competitors, my arms full of my unexpected winnings, April pounced. “This is fate! A fully paid vacation at a ranch with actual cowboys? This is the universe giving you a second chance at happiness! Imagine the Hallmark movie that will be made!”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a random prize.”
