Bullheaded

interviewed after his ride where he outscored Cody.
    This slump was killing him and he blamed Johnny for it. And, if he was feeling generous, himself. If he couldn’t even act right enough to get Johnny back, how could he possibly stay on top of a bull for eight seconds?
    The ring announcer’s voice came over the loudspeakers, stopping after each name to allow the bullfighters to run into the ring and take a bow. “Your bullfighters for tonight are Vern Crocker, Reese Brent, and back with the team is bullfighter Chris Bellow. You remember back in Des Moines earlier this year Chris was hooked by a bull, and he’s been out getting well. This is his last year on the tour, but before he retires he wants to look a bull in the eye one last time and tell him who’s boss. Between now and the finals, Chris and Johnny Arrow, a bullfighter we’ve grown to admire here at Top Cut, will be alternating every week. I guess maybe we’ll get to see them Indian-wrestle for the right to be in the ring for the finals!”
    The announcer seemed all too impressed with his own wit, and Cody scowled. “Diné,” he muttered. The unconscious racism annoyed him on Johnny’s behalf.
    The man kept right on talking, and it made Cody a little hot under the collar that he was blowing Chris Bellow’s horn instead of Johnny’s. He’d wondered how he would do in the ring with Johnny watching his every move, but now it was even worse. When Johnny was working, he had to watch the bull and look out for his fellow bullfighters and the riders. If he was here, wherever he was, he would be free to see every mistake Cody made. He was surer than ever that his riding slump was far from over as he lowered himself into the chute. If only Dub wasn’t hovering, he thought irritably.
    “Before the break, Cody Grainger’s scores had him right on target to take the gold buckle at the finals, but then he went down into a stunning slump. His outs this summer serve as a stark reminder of how quickly it all can change in this sport. Cody Grainger is pretty dang lucky he wasn’t riding for money. If this buckoff streak continues, Cody could slide down in the standings until he’s cut from the finals. If that happens, who will take his place? There are plenty of young up-and-comers willing to fill his boots, in fact, there are a few cowboys here Cody trained himself….”
    And now the announcer had gotten into his head, making sure everyone knew about his slump.
    “As you know, a cowboy only makes it to the finals on dollars, no matter how many points he has. If Cody Grainger rode in the touring division this summer instead of special exhibition events, he might have ridden himself right out of a shot at the finals. The Brazilian contingent is closing in fast on him and they would like nothing more than seeing Cody bite the dust. His good friend and travel partner Dub Whittaker is also positioned to take the lead from Cody unless he can make something good happen here tonight.”
    Way to put the pressure on, Cody thought. As if he didn’t already know all this. He yanked savagely at the rope to tighten it around the bull’s girth. He’d show them.
    “Take it easy there, partner. Don’t want to cut off the circulation,” Dub drawled.
    “It’s got to be tight,” Cody grunted. “I need a good grip. Got to hold on.”
    “And that ain’t the way to do it and you know it,” Dub said in a low voice. “You can’t out-muscle one of these animals. You’ve been riding all stiff. You bear down like you have been and your hand’ll pop out of that rope no matter how hard you try.”
    “I have to do it my way.”
    “Well, if you’re gonna be stubborn, might as well be tough.”
    “Just—shut up—please—will you?” Cody ground his teeth, trying to be polite when all he wanted to do was snap Dub’s head off. Dub had been great to him all summer and he didn’t deserve this.
    “Good luck, buddy,” was all Dub said, but the steady feel of his hand on the back of the vest was comforting.
    He squirmed on the back of the bull, trying to find a good seat. As if sensing his restless energy, the bull banged his leg hard into the wall, making an old knee injury act up. Aware of the clock counting down and the official timing him, Cody gave up and nodded.
    The gate opened left and the bull backed out instead of turning out headfirst. The movement threw Cody forward, and he only just managed not to slap the bull’s shoulder with his free arm. He