Bullheaded

down.”
    “Juca’s been riding pretty good, but I’m betting he won’t outscore you.” Cody realized his nails were digging into the wooden seat. He had more riding on the result of Juca’s ride than Dub did. Dub was ahead in points and he had knocked Cody into tenth place. Juca probably couldn’t overtake Dub, as the Brazilian tended to average in the mid-80s, but one good ride would knock Cody out of the second round. It wasn’t until the bull dumped Juca in the dirt at 7.91 that he could breathe again. Almost eight seconds of the most excruciating suspense, but by the skin of his teeth he’d actually made it into the second round.
    Only then was he willing to sneak a look at his parents’ box and saw Dub was right; Johnny was sitting up there with them. He looked oddly out of place sitting in the stands wearing street clothes instead of in working gear in the ring. Cody’s parents’ box was far enough away he didn’t think any of them were looking at him. Bad enough to have Johnny up there watching and sitting between his mother and dad, but it would have been far worse if he had been in the ring. Cody sighed and waited until the draw.
    Standing dead last for the second round meant Cody got to ride first on the bull no one else wanted, as the other nine men had drawn names first. The bull he ended up with was an unknown. None of the riders knew much about him, but Comet Dust didn’t have a name as a money bull.
    Dub was right there at the chute, helping him get ready as usual. “Just remember, the slump is over. You can ride. You been riding for over twenty years. You know how.”
    Cody nodded, too wrapped up in his strenuous effort to visualize a good ride to answer. He pounded his riding hand closed and gave the nod. The gate opened and he hung on to the rail just a second too long, pulling himself off-center as the bull lurched forward.
    Somehow he managed to hang on and tighten his abs, feeling the wrench as he straightened up. The bull settled into a spin away from his hand. It felt awkward to Cody. The bull picked up speed, turning faster, kicking and jumping.
    Sternly, he told himself, if this is what they pay you for, you better do your job no matter how you feel . Comet Dust landed a high kick and switched his rear end around, turning into Cody’s hand. It felt better. A little of the old confidence seemed to seep into his bones, and Cody started to smile. He’d lost track of time and was startled when the buzzer sounded, and the bull immediately stopped dead in its tracks and stood completely still, not even switching his tail.
    For a second everyone in the arena just stared in silence, Cody down at the bull’s shoulders, the crowd at him, and the bullfighters at the bull.
    “Hey, you! Comet Dust! Bull!” Vern called out and clapped his hands.
    All at once the bull leaped high in the air, and Cody was almost thrown to the end of his arm, but he pulled up, yanking the tail of his rope and twisting off the animal to land on his hands and knees, skidding face-first into the dust as he scrabbled awkwardly to get away. A sudden pain in his bad knee made him wince, but he didn’t stop to figure it out.
    Mixed applause and laughter sounded as he staggered to his feet, looking around to see where the bull was. The bull knocked into one of the banners on the fence, tearing it loose and flipping it over Cody. He couldn’t see where the bull was and batted at the sign, trying to fight it off while the laughter still came in waves. Cody emerged from under the sign, staring around wildly until he saw Vern and Reese had gotten the bull down by the exit gate and he was safe. He swiped at the dirt on his face while the laughter continued. At least I can make them laugh , he thought. I’ve become a rodeo clown.
    As if he could hear his thoughts, the ring announcer made fun of Cody. “Now that’s a rodeo clown, folks.” Jinks the clown came over and engaged him in a mock battle for his job.
    Cody forced a self-deprecating grin to his mouth and gave the audience a sweeping bow before limping to where Dub stood behind the chute. He knew how a good sport was supposed to act.
    “That was something.” Dub grinned as he helped haul Cody up over the fence. “Never seen that before. That’s what I’d call a lunch-bell bull.”
    “Yeah, like he stopped short like he was saying, ‘I earned my feed. Ride’s over, you want more, gimme another five bucks,’” Cody said.
    “Someone trained that