Rita bleats again, louder this time, breaking the spell. We turn to look at her. She’s staring at us, her head tilted like she’s watching a show.
“I think she’s calling us liars,” Boone says.
“Possibly. She may be right. Rita has a good bullshit detector,” I say. “She destroys property and causes pandemonium, but tell her to root out bullshit, and she’s on it.”
“So she thinks we’re full of shit,” Jesse says.
“Rita’s a goat,” Wyatt says finally. “She doesn’t think anything.”
“You’d be surprised. Rita’s got her own mind.”
“See you around, pretty girl,” Jesse calls as I start walking away.
“No,” I say firmly, even as my body screams at me to turn back. “You won’t.”
But even as I walk away, I feel all three of them watching me, standing in a line like some kind of cowboy farewell committee. I can feel the heat of their gazes on my still-damp clothes, on the sway of my hips that I can’t quite control.
And Rita lets out one final bleat that sounds suspiciously like laughter.
Like she knows something we don’t.
Like she knows this promise of distance and separation is about as likely to last as her commitment to staying in her pen.
Like she knows I’m already planning to break every rule I just made.
4
JESSE
I’m sittingin the back row of the community center, half listening to Mayor Davidson drone on about the annual Founders’ Day fundraiser, when I spot her. Callie Thompson, three rows up, fidgeting with her phone and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
Can’t say I blame her. These town meetings are about as exciting as watching paint dry.
“Now,” the mayor says, adjusting his glasses and peering at his notes, “we need to announce this year’s fundraiser teams. As you know, we’re pairing families and businesses together to promote community unity.”
Community unity. Right. In a town where half the population still takes sides in a thirty-year-old chili feud.
“The Thompson family will be partnered with...” he pauses dramatically, like he’s announcing the winner ofthe lottery, “the McCoy brothers for the three-legged race, chili cook-off, and pie auction booth.”
Pure silence follows.
Finally, Callie’s voice cuts through it, loud and clear. “There has to be a mistake.”
Every head in the room turns toward her. Her face goes red, but she doesn’t back down.
“I mean,” she continues, her voice slightly higher, “surely there’s been some kind of... administrative error?”
Mayor Davidson shifts in his seat, shuffling through his papers and frowning. “No error, Miss Thompson. These pairings are random. Very fair and impartial.”
I lean back in my folding chair, letting a slow grin spread across my face. “Best mistake I’ve had all week.”
The words carry in the silent room, and now, every eye is bouncing between Callie and me like they’re watching a tennis match.
Callie whips around to glare at me, and I give her a little wave.
“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
“The pairings are final,” Mayor Davidson announces, clearly sensing the tension and wanting to move on. “Unless you decline to participate. Teams will meet tomorrow at Miller’s Field for practice and coordination.”
