My head flips up, the tips of my hair brushing against the top of my shoulders. “You think I’m going to win?” All at once, I feel like the little boy who so badly wants attention, who wished his mom was there to see him do something impressive. The trouble-making shit disturber who didn’t care about getting a scolding because it was still attention. It meant someone cared about me, and as one of four kids with a single dad breaking his back to run a ranch, I sometimes got lost in the shuffle. She blows a raspberry as she moves toward the door. “You’re pure magic up there. Of course, you will.
...more
