Page 95 of Famous for a Living

The thrust of power almost overwhelms me.

I see now how Kannery has held the title the past two years.

I bend my burning thighs deeper, preparing for the turn in the track.

The snap into the air is like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I almost miss the ring, but I grab it by the tip of my thumb, and it rolls around like a Hula-Hoop along my arm until it reaches my shoulder.

I drop it, and a boy runs inside the track behind me to pick it up and place it again.

We round the track for our third and final loop.

“Ten seconds to gain on our current first-place holders, the Glacier Boys!” I hear over the megaphone. “Will they do it?”

Mina is clutching Kevin’s arm, screaming maniacally as we pass.

Feeling my arms as tight as rubber bands, I yell, “Give it everything! Give it all you’ve got!”

Zaiah doesn’t look back, but I know he’s heard me by the way he drops his shoulders. His grip on the reins is tight. Both boots tap against the sides of the beast, quick as Morse code, giving the horse the go to give it his all.

It’s exhilarating.

This sport is exhilarating.

My arm connects with one. Two. Three more rings.

As my skis land with a shaky thud on the second-to-last jump, the last ring comes into view.

“Ten, nine, eight,” the announcer calls over the megaphone, counting through excited breaths of his own as his eyes bounce between watching the clock and us. The number of seconds left if we want to beat the Glacier Boys and win.

The final ring is still over ten yards off.

Mina is screaming her head off in my periphery.

Even Uncle Terry has taken off his cowboy hat and pressed it against his chest. Watching like he’s seeing something miraculous.

My arms don’t have any fight in them.

I’m barely hanging on.

But eight seconds.

I can do anything. Anything. For eight seconds.

I let go of the rope with my left hand and reach forward, gaining a foot as I grab onto the new bit of rope.

Let go of the rope with my right, do the same.

Reach. Pull.

Reach. Pull.

Reach. Pull.

Until the horse’s pounding hooves are just a few feet in front of me, beating the ground just below.

Zaiah whips his head back and does a double take.

Sees how I’m now just a few feet behind him and adjusts the horse, going straight for the on-ramp themselves.