“It absolutely is not.”
The room erupts into laughter again.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Lord help me.
The classroom door opens, and every student looks toward it.
Charli Storm steps inside, wearing jeans, boots, and a Wildhaven Rodeo Academy T-shirt.
She pauses by the doorway and observes the scene. The restless students. The bored expressions. My increasing desperation. Her mouth twitches as she tries not to laugh.
Traitor.
“Everything okay in here?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes. “Fantastic.”
A snort escapes her.
The students instantly perk up. I shouldn’t be surprised. Charli has one of those personalities that naturally commands attention—confident, fun, easygoing. The kind of person kids are drawn to.
Oh, and the fact that she is about to become Mrs. Bryce Raintree certainly doesn’t hurt.
She walks toward the front of the room. “Mind if I say something?”
“Please.” I nearly hand her the remote.
She places her hands on her hips and turns toward the class. The chatter dies down.
Interesting.
“All right,” she says, “how many of you want to compete professionally someday?”
Every hand shoots up.
Every single one.
Charli nods. “Good. Now, how many of you think success in rodeo is just about what happens in the arena?”
Several hands remain raised, but a few students exchange uncertain looks as they start to lower theirs.
Charli folds her arms. “Wrong answer.”
The room grows quiet.
“If you don’t take care of your body, it won’t matter how well you ride a bull.”
She points toward one side of the room. “Or how good you are on a bronc.” Then another. “Or how tight you can round barrels.”
The students listen.
Actually listen.
“If you’re not strong enough to compete, none of that talent matters.”
She lets that sink in.
