THEY CALLED ME “COW BOY” AT SCHOOL—UNTIL THAT FIELD TRIP BLEW UP IN THEIR FACES I walked into homeroom with mud on my boots and hay in my hoodie, and that was it—open season. By week two, Zayden and his little crew were mooing when I passed them in the hall. “Smell that?” they’d say. “Must be fertilizer o’clock.” I tried to laugh it off, but it sticks. I’d show up late sometimes—chores don’t wait—and Ms. Cardenas would just raise her eyebrows like I was too dumb to read a clock. Nobody cared tha