Backcast by Ann McMan

pleased. If she really managed to cast her line halfway to that, she had to be doing it right.
    She turned to face Montana. “Isn’t that the point?” The sun was glinting off Montana’s short, blonde hair. It looked like the top of her head was glowing.
    â€œNo.” Montana shook her head. “The point is to exercise control, not power.”
    â€œI don’t get it.”
    â€œClearly.”
    It was Quinn’s turn to sigh. “You said you’d help me out with this.”
    â€œI am trying to help you out. Fishing is about patience and finesse—not speed and force.”
    â€œHow come you know so much about this?”
    â€œBecause I grew up in Missoula and spent my summers on the Blackfoot.”
    Quinn blinked. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
    Montana narrowed her eyes. “Ever seen the movie A River Runs Through It ?”
    Quinn shook her head.
    Montana took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. “Tell me again why you want to do this?”
    â€œFish?”
    Montana nodded.
    â€œI don’t care anything about fishing. I just want to win this tournament.”
    â€œBut you can’t separate the two.”
    â€œSure you can.”
    Montana was staring at her like she was the blue light special at K-Mart. Quinn didn’t mind. She got that a lot. “I guess that doesn’t make much sense to you?”
    â€œNot really, no.” Montana stared out across the water for a few moments, then looked back at Quinn. “In one week, this lake is going to be choked with professional anglers from all over the country. And they’ll have every single advantage—the fastest boats, the best tracking equipment, the most expensive tackle, and hundreds of hours of tournament experience. And every one of them will have the same objective: to bag the biggest, fattest fish they can flush out of hiding, and take home that prize money.”
    â€œThat’s my goal, too.”
    â€œYeah, but, see? That’s the point , Quinn. To do this, you have to know how to fish .”
    â€œJunior knows how to fish.”
    â€œI thought you said that Junior was just going to ride along on the boat?”
    â€œWell.” Quinn smiled at her. “You know how to fish.”
    â€œMe?” Montana pointed a finger at her own chest.
    Quinn nodded.
    â€œNuh uh. Forget it. I am not getting on that damn boat with you.”
    â€œWhy not? It’ll be fun.”
    â€œIt’ll be suicide.”
    â€œOh, come on. Quit listening to Viv.”
    â€œWhile I do agree with you that Viv is pretty much a pompous windbag—when it comes to this, I happen to agree with her.”
    Quinn huffed. “This is a goddamn conspiracy.”
    â€œI’m just trying to get you to see reason.”
    â€œThe only reason I see right now is no reason. As in, there’s no reason why I don’t have as good a shot at winning this thing as the next person. So what if the other people in the tournament have better or faster boats—or more ‘experience’ whipping these stupid rods around at exactly ten and two o’clock?” Quinn paused in her tirade. “I really want this. I don’t understand it, and I’m not sure I have to. I just know that this—thing—feels different to me. Not like anything else.” She sighed. “Haven’t you ever felt that way about something that nobody else understood?”
    Montana didn’t reply right away.
    â€œWell?” Quinn asked again.
    â€œSure. Of course I have.”
    â€œDoes that mean you’ll keep helping me?”
    â€œQuinn. This is a lost cause. I couldn’t teach you even half of what you’d need to know to compete in this tournament. And it’s less than a week away. Besides,” she made an oblique gesture toward the lawn behind them, where a team of authors sat on white chairs that had been arranged in a semicircle,