Bear Hugs & Bad Connections

The polyester bear costume smelled like middle school desperation and Febreze. I zipped it up, the fake fur tickling my neck, and adjusted the drooping ears. My summer job: handing out vitamin samples at the mall dressed as Buddy the Bear.

"You look ridiculous," Lena said, not looking up from her phone. She was supposed to be my best friend, but ever since she started dating Tyler—the guy I'd had a crush on since seventh grade—our conversations had become a series of monosyllables and side-eyes.

"It's forty bucks an hour," I muttered, handing a flyer to a toddler who immediately tried to eat it. "Not everyone can work at their mom's boutique."

Lena finally looked at me. "For your information, I'm also dealing with stuff. Like, my anxiety has been so bad I have to take vitamin D supplements every morning just to leave the house."

I wanted to believe her. I did. But then I saw her Instagram story—her and Tyler at the orange grove, his arm around her waist, both of them glowing like they'd swallowed the sun.

The cable guy installation van pulled up to our house that afternoon. I watched from the window, still wearing half my bear costume, as some guy climbed the telephone pole outside. Our internet had been cutting out during my Zoom classes, and Mom had finally called someone.

"Hey, bear head," the cable guy called up when he noticed me watching. "You got any connections up there? Because this wire's completely fried."

Something about the way he said it made me laugh. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all—me in a sweaty bear costume, a stranger making puns, the fact that I hadn't spoken to my actual best friend in three weeks.

"Only fake ones," I yelled back.

That night, I sat on my roof eating an orange I'd stolen from the kitchen. The membrane burst between my teeth, sticky and bright. Lena sent me a meme: two cartoon bears hugging, captioned "when you finally accept you're both socially anxious disasters."

I called her.

"I miss you," she said before I could speak. "Tyler's great and everything, but he doesn't get the bear costume trauma."

"Nobody understands the bear costume trauma," I said, squeezing orange juice onto my jeans. "That's why we're friends."

We talked until my phone died, then I sat there watching the cable guy's van pull away, feeling like maybe some connections could be repaired after all.