Bear Witness at Midnight

Maya's parents said this summer at the lake house would be "good for her social development," which basically meant they were worried she spent too much time on her phone. They weren't exactly wrong.

"You coming to the bonfire?" Riley called from the doorway. Maya's new friend had been adopted into the popular crowd approximately five seconds after arriving at the lake.

"Maybe later," Maya said, already knowing she wouldn't. Instead, she grabbed her phone and opened Instagram, her fingers moving through the familiar rhythm. She'd been spying on the popular kids' group chats for weeks now—not because she wanted to be them, but because she needed to know what she was missing. It was like checking the forecast for a storm she was definitely going to get caught in.

That's when she saw it: a pic of Lucas, Riley's brother, standing by the lake with a stuffed bear. The caption read: "Freeing myself from the past. Farewell, Barnaby."

Maya frowned. Since when did high school juniors still sleep with stuffed animals?

Curiosity got the better of her. She followed the path to the dock, the moon turning the water silver-black. Lucas was standing there, holding the bear.

"Barnaby?" she asked.

He jumped. "Maya. You—you saw my post."

"Hard to miss."

Lucas sighed. "My mom bought it for me when I was six. She died last year."

The words hung between them like something heavy.

"I'm sorry," Maya said softly. "I didn't know."

"Nobody does. Well, except Riley now." He looked at the bear. "I can't exactly keep him in my dorm room next year."

Maya made a decision. "You know what he needs? A proper viking funeral."

"What?"

"Swimming. We set him adrift. Give him a sendoff."

Lucas stared at her, then cracked a smile. "You're weird, Maya."

"Weirder than posting farewell tributes to a stuffed bear on Instagram?"

"Touché."

Twenty minutes later, they were waist-deep in the lake, fully clothed, watching Barnaby float away on his journey to the great beyond. Lucas had insisted on setting the bear on a boogie board, because "he deserves dignity in death."

"This is officially the weirdest thing I've done all summer," Maya said, shivering.

"Same," Lucas said. Then: "Hey, thanks. For, you know, not making it weird."

"Making it weird is literally my brand."

They laughed, and the awkwardness between them dissolved into something else. Something easier.

The next morning at breakfast, Riley's mom served fruit salad. "Fresh papaya! Just arrived at the market!"

"Pass," Riley said, but Lucas reached for the bowl.

"Actually," he said, catching Maya's eye, "I think I'll try something new today."

He took a bite and made a face like he'd just eaten a lemon. Maya couldn't help it—she laughed. Not a fake laugh, not a nervous laugh, but a real one.

"Told you," Riley said.

"Worth it," Lucas said, grinning.

And maybe, Maya thought, stealing a piece of papaya for herself, maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.