Chasing the Bull

The summer before sophomore year, I decided to reinvent myself. New haircut, new vibe, new Leo who didn't care about sitting alone at lunch. Until my mom's golden retriever, Buster, decided to bolt during our morning run.

I was already sweating through my vintage band tee when Buster spotted something—a massive bull statue in someone's front yard. Of course my dog thought this was his new best friend. I'm sprinting down Maple Street, yelling "Buster!" while my crush, Maya, and her entire friend group are chilling on their porch.

"Nice running form, Leo!" someone calls. My face burns hotter than the July pavement. Buster's already jumped the fence, happily wagging his tail at this concrete bull like they're long-lost homies.

Maya hops off the porch. "Need backup?" She's wearing this flowy dress and somehow still looks effortless helping me wrestle a 70-pound dog away from a statue.

"He's got a thing for bulls," I manage, completely out of breath. "Long story."

"I've got time," she says with this smile that makes my stomach do flips.

We end up sitting on her front steps while Buster chills at my feet. Turns out Maya's obsessed with swimming—she's practically at the pool every day training for regionals. I mention how I've been wanting to get back into swimming but haven't found the right place.

"The community pool's actually not terrible," she says. "I could show you the ropes sometime? If you're not too busy running from dogs."

We laugh about it, exchange Instas, and suddenly my reinvention plan doesn't feel so desperate anymore. Maybe new Leo doesn't need to be a completely different person. Maybe new Leo just needs to embrace the chaos—a dog who loves art, random bull encounters, and unexpected conversations with pretty swimmers.

Buster seems pretty pleased with himself too. Like he knew exactly what he was doing all along.