Chasing Yesterday

The third vitamin D tablet sat mocking me on the kitchen counter. My mom had perfected the lecture—something about bones, growth spurts, and how I'd regret not taking care of myself. I dry-swallowed it. Easier than arguing.

"You're meeting Maya today?" Mom called from the living room.

"Yeah." The lie burned my throat worse than the pill.

Maya and I had been best friends since seventh grade, back when friendship was simple—shared secrets, stolen lip gloss, making fun of the popular girls who Instagrammed their avocado toast every morning. But sophomore year had changed everything. Maya discovered contacts and highlights and the upper echelon of the social hierarchy. I discovered that watching someone ascend without you felt like slow-motion drowning.

My golden retriever, Barnaby, nudged my hand with his wet nose. He'd been my constant since Maya started blowing me off.

"Good boy," I whispered, burying my face in his fur. At least he didn't have plans.

My phone buzzed. A text from Maya: *can we reschedule? something came up*

Again. The third time this week.

Something snapped inside me—something that had been stretching thin for months. I grabbed Barnaby's leash and stormed out the door, his claws clicking excitedly against the pavement. He thought we were going on an adventure. I was going to confront the truth.

Maya was at the park with Chelsea and Ethan, laughing at something that wasn't funny, her highlights catching sunlight like she'd personally arranged the weather. They had their phones out, probably taking pictures for people who'd double-tap and move on.

"Bull." The word escaped before I could reconsider.

Maya's smile faltered. "What?"

"You told me you were sick. That you had to study. That something came up." Barnaby whined, sensing the tension. "But you're here. With them. Again."

"It's not like that—"

"Then what's it like? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I'm your backup plan. Your something to do when nothing better comes along."

The silence stretched. Ethan and Chelsea exchanged glances—they hadn't signed up for this.

"I'm sorry," Maya said finally. And she looked like she meant it.

"Me too." I turned around, Barnaby trotting faithfully beside me.

We walked home in the fading light, and I realized something: I'd rather be alone with my dog than someone's second choice. Maybe that was growing up—not holding on to what you used to have, but recognizing what you actually deserve.

Tomorrow I'd take my vitamin without complaint. I'd find new people or new hobbies or whatever. But for tonight, Barnaby and I would be okay.