Dog Days and Dead Eyes

I looked like a total zombie. Three hours of sleep and zero social battery will do that to you. But when Maya texted 'pool party @ Jake's. u coming???' there was zero chance I was saying no. Not when Jake—the same Jake who'd sat behind me in Bio since September—would actually be there.

His golden retriever, Buster, greeted me at the gate, tail going absolutely feral. I scratched behind his ears, letting his ridiculous enthusiasm ground me before the panic could kick in. Good boy. Best boy. Way better at social interaction than I'd ever be.

The backyard was already full of juniors I barely knew, everyone loud and shiny with sunscreen. Jake surfaced from the pool, water dripping from his hair like some perfect movie moment, and waved.

"Hey! You made it!"

My brain short-circuited. I was just running on pure adrenaline and maybe a tiny bit of delusion that this could go well.

"Yeah," I managed, suddenly hyperaware of my too-old swimsuit and the fact that I was standing there like a complete awkwardness. "Sorry I'm late. My phone died and I—"

"No worries, you're here now." He grinned. "You swimming?"

The pool looked terrifyingly deep. But Maya was already giving me that look from the shallow end—the one that said 'don't be weird, just live your life.' So I did it. I jumped in.

The cold water shocked me awake better than three energy drinks ever could. When I surfaced, Jake was right there, smiling like I'd actually done something cool instead of just existing.

"See? Not so bad."

Buster chose that exact moment to dive in after a tennis ball, creating a tsunami that splashed directly into Jake's face. We both dissolved into laughter, his perfect hair plastered to his forehead, my dignity officially gone but somehow it didn't matter.

"You know," Jake said, wiping water from his eyes, "I was gonna invite you sooner, but I figured you'd think I was being weird."

"Weird how?"

He shrugged, suddenly looking almost as nervous as I felt. "I don't know. Like maybe I only wanted you to come because—"

Buster shook himself off directly between us, spraying zombie-level amounts of water everywhere and completely obliterating the moment.

"Your dog," I said, laughing so hard my sides hurt, "is the worst wingman in history."

Jake laughed too, and it was the best sound I'd heard all year.

"Yeah," he said. "But at least he's honest about what he wants."

We stayed in the pool until my fingers pruned and the zombie feeling from staying up all night dissolved into something real. Something that felt like belonging.