My Dog Ate My Social Life

The worst thing about throwing up at Skylar's party wasn't the vomit itself — it was that someone captured it in 4K resolution and posted it to the group chat within thirty seconds.

My iPhone buzzed against my thigh like an angry hornet. I already knew what waited for me: notifications piling up like digital garbage, screenshots circulating, replies I couldn't bring myself to read. Mom's voice echoed in my head: 'Did you take your vitamin D supplements, Maya? Your levels are critically low.'

Because apparently having low vitamin D makes you photosensitive. Because apparently standing under direct sunlight at an outdoor party while being generally awkward makes you throw up. Because apparently my body was determined to sabotage any chance I had with Leo before we'd even had our first real conversation.

I stumbled home, dog in tow — Barnaby had found the whole thing delightful, barking at everyone, knocking over drinks, being the life of the party while I died inside. My golden retriever had more game than I did.

Three days of social isolation later, I was camped on my bed, doomscrolling through the group chat I'd muted but couldn't stop checking. Each swipe was another knife twist. There I was, arms crossed, frowning, and then the magic moment — me lurching forward, pixels blurring into digital immortality.

Then: notification. Leo: 'Hey.'

Then: notification. Leo: 'Is your dog okay? He looked stressed when you left.'

My heart did that thing where it forgets how to rhythm. Lightning cracked somewhere outside, sudden and brilliant, illuminating my bedroom in a flash that felt like destiny giving me a thumbs-up. Or maybe just a weather system moving through.

'He's good,' I typed back. 'Sorry about the party.'

'Throw the best parties tbh,' he replied. 'Want to get vitamin D supplements together? I heard they're supposed to help with energy and stuff.'

I stared at my screen. The most humiliating moment of my high school existence, and he was... what? Making a joke? Being weirdly specific about vitamins?

'My mom says I'm deficient,' I wrote back. 'So yeah.'

'Cool,' he sent. 'Saturday?'

Barnaby chose that moment to knock over his water bowl, sending a flood across my floor. I didn't even care. Some disasters are worth living through.