Operation: Green Eyebrows

Marcus's golden retriever, Buster, had been acting sus all week. Following him everywhere. Watching him with those brown eyes like he was waiting for something.

"Bro, give me some space," Marcus muttered, pushing his dog away from his bedroom door. At fourteen, having your dog supervise your morning routine wasn't exactly the vibe.

But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was the spinach incident at lunch yesterday.

Marcus had been sitting across from Chloe — his first real crush since moving to Northwood High — when his mom had packed him a salad. Not just any salad. One with those massive spinach leaves that stuck to your teeth like green confetti. He'd spent twenty minutes trying to extract a piece from his front teeth with his tongue while Chloe talked about her weekend.

"You good?" she'd asked, squinting at him.

"Yeah, totally," he'd mumbled, praying she wouldn't notice the literal leafy greens stuck to his gums.

He'd told Buster everything that night. Confided in his dog about Chloe, about the spinach humiliation, about how he felt like he was constantly embarrassing himself in this new school. Dogs were supposed to be confidential, right? That's literally why people talked to them.

Now Buster was watching him like a hawk.

Marcus's phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Hey Marcus! This is Chloe. Your mom gave me your number — she said you were too shy to ask for mine. Also, spinach gets stuck in everyone's teeth. It's not just you. 😂

Marcus stared at his phone, then at Buster, who was currently wagging his tail like he'd just won Employee of the Month.

"You," Marcus whispered, "are a traitor."

Buster licked his hand. His mom had trained him as a therapy dog for "emotional sensing" when Marcus was going through his parents' divorce last year. Apparently, emotional sensing now included relaying teenage gossip through psychic dog-whisper telepathy or whatever his mom had going on with the other neighborhood parents.

His door creaked open. His mom leaned against the frame, smiling. "Buster told me you needed help with Chloe."

"Buster can't talk, Mom."

"He communicates in other ways. He's very observant." She paused. "Also, I saw you picking spinach out of your teeth in the bathroom mirror yesterday. You need to floss more."

Marcus groaned, covering his face with his hands. "This is so mid."

"Hey," his mom said softly. "Everyone goes through it. Even me. When I was your age, I had to wear headgear for six months. I looked like a cyborg."

He lowered his hands. "Really?"

"Really. Your grandmother has pictures." She grinned. "Want to see them?"

"No. Absolutely not."

His phone buzzed again. Chloe: So... Friday? Skate zone opens at 7.

Marcus typed back: Yeah. Friday sounds good.

Buster nudged his hand, and Marcus sighed, scratching behind his ears. "Fine. You're forgiven. But you're still not a spy. You're just a really annoying snitch."

Buster barked, and Marcus swore his dog was laughing at him.