Orange Cable Confessions

I was sprawled across my bed at 11:47 PM, doing what any normal sixteen-year-old does: softly stalking Jordan's Instagram stories. Being a social media spy wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night, but here we were.

Buster—my mom's boyfriend's absurdly energetic golden retriever—decided this was the perfect moment to launch himself at my gaming setup. The dog went full chaos mode, paws flying everywhere, somehow managing to tangle himself in the mess of cables behind my TV. I'd been meaning to cable-management that disaster zone for approximately six months.

"Buster, NO!" I hissed, scrambling off my bed. He'd managed to wrap himself like a burrito in HDMI cords and charging cables, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

My phone buzzed. Jordan had posted another story.

I freed the dog (who immediately stole my pillow) and checked my phone. Jordan was at some party I definitely wasn't invited to, holding this ridiculously bright orange smoothie. The caption read: "this thing tastes like sunshine and bad decisions lol"

I stared at it for too long, feeling that familiar twist in my chest—the one that's part hope, part absolute cringe. Why did teenagers have to make everything so complicated? Why couldn't I just be normal and comment something cool instead of overthinking it until my brain short-circuited?

Buster chose that moment to knock over my Monster energy drink. It splashed everywhere, bright orange liquid spreading across my carpet like radioactive betrayal.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

I grabbed towels, internally screaming, while my phone showed three little dots under Jordan's story. Someone was typing. Probably someone cool. Someone whose dog didn't destroy their life at midnight.

The dots disappeared. Then reappeared. Then—Jordan replied: "hey weren't you at that thing last week? thought I saw you"

I froze. Orange Monster soaking into my carpet. Dog looking guilty but unrepentant. Cables still tangled everywhere.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.