Orange Disaster Period Three

The vitamin gummies were supposed to be my secret weapon. Mom bought the Costco-sized jar—bright orange, citrus-blast, promising perfect skin and energy. I'd been popping them for weeks, waiting for the transformation that would finally make Sarah notice me in AP Bio instead of just watching her laugh at whatever joke Liam told.

But here's the thing about Barnaby—our family's ancient, neurotic golden retriever—he's a food criminal. A four-legged thief who's learned that his innocent puppy eyes can buy him about thirty seconds of unchecked kitchen time.

Tuesday morning, I'm rushing to school, already running late because my alarm didn't go off (it did, I just slept through it like an idiot). I grab the vitamin jar from the counter, shovel a handful into my mouth without looking, and bolt out the door—forgetting to tighten the lid.

When I get home, the disaster is already done. The orange vitamins are everywhere. Barnaby's sitting in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by empty orange wrappers, looking weirdly jazzed. He ate like half the jar. Half a Costco-sized jar.

"You high right now?" I ask him, because I'm talking to my dog like he's gonna answer.

He thumps his tail, vibrating with what I can only describe as unnatural energy.

Wednesday at school, everyone's somehow heard that my dog got into my vitamins. Jackson makes it his mission to announce it to third period lunch like it's the most hilarious thing that's ever happened. "Sam's dog is literally zonked on vitamins, bro's living the dream."

Sarah laughs—actually laughs—and I feel my face burning. I want to disappear. Instead I say, "He's ancient. He needed the boost."

"Dog's living better than me," Liam says, and Sarah smiles at me, like actually acknowledges my existence, and suddenly the worst day of my life is also weirdly the best.

Barnaby's fine, by the way. The vet said he'd just be extra for a couple days. And somehow, because my dog is a legend, I'm the guy with the story. Not the loser who almost poisoned his childhood pet with vitamin C. The guy whose dog went to orange flavor town and came back with lore.

Friday, Sarah sits next to me in bio. "So, does your dog need a dealer, or...?"

I'm dead. I'm absolutely dead. But I'm also in.

Sometimes the transformation you're waiting for isn't the one you get. Sometimes it's your dumb dog making you the vitamin guy at school. And somehow, weirdly, that's enough.