Pack Loyalty

I was the designated spy of our friend group—the one who scrolled through eight months of someone's Instagram to find out who they were hanging out with last Friday, the one who spotted when someone was lying about their 'weekend plans,' the one who knew before anyone else that Jordan was cheating on Amy. I took my job seriously. Information was currency, and I was rich.

Which is why it didn't make sense that my best friend, Luna, had been acting weird all week. Not normal weird—weird weird. The kind that made my spy senses tingle. She'd been blowing me off for 'study dates' that weren't in her calendar, ghosting my texts for hours, then hitting me with 'sorry, fell asleep' at 11 PM on a Friday.

I was currently dogsitting for Mrs. Henderson, which meant I had zero distractions. Just me, Buster the golden retriever, and my spiraling thoughts about what Luna could possibly be hiding from me. Buster rested his head on my knee, eyes full of that dog wisdom that says I know you're overthinking everything, but also, can I have a treat?

My phone buzzed. A notification from Luna's Finsta—that she'd sworn she'd deactivated.

A post. A photo of some girl I'd never seen before, captioned: 'finally found my person'

My stomach did that thing where it felt like it dropped three floors. I clicked through to the girl's profile. Private. But the profile picture was Luna and some mystery person at our spot—the abandoned parking garage downtown where we went to talk shit about everyone else in our lives. Our spot.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. Luna was my person. We'd been inseparable since seventh grade when she let me copy her math homework and I let her cheat off my history test. We'd cried over crushes, failed makeovers, and that time we tried to bake cookies and almost burned down her kitchen. We had a matching friendship bracelet that said 'partners in crime' but we'd drawn over the 'crime' part with Sharpie after her mom found it.

Now she was replacing me? Just like that?

Buster whined, nudging my hand with his wet nose. I buried my face in his fur and let myself ugly-cry for exactly three minutes before my spy brain kicked back in.

Wait.

I opened the photo again. Really looked at it. Luna and this mystery girl, but they were looking at something off-camera. Laughing. And the girl had a camera around her neck. A nice one. The kind people who are serious about photography use.

And then I remembered: Luna had mentioned wanting to take photography classes instead of AP Chem. I'd told her she was being dramatic, that colleges wanted STEM, not some hobby she'd drop in two weeks.

She'd never corrected me. She'd just stopped talking about it.

I felt sick.

Buster licked my cheek, and I realized he was somehow more loyal to me in three days of dogsitting than I'd been to Luna in three months of friendship.

I called her immediately. No response. I called again. Nothing.

So I did what any self-respecting spy would do: I went to her house.

Her mom answered, looking surprised. 'Luna didn't tell you? She's at that photography workshop downtown. She's been going every day this week.' Her mom's expression softened. 'She was so nervous you'd think she was ditching you for something stupid. That girl she's always hanging out with—the photographer's assistant? She says Luna talks about you constantly. Says you're the only person who gets her sense of humor.'

I stood there feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

'Thanks,' I managed. 'Can you tell her I stopped by?'

'Actually, she should be back soon. Want to wait? She made me promise to call you if you showed up. She's been wanting to show you her portfolio.' Her mom smiled. 'She's really good, you know. She took that photo of you and Buster at the park last week. The one you have as your lock screen.'

I looked down at my phone. My lock screen WAS me and Buster. I'd assumed Luna's mom had taken it.

She'd been documenting everything the whole time. And I'd been too busy being the 'spy' to notice.

I waited on Luna's front porch, Buster's leash still wrapped around my wrist from when I'd stormed over here. When Luna finally came up the walkway, camera bag slung over her shoulder, she looked worried. Like she thought I'd be mad.

'I should have told you,' she started, not even saying hey. 'About the classes. About everything. I just—I didn't want you to think I was being flaky. And then it had been so long and I felt guilty every time I looked at you, and I just kept—'

'Being a terrible spy,' I finished, and she laughed, startled.

'The worst,' she agreed. 'I'd be fired immediately.'

'You're lucky I'm the only friend you've got.' I nudged her with my shoulder. 'Show me the photos. All of them. Especially the ones of me looking dumb.'

'Oh, I have a whole collection,' she said, grinning, and I knew we were okay.

Buster sat between us, wagging his tail like he'd orchestrated the whole thing. And maybe he had. Dogs are smart like that. Smarter than spies, sometimes.