Pack of One

Maya's phone lit up with another Instagram story from the party she wasn't at — again. Her so-called best friend Kai had promised to text her the address, but that was three hours ago. Now the notifications were just photo evidence of her exclusion.

She grabbed her running shoes and slipped out the back door at 11:47. Late-night runs were her thing, her way of burning through the weird tangled feelings that came with being sixteen and somehow always on the outside. The asphalt was cool under her sneakers, the rhythm of her breath syncing with the soundtrack blasting through her headphones.

Then she saw the dog.

A golden retriever mix, sitting alone by the park entrance like he was waiting for someone who wasn't coming. His tail gave a half-wag when she approached, then stopped, like he'd learned not to get his hopes up.

"Hey buddy," Maya said, crouching down. "You get stood up too?"

The dog leaned into her hand like he'd been starving for touch. His collar read "Buster" but there was something about his posture that felt weirdly familiar — the way he held himself slightly apart, like he'd been burned before but couldn't help showing up anyway.

"Same," she whispered. "Same."

She sat with him for twenty minutes, just running her fingers through his fur while he rested his head on her knee. It was stupid how seen she felt by this random animal she'd just met. Better than she'd felt around her actual friends in months.

Then headlights swept across the park. A girl her age came running over, out of breath, anxiety written all over her face.

"Buster! Oh my god, I'm so sorry — my mom had an episode and I couldn't get away and I knew I was late and I thought you'd be gone and —" The girl stopped, chest heaving. She looked like she might cry.

"He's good," Maya found herself saying. "We were just chilling."

The girl dropped to her knees beside them. "I'm Alex. Thank you so much for staying with him. He's my emotional support dog and I swear, he's more reliable than half the people I know."

Maya laughed, surprised. "No joke. My so-called best friend bailed on me tonight and honestly? This dog is better company."

Alex looked at her, really looked at her. "Want to walk back with us? I have Netflix and snacks and Buster could use a friend who actually shows up."

The thing about being sixteen is that you think friendship is this big complicated performance, like there's rules everyone else got but you missed. But sometimes it's just sitting in a park at midnight with a dog who doesn't care if you're cool or popular or invited to the right parties. Sometimes it's just showing up.

"Yeah," Maya said, standing up. "Yeah, I'd like that."