Stuffed

Misha's house boomed with bass, bodies packed tight enough to make social distancing a joke. I pressed my back against the wall, solo cup sweating in my hand, watching Maya across the room. She laughed at something Jake said—actual laugh, not the polite one—and my stomach did that sick lurch thing. I'd been crushing on Maya since September, and tonight was supposed to be the night I finally made my move.

Then Bruno happened.

Bruno was Misha's—a massive, chaos-energy golden retriever who apparently mistook me for a very interesting tree. He lunged, I stumbled backward, crash-landing into the TV setup. The HDMI cable snapped out with a sparky pop, killing the music and the vibe simultaneously. Everyone stared.

"My bad," I managed, but Bruno wasn't done. His paws caught my backpack, dumping everything onto the carpet. Makeup bag, gum wrappers, keys, and... Bear.

Bear was this ancient stuffed thing from childhood. Beige fur matted in spots, one eye replacement button that didn't match, a missing ear my grandma "fixed" with questionable stitching. I'd packed it on impulse—some weird comfort thing after my parents dropped the divorce bomb three weeks ago. Nobody knew I still had him, let alone that I'd bring him to a party.

Dead silence. Then Leo's voice cut through: "Yooo, is that a build-a-bear? For real?"

Heat flooded my face. I snatched Bear up, ready to bail.

"That's actually kinda dope," Maya said, appearing beside me. She grinned. "Bear's got vintage energy."

I blinked. "You think?"

"Hel-yeah. My cousin collects these." She reached out, straightened his crooked ear. "What's his name?"

"Bear," I said, and she laughed—not the polite one.

"Creative."

"Shut up."

Outside on the patio, away from the thumping bass, we talked. Really talked. About my parents splitting, about how she'd moved schools five times, about how much it sucked feeling like you had to perform being okay all the time. Bear sat on the table between us like a fuzzy, one-eared witness.

"You know," Maya said, glancing at the door where Bruno was now enthusiastically licking someone's shoe, "I'm glad that dog went full beast mode."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Otherwise we'd still be inside pretending to have fun." She bumped my shoulder. "This is better.

Behind us, the lake lapped against the dock, water glittering under moonlight, and I thought: maybe real friendship was letting someone see your one-eyed stuffed bear and staying anyway.