Sweaty Palms and Cat Whiskers

Jordan's palms were sweating through his pockets. Again. In ten minutes, he'd have to ask Mia to the fall dance, and his brain was helpfully replaying every possible way this could go wrong.

"You're overthinking it," said Riley, his best friend since sixth grade, scrolling through her phone without looking up. "Just ask her. She's not gonna bite."

"Easy for you to say," Jordan muttered. "You didn't freeze up like a deer in headlights when you asked Cameron."

Riley finally looked up, grinning. "True. But I also didn't practice my speech in front of my cat for three nights straight."

Jordan groaned. "That was ONE time. And Buster's a judgmental listener."

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion near the school entrance. Someone had brought in a miniature therapy animal program as part of mental health awareness week. A group of students was crowded around something, squealing and taking pictures.

"Is that..." Jordan squinted. "Is that a bear cub?"

"It's a dog dressed like a bear, genius," Riley said, grabbing his arm. "Come on, we gotta see this."

But as they pushed through the crowd, Jordan's stomach did something uncomfortable. There was Marcus, the biggest jerk in sophomore year, making fun of the student handler. Marcus—built like a linebacker, always throwing his weight around, literally bulling people out of his way in hallways.

Jordan had spent the last three years avoiding Marcus's radar. But something about the way Marcus was laughing at the handler's nervous stutter made Jordan's palms stop sweating and go cold instead.

"Hey," Jordan heard himself say. His voice sounded weirdly calm. "Leave him alone."

The whole courtyard went silent. Marcus turned, slowly, and Jordan's heart hammered against his ribs. But Riley stepped up beside him, crossing her arms.

"You heard him," she said. "Back off."

Marcus stared at them for what felt like forever, then shrugged and walked away. The handler mouthed "thanks" at Jordan, and suddenly the bell was ringing, and Mia was walking past, smiling at him like nothing had just happened.

Later that night, Jordan's cat Buster jumped onto his desk, knocking over his practiced speech notes. Buster purred loudly, rubbing his whiskered face against Jordan's hand.

"You're gonna have to actually talk to her tomorrow, you know," Riley texted him. "No more hiding behind speeches."

Jordan stared at his phone, then at the cat. Somehow, asking Mia to the dance didn't seem so scary anymore. He'd faced down Marcus. He could handle a five-word question.

Probably.