The Art of Not Throwing Up

Maya's **dog** Buster chose the absolute worst moment to decide he needed to go outside. Like, right when Tyler from AP Bio was literally walking up her driveway. She'd spent three hours straightening her hair for this first "not-a-date" hangout, and now she was standing there in sweats holding a golden retriever who looked like he'd personally betrayed her.

"You good?" Tyler asked, leaning against her porch railing like he owned the place. Which, rude. But also hot.

"Yeah, Buster just—"

"Needs to walk? I got it." Tyler took the leash like it was the most normal thing in the world. "My **bull** of a dad made me walk our boxer every morning at 6AM. I'm basically a professional."

Maya's brain short-circuited. Since when did Tyler talk to her about his family? Since when did Tyler talk to her, period?

They walked in uncomfortable silence until Tyler suddenly said, "You going to Jackson's party tomorrow?"

Her stomach did that thing where it felt like she swallowed a whole **baseball**. Jackson's party was The Event of the semester, and she was definitely not invited. Not in a mean way, just in a nobody-thought-to-invite-her way.

"Probably not. Not really my scene."

"You should come," he said. "I'll be there. We could—I don't know, actually hang out?"

Maya stopped walking. Was this happening? Was Tyler—the same Tyler who'd sat two seats behind her in Bio since September—actually asking her to a party?

"Wait, are you... fox-ing me?"

"Fox-ing?" Tyler laughed, and it was this actual sound, like warm honey. "Is that something people say now? I'm just asking, Maya. I've wanted to talk to you all year, but I couldn't figure out how to not make it weird."

The weight of it hit her like a physical **bear** hug—this boy she'd been lowkey obsessing over had been too nervous to talk to HER?

"So... Jackson's party?" she asked, trying to sound casual and failing.

"8 o'clock. I'll save you a spot on the couch. The good spot, not the weird corner one."

Buster chose that moment to sniff a tree with zero appreciation for the moment. But Maya didn't care. For the first time since she could remember, something was actually going her way.

"Cool," she said, and they kept walking like this was just normal, like her heart wasn't doing cartwheels, like she wasn't already planning three different outfits in her head.

Like maybe, just maybe, high school wouldn't be terrible forever.