The Bear in My Throat

The bear sitting on my chest had nothing to do with the actual wildlife and everything to do with Emma Mitchell laughing at something Tyler said across the bonfire. My palms were sweating so much I could practically water-ski with my hands.

"You good?" Marcus asked, leaning against the old oak tree. My ride-or-die since sixth grade, the only person who knew I'd been crushing on Emma since that embarrassing incident in homeroom when I accidentally called her 'mom' because I was half-asleep.

"Never been better," I lied. "Just vibing."

Emma's cat, Jupiter—a chaotic ball of orange fluff that had escaped her house and crashed our party—was currently terrorizing Tyler's dog, Buster. A golden retriever with zero survival instincts. The chase scene was pathetic. Buster cowered behind a cooler while Jupiter puffed up like a radioactive hairball.

"That cat's got more rizz than both of us combined," Marcus said.

Emma walked over, Jupiter cradled in her arms like a fuzzy baby. "You guys having fun?" Her smile hit me like a freight train made of glitter and butterflies.

"Oh my god, yes," I said, my voice cracking. "This party is totally... lit."

I immediately wanted to die.

She laughed. Not the fake laugh. The real one, where she crinkles her nose and her eyes do that thing where they sparkle like she knows something you don't.

"You're so weird, Alex," she said. "I like that."

The bear in my throat suddenly remembered it could fly. My heart was doing jumping jacks. Jupiter jumped from her arms and landed on my shoulder, purring like a tiny motorboat.

"I think he likes you," Emma said. Jupiter kneaded my shoulder with claws that felt like tiny needles of acceptance.

"Or he's marking me as territory," I said, and she laughed again.

Maybe this night wasn't a complete flop. Maybe, just maybe, Emma Mitchell thought I was worth more than just the guy who accidentally called her mom. Maybe cats and bears and bonfires were exactly what I needed.