The Bear in the Closet

Maya's phone buzzed. Again. Another DM from someone asking if she was the girl from that viral clip.

"They're totally spying on you," said Jules, flopping onto Maya's bed. "Someone found your old TikTok and now everyone's watching the cringe compilation."

Maya groaned into her pillow. For three years, she'd been successfully running from her middle school past—those awkward videos where she'd filmed herself doing bad magic tricks, wearing a headband with cat ears. She'd thought she deleted everything. But the internet never forgets.

"I feel like a zombie," Maya mumbled. "Can we just fast-forward to college?"

"Nope." Jules held up Maya's phone. "You know what you need? Comfort. Ritual. Go get him."

Maya knew exactly who Jules meant.

From the back of her closet, behind a stack of APUSH flashcards and three years' worth of hoodies, Maya pulled out Barnaby. Her childhood bear. One eye was loose. His fur was matted in places. He smelled vaguely of vanilla and old laundry.

"Barnaby's seen you through worse," Jules said softly.

Maya's laptop pinged—another notification. Her cable internet was lagging again, buffering the very video she was trying to avoid. Her brother, across the hall, was probably gaming and hogging bandwidth. Again.

"You know what?" Maya sat up, clutching Barnaby. "Whatever. I was twelve. Everyone was embarrassing at twelve."

"Preach." Jules high-fived her. "You gonna say that to everyone who's blowing up your DMs?"

Maya looked at Barnaby's loose eye, the bear who'd seen her through nightmares and braces and first failures. Who'd never once judged her magic tricks.

"Yeah," Maya said. "I am."

The zombie feeling lifted. Whatever happened next, she wasn't running from it anymore. Barnaby had her back.