The Bear Truth

My iPhone clutched in my sweaty palm like a lifeline, I refreshed Instagram for the thousandth time. 3:47 AM. Sleep was officially not happening.

"You alive over there?" whispered Maya from her sleeping bag on my floor.

"Just checking something," I lied, guilt heating my cheeks. I wasn't just checking—I was full-on spying. Harper's story from two hours ago showed her and the squad at Chloe's house. The same Chloe whose house I'd been accidentally uninvited from when my mom mixed up the dates. The same squad who'd barely acknowledged my existence since the incident.

My golden retriever, Barnaby, chose that exact moment to let out a soft woof and nudge my hand with his wet nose. He'd been my rock through the friend-group fallout, licking away tears when I thought nobody was watching, cuddling me through Netflix marathons instead of parties.

"Traitor," I whispered, scratching behind his ears. Barnaby just thumped his tail against my duvet like he understood everything and nothing simultaneously.

Then I saw it. Harper had posted a new story—a screenshot of our old group chat from last year. Us at the homecoming game, faces painted, arms wrapped around each other. The caption read: " honestly miss when things weren't weird @ everyone especially that person who knows who they are."

My heart did this thing where it simultaneously sank and soared. Because attached to the post was another photo—a zoomed-in picture of Barnaby from that day, wearing my old team mascot headband. The caption underneath: "this absolute bear of a dog 🐻💕"

They missed me. They missed my dog. They missed—dare I even think it—us.

"Maya," I whispered. "I think I might text Harper."

"Finally," she groaned into her pillow. "I was literally about to take matters into my own hands and demand you make up with your people."

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, heart pounding like I was about to jump off a cliff instead of sending a text. But then Barnaby rested his chin on my leg, eyes full of that unconditional love that only dogs can pull off, and I thought: screw it.

"saw your post," I typed. "Barnaby says he misses the squad too. coffee this weekend?"

Three dots appeared immediately. Then: "it's a date. bear and all."

I fell asleep with my iPhone tucked under my pillow, for the first time in months not feeling like the ghost of my own life.