The Day I Didn't Die

I felt like a straight-up zombie—four hours of sleep, three AP exams, zero mental bandwidth. My brain was mush, my eyes burned, and don't even get me started on the headache that had taken up permanent residence behind my left temple. Welcome to junior year, where caffeine becomes a food group and delirium is a personality trait.

"Leo! My dude!" Marcus's voice cut through the hallway chaos. "We still on for tonight? Jordan's having that thing."

I hesitated. Marcus was my friend—well, we'd been tight since seventh grade—but lately he'd been acting weird. Distant. Canceling plans last minute. And honestly? I didn't have the energy to play social archaeologist, digging through whatever was going on with him.

"Yeah," I said, even though I absolutely should've said no. "For sure."

That's when I saw Tyler—the human embodiment of toxic masculinity and unchecked privilege—leaning against Sam's locker, his arm bracketing her in. Sam looked trapped. Tyler was saying something, his smile all teeth and zero warmth, and I knew that look. I'd been on the receiving end enough times.

"Yo, chill," I heard myself say before I could talk myself out of it. "She said move."

Tyler turned, slow, like he had all the time in the world. "Oh, sorry Leo. Didn't see you there. My bad." But his eyes said something different—something calculating and mean. "Just having a conversation. No need to get aggressive."

"That's bull, Tyler. She asked you to leave her alone five times. I counted."

The hallway went quiet. Like, *really* quiet. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. This was it. This was the moment I became a story people told about That One Kid Who Got Absolutely Destroyed in Front of Everyone.

Then—a dog trotted down the hallway.

Not a therapy dog. Not a service dog. Just this absolutely massive, fluffy golden retriever wearing a bandana that said VOTE FOR PEDRO. It sat down right between Tyler and Sam and let out this dramatic sigh, like *are we done here?*

"Is that..." someone started.

"That's Mrs. Patterson's dog," Sam said, and I swear she almost smiled. "He escapes like, weekly. His name is Nacho."

Nacho chose that moment to sneeze directly on Tyler's shoes.

The tension cracked. People laughed. Tyler, faced with the choice between escalating with me or dealing with a majestic, sneezing beast, made the only call he could. He walked away, muttering something about how this was "so weird" and he "didn't even care."

Nacho looked at me like, *you're welcome*. Then he licked Sam's hand and trotted off toward the exit like he had places to be.

"That dog," Marcus said, shaking his head, "is my hero."

Sam caught my eye. "Thanks, Leo. Seriously."

I nodded, suddenly hyper-aware that my face was doing something embarrassing. "No problem."

Marcus threw an arm around my shoulders—actually close, actually present, actually there. "You coming to Jordan's tonight or what? I heard there's gonna be a mechanical bull."

"A what"

"A bull. You know, for riding. It's gonna be chaos." He grinned. "Just like you like it."

And in that moment, head pounding, zombie-fied, and absolutely not prepared for whatever mechanical-bull-related disaster awaited—I realized something. I wasn't as alone as I thought. Not even close.