The Dead Dog Float

My hair was doing that thing again—the thing where it defied physics and basic human dignity. Mom said it was "natural volume." I said it looked like I'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Either way, Jake Matthews was definitely going to notice when I showed up at his pool party.

"You look fine," Maya said, flipping through her phone without looking up. "Stop stress-curling. You're making it worse."

I dropped the curling iron like it burned me. Which it technically had, three times already.

The pool party was already in full swing when we arrived. Jake was by the deep end, surrounded by his lacrosse team, because of course he was. The cool kids clustered around the patio furniture like they owned the place. Meanwhile, I stood there feeling like a zombie that had wandered in from the wrong movie set—dead inside, awkwardly shuffling toward the snacks table, hoping nobody would make direct eye contact.

"Hey!" someone yelled. "Whose dog just jumped in?"

Oh no.

Buster, my mom's elderly golden retriever who'd apparently stowed away in Maya's car, was doing a surprisingly competent doggy paddle toward Jake. His hips barely worked anymore. He'd been sleeping 18 hours a day since 2019. But here he was, making his social debut at the most important party of the summer.

"BUSTER!" I shouted, already running.

But Buster had goals. He reached Jake, who froze. The lacrosse team went silent. Everyone watching. And then Buster shook himself off directly onto Jake's expensive swim trunks, spraying pond water and elderly dog smell all over the popular kids.

The silence lasted three seconds. Then Jake started laughing. Not mean laughing—actual laughing.

"Dude," Jake said, grinning at me as I waded into the pool to retrieve my traitorous dog. "Your dog is a legend."

Buster paddled back to me like he'd just won Olympic gold. My hair was plastered to my face. I was wet up to my knees in front of everyone. Jake Matthews was looking right at me.

And somehow, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore. I felt like someone whose dog had just accidentally made her cool by accident.

"Sorry about that," I said, but I was smiling too.

Jake's grin widened. "Don't be. That was the best thing that's happened all summer."

Sometimes the worst moments become the best ones. And sometimes your hair is just going to look like whatever it wants, and the only thing you can control is how you own it.