The Delivery from Heck

My first week as a DoorDasher and I was already lowkey spiraling. The app pinged: Order 47 — papaya salad, spinach artichoke dip, and... wait. Was the customer actually asking for cable? No, rereading it: Cabello's. The restaurant. Okay, crisis averted.

I grabbed the food and booked it to my trusty 2012 Corolla. But life said no. The engine made this sound like a dying cat and just... died. Right there in the Cabello's parking lot.

So I'm doing the walk of shame down Maple Street, two bags swinging, praying I don't look like a total loser. That's when this golden retriever — I'm talking full-on angel doggo — bounds out of nowhere, tail wagging like it's my personal hype man.

"Hey buddy," I whispered, crouching down. "You wouldn't happen to know where 312 Maple is, would you?"

The dog licked my face. Inspiration struck.

I followed the dog, who trotted up to a house and sat expectantly at the door. I knocked, heart racing. A girl answered — Maya, from my AP English class. She was holding the leash of the golden retriever.

"Buster!" she gasped. Then she saw me. The papaya. The spinach dip. The sweat dripping down my forehead. "Did my dog just... help you deliver my food?"

"Your dog is a literal hero," I said breathlessly. "Also, my car died and I've been walking for like, ten minutes, and if I'm being totally honest, I'm panicking a little."

Maya started laughing. Not the mean-girl laugh, but genuine, head-back laughter. "That is absolutely unhashed. Come in, you need water."

We ended up eating papaya salad on her front porch while my roadside assistance took forever. She told me about her dog training hobby; I told her about my desperate attempt to save up for concert tickets. She asked what concert. I said Waterparks. She said she'd been trying to get tickets too.

"Text me," she said, when the tow truck finally arrived. "Maybe we can figure out the ticket situation. Together."

I got a one-star rating from that customer (thanks for nothing, random person), but honestly? Worth it. Sometimes the universe hits you with a curveball — or a golden retriever — and suddenly your Friday night goes from zero to a hundred real quick.

Also, my car's fine now. But I still walk past Maya's house sometimes. Just to see if Buster's window is open.