The Dog Between Us

My finger hovered over the unfriend button. Again. Marcus's profile stared back at me—that stupid picture of us at the lake last summer, both of us making ugly faces. Back when we were actually friends.

I flopped backward onto my bed, knocking aside the tangled mess of HDMI cables I'd been trying to organize for three hours. Dad was finally letting me set up my gaming rig in my room, but I couldn't focus. Not with Marcus ignoring me at school all week.

A wet nose jammed into my armpit. Barnaby, our golden retriever, whined softly and nudged my hand with his massive head. He always knew when I was spiraling.

"I know, boy," I muttered, scratching behind his ears. "It's just... he chose HER. Over me."

Barnaby huffed, like he understood betrayal too.

The story starts with me, crushing hard on Maya since seventh grade. Marcus, my best friend since kindergarten, knew everything—how her laugh sounded like wind chimes, how she drew constellations on her notebook margins, how she was perfect and terrifying and absolutely out of my league.

So when Marcus started walking her to class, sitting with her at lunch, I told myself it was fine. I was fine. I was SO fine.

Then came the leaked texts. Maya telling her friends Marcus was "cute but clueless." And my so-called friend, knowing how I felt, still sliding into her DMs anyway.

Barnaby nudged my hand again, then trotted to the door and barked—his "someone's here" bark.

Heart hammering, I crept to the window.

Marcus stood on our porch, shifting nervously, holding a familiar looped cable. My emergency charger—the one I'd lent him before everything fell apart.

I cracked the door open. "What?"

"You forgot this," he said, voice small. "At my house. Before..."

"Before you stabbed me in the back?" I shot back, but my voice cracked.

Marcus looked at his shoes. "She wasn't worth it."

"What?"

"Maya." He finally looked up, eyes rimmed red. "I thought... I don't know what I thought. But losing you? That's worse."

Barnaby shoved past me, tail wagging furiously, and Marcus dropped to his knees, letting the dog cover his face in slobbery kisses. My best friend started laughing through tears.

I sighed, opening the door wider. "You're an idiot."

"I know." Marcus wiped dog drool from his cheek. "Can we... is this fixable?"

Barnaby trotted back inside, grabbed one of my tangled cables in his mouth, and pranced over like he'd solved world peace.

"Depends," I said. "Are you helping me finish this setup?"

Marcus's shoulders dropped. "Deal."

That night, we spent three hours untangling cables, eating stale chips, and not talking about girls. Some things were still messy between us—friendship isn't like cable management, you can't just tape everything back together. But watching Marcus try to teach Barnaby to high-five, I figured we'd get there.

Eventually.