The Dog Who Couldn't Swim

The invitation had said 'pool party,' but Maya stood at the edge of the concrete deck feeling like she'd accidentally walked onto the set of a music video she hadn't auditioned for. Everyone from sophomore year was there, sprawled across lounge chairs like they'd been practicing the pose for weeks. The air smelled like coconut sunscreen and chlorine and something else—something that felt dangerously like belonging.

Maya's mom had dropped her off with an encouraging 'Have fun, sweetie!' which had only made Maya's stomach do that thing where it simultaneously dropped and tied itself into knots. She'd brought her swimsuit, obviously, but the thought of actually putting it on—in front of everyone—made her want to dissolve into the decorative landscaping.

Then she saw the dog.

A golden retriever puppy, currently running—or more accurately, scrambling—in excited circles around a group of laughing juniors. Someone had tied a tiny blue bandana around its neck, and it kept tripping over its own oversized paws like it hadn't quite figured out how its body worked yet. The dog was chaos incarnate, completely unbothered by its own awkwardness, and somehow that made Maya feel three percent less terrified.

She'd brought her sketchbook instead of going into the pool. She'd figured she could blend into the background, draw some people looking like they were having fun, maybe create the illusion of participation without actually having to participate. It had been a solid plan until Jake Rodriguez—JAKE RODRIGUEZ, who she'd had a crush on since that time he'd let her copy his history notes when she'd been out sick for three days—wandered over.

'Cool sketch,' he said, and Maya's brain short-circuited. She mumbled something that was probably supposed to be 'thanks' but came out more like a strangled noise. The dog chose that exact moment to run past them at full speed, chasing a rogue beach ball, and somehow managed to crash directly into Jake's legs.

They both went down.

For a second, Maya thought Jake would be annoyed. But then he started laughing, actually laughing, and the dog was licking his face and suddenly Maya was laughing too, and the knot in her stomach loosened just a little.

'That's Buster,' someone called from the pool. 'He belongs to my cousin. He's scared of water.'

Maya looked at the dog—now sitting proudly next to Jake like he'd planned the whole thing—and then at the pool, where half her grade was splashing and screaming and looking entirely unselfconscious. The dog, Buster, met her eyes like he understood something she didn't.

'You coming in?' Jake asked, wiping dog drool from his cheek.

The old Maya would have said no, thanks, I'm good, actually. The Maya from yesterday would have made up an excuse about her hair, or her swimsuit, or literally anything that wouldn't require vulnerability.

But this Maya, this weird new version who'd just watched a puppy take down the cutest guy in tenth grade and live to tell the tale, found herself nodding.

'Yeah,' she said, and it wasn't even a lie. 'Yeah, I think I am.'

She didn't dive in perfectly. She slipped on the first step and did this weird half-fall that made water go up her nose, and Jake definitely saw, and she definitely heard someone laugh. But as she surfaced, spluttering and chlorine-stung, Buster ran to the edge of the pool and barked like he was cheering, and Jake offered her a hand that she actually took, and Maya thought maybe some things were worth being awkward for.

Maybe most things.