The Dog Who Knew

The invitation came via Instagram DM, of course. Larson's pool party. The social event of the summer before sophomore year. I stared at my iPhone screen, thumb hovering over the response. My stomach did that thing where it feels like someone's squeezing it like a stress ball.

"You going?" Jordan asked, flopping onto my bed. Jordan, who played baseball and had that easy confidence I'd been trying to fake since seventh grade.

"I don't know," I said. "Probably not."

"Dude, everyone's gonna be there. Including Sarah."

Sarah. The reason my heart rate increased every time someone mentioned her name. The reason I'd started taking those hair growth vitamins my mom swore were placebo but I desperately hoped weren't.

So I went. And stood by the pool fence for twenty minutes, clutching a red solo cup like it contained the antidote to social anxiety instead of lukewarm soda. I watched Larson dive in, watched everyone laugh and splash and be effortlessly teenage. I felt like I was watching through glass, separated from all the fun by some invisible barrier.

Then this dog—a golden retriever with fur the color of sunlight—wandered over from the neighbor's yard. It didn't bark or jump. It just sat next to me and rested its head on my knee, looking up with eyes that seemed to say, "Yeah, this party thing is weird, huh?"

"Hey," I whispered. "You too?"

The dog's tail thumped once.

I knelt down and buried my hands in its fur, feeling something loosen in my chest. The dog smelled like grass and summer and not giving a crap about social hierarchy.

"That's Buster," said a voice. Sarah. Standing there with wet hair and a towel around her shoulders, smiling like she wasn't the most terrifying human on earth. "He escapes all the time. He's an introvert dog."

"Introvert dog?"

"Yeah. He hates parties. But he always finds the quietest person and hangs out with them instead." She sat down next to me, close enough that our arms almost touched. "You play baseball?"

"No. You?"

"Softball. Third base." She petted Buster, who leaned into her touch. "I'm actually terrible at parties too. I just came over here because Buster looked like he had the right idea."

We sat there for an hour while the pool party raged behind us. We talked about everything and nothing. Baseball and why it's weirdly existential. The vitamins her dad made her take that tasted like chalk. How it feels to be watching life instead of living it sometimes.

Buster fell asleep between us, snoring softly.

"Hey," Sarah said as the sun started going down. "My friend Maya is having people over next weekend. Smaller thing. You should come."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiled, and it was different from her other smiles—realer. "Unless you have plans with your introvert dog here."

I looked at Buster, who opened one eye, thumped his tail, and went back to sleep.

"Nah," I said. "I think I'm free."