The Dog Who Saved My Social Life

I hovered at the edge of the pool, clutching my phone like a lifeline while everyone else actually had one. Jordan was doing cannonballs off the diving board, and somehow even his splashes looked cool. I'd been crushing on him since September, and tonight—his legendary summer kickoff party—I was finally going to talk to him. Or at least stand within ten feet without hyperventilating.

But my stomach was doing gymnastics, and not in a cute way. Mom had forced her 'green goddess' smoothie on me before I left—spinach, kale, something called spirulina, and probably actual lawn clippings. 'It's packed with vitamins!' she'd chirped while I'd tried not to gag. Now every time I laughed, I was terrified I'd taste like a salad.

'Hey!' I jumped, sloshing chlorinated water onto my phone. Jordan stood there, dripping wet, grin making my brain short-circuit. 'You gonna swim or just guard the edge?'

'I—uh—' Smooth. Truly smooth.

He laughed, but not meanly. 'Come on. The water's perfect.' He extended a hand, and I was actually reaching for it when something enormous and furry burst through the fence.

A dog. A genuinely massive, muddy, happily panting dog who clearly decided this pool party needed more chaos.

'OH MY GOD YES' someone screamed, and suddenly everything was glorious mayhem. The dog—who someone said was named 'Buster' and belonged to the neighbors three streets over—proceeded to shake muddy water all over everyone, jump in the pool with a spectacular splash, and generally become the instant hero of the night.

Jordan was laughing so hard he had to hold himself up. The dog paddled over to me like I was his new best friend, and I found myself petting this completely unauthorized party crasher while mud and chlorine water dripped everywhere. My carefully curated anxiety dissolved.

'He likes you,' Jordan said, wiping water from his eyes. 'Buster's got good taste.'

'Maybe he can smell the spinach smoothie I had earlier,' I said without thinking, then covered my mouth.

Jordan cracked up. 'Dude, my mom's literally a nutritionist. I've been drinking green sludge since kindergarten.'

The dog shook himself off again, spraying both of us. We looked at each other—muddy, wet, laughing—and somehow I wasn't terrified anymore. Maybe first impressions weren't supposed to be perfect. Maybe they were supposed to be gloriously, unpredictably messy, like a dog crashing a pool party and accidentally saving your social life.