The Friday Night Pet Disaster

Cassie's phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes. *u coming to jax's party?* Another text from Jordan. Her best friend since seventh grade, now suddenly too cool for their Friday night tradition of binge-watching Netflix and eating way too many pizza rolls.

"I'm staying in," Cassie muttered, though nobody was listening. Her parents were already out the door, leaving her with the ultimate responsibility trap: watching her little brother's science fair project—a literal goldfish named Gerald that apparently needed "special" water temperature monitoring.

Like she wasn't already dealing with enough social awkwardness this week.

The doorbell rang. Expecting Jordan with their usual peace offering (extra cheesy popcorn), Cassie swung the door open to find Luke—the neighborhood golden retriever from next door—tongue out, tail wagging like he owned the place. And behind him? The new girl, Skylar, holding Luke's leash and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"He, uh, got out?" Skylar said, stating the obvious with absolutely zero chill. "Your backyard fence has that spot by the—"

"Yeah, I know about the spot." Cassie sighed, already resigned to her fate as the girl who spent Friday night catching escape dogs instead of living her best party life.

Skylar ended up staying for two hours. They awkwardly bonded over Luke's terrible behavior (he ate Cassie's homework—literally) and the fact that Skylar had moved here from Portland where apparently everyone was "hella chill" compared to this town's toxic energy.

"So," Skylar said, when Gerald's fish tank started making weird bubbling noises, "you're not going to Jackson's party either?"

"Jordan decided we're too mature for Netflix nights. Apparently, we need to 'expand our social horizons.'" Cassie air-quoted with maximum sarcasm. "Which is code for 'I made varsity cheerleading and you're still figuring out who you are.'"

Skylar cracked a smile. "That's rough. My old school was so cliquey it hurt. Like, people would literally cat-fight over lunch table seating."

Cassie snorted. "Same energy. Last month, Emma and Sarah literally—"

BEAR.

Not a literal bear. But Cassie's mom's fancy new yoga tank top that said B-E-A-R in sparkly letters, currently being worn by... somehow the dog had gotten it out of the laundry room. Luke trotted in wearing it like a badge of honor.

They both lost it. Like, actually died laughing.

By midnight, Cassie had accidentally started a new friendship. Skylar had taken a selfie with Luke in the yoga tank (middle finger up, zero regrets) and sent it to Cassie with the caption *new squad goals*.

Gerald the goldfish survived. Jordan's party posts on Instagram looked lame anyway. And somewhere between catching escape dogs and roasting her little brother's fish, Cassie figured something out: maybe growing up wasn't about leaving people behind. Maybe it was about finding the ones who showed up when you least expected them to—even if they arrived with a golden retriever wearing your mom's yoga clothes.