The Hat That Saved Me

My hair was doing that thing where it looked like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. This, naturally, was thirty minutes before Tyler was supposed to pick me up for our first date. The biggest night of my sophomore year, and I was having a full-blown crisis in front of my bathroom mirror.

"You look fine, honey," Mom called from downstairs. "Tyler's a nice boy. He won't care about your—"

That's when Buster, our golden retriever who I'm convinced is part demon, decided this was the perfect moment to sprint past me at full speed. In his mouth? My favorite beanie. The one I'd strategically placed on the counter because backup plans were smart.

"BUSTER! DROP IT!"

We did this weird dance around the bathroom — me flailing, him thinking this was the best game ever. I finally cornered him near the toilet (gross, but priorities) and pried the hat from his jaws. It was slobbery. It was wrinkled. It was currently my only option.

The doorbell rang.

My hands were sweating so much I could've watered a plant with my palms. I threw the hat on, hid my disaster hair, and took three deep breaths. Okay. I could do this.

Tyler stood on our porch wearing a button-down shirt that was somehow both adorable and trying way too hard. He smiled, and I noticed a small, lighter-colored patch on his head where his hair stuck up differently.

"Nice hat," he said, then gestured to his own head. "I was gonna wear mine too."

He pulled a beanie from his pocket. His hair underneath was doing its own chaotic thing.

"Bad hair day?" I asked, feeling my shoulders drop for the first time in an hour.

"Every day is a bad hair day," he said, and then, because I guess I looked nervous, he added, "I promise I'm not actually staring at your palms. I'm just… nervous too."

We stood there for a second, two awkward teenagers with hats and anxiety and sweaty hands, and then we both started laughing. Not fake polite laughing either — the real kind that makes your stomach hurt.

"Wanna just walk?" he asked. "The movie doesn't start for an hour."

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Buster appeared at the screen door, wagging his tail like he'd planned this whole thing. Maybe he had. I swear, that dog is smarter than he lets on.