The Real Feed

Marcus checked his iPhone for the third time in five minutes. Still no notifications. Summer was halfway over and his feed was basically a ghost town of other people's lives—beach trips, parties, #vibes he wasn't part of. His mom had finally agreed to let him reinvent himself for sophomore year. New clothes, new confidence, maybe even new friends.

But first: the perfect aesthetic.

His sister's snapback sat on her dresser. Black fabric, embroidered with a band logo she'd stopped caring about months ago. Marcus adjusted the hat low over his forehead, checking his reflection. Different. Better. Someone who didn't spend Friday nights overanalyzing why nobody ever replied to his stories.

He headed to the park, iPhone raised, ready to capture something authentic enough to post. Golden hour lighting, maybe some artsy shadows—stuff that said "I'm chill and interesting" without actually having to talk to anyone.

That's when he saw the dog.

A golden retriever mix, bounding through the grass like it had personally discovered joy. No owner in sight. Just pure, unfiltered chaos with fur. Marcus lowered his phone. The dog spotted him and made a beeline, tail clearing a swath through the park like a furry metronome.

Marcus froze. What was the protocol here? Was this a stray? Did he look approachable? The dog didn't care about his overthinking—it flopped onto its back beside him, tongue lolling, paws in the air like it was presenting its belly for inspection.

"Uh, hey?" Marcus whispered.

The dog's tail thumped against his sneaker. Pure approval.

Marcus's phone buzzed. A single notification, from someone he'd been trying to impress all summer: "cute story 😂"

He looked down. The dog had somehow wedged its head under his leg, completely unbothered by his existential crisis. This creature had zero followers, no engagement anxiety, just belly rubs on demand.

He laughed. Actually laughed, not the fake haha he used in group chats. The dog's ear perked up like it approved.

Marcus pulled the hat lower—not to hide, but because the sun was dipping behind the trees. He snapped a photo: just the dog's paw against his sneaker, terrible lighting, zero aesthetic. Posted it. No caption. No hashtags.

His phone buzzed again. And again. People he hadn't talked to since June were replying. Not because it was cool, but because it was real.

The dog sat up, ears forward, like it was waiting for proper acknowledgment. Marcus scratched behind its ears. A woman called from across the park—"Buster! There you are!"

The dog—Buster, apparently—gave Marcus one last look, then bounded away toward his person. Marcus watched him go, then checked his phone. Twelve notifications. A DM from the person he'd been trying to impress all summer: "where's this park? my dog needs a friend lol"

Marcus adjusted the hat. Yeah. New confidence, new friends, but maybe not the kind he'd planned on.