The Truth About Maximus

I was mid-sentence when Maya called it.

"That's straight-up bull, Carlos." She didn't even look up from her phone.

The cafeteria went quiet. Like, weird quiet. My so-called friends froze with their tater tots halfway to their mouths.

"What?" I tried to play it off. "What are you talking about?"

"The dog, dude. The 'Massive German Shepherd Guard Dog Named Maximus Who Lives at Your Uncle's Farm'" — she did actual air quotes — "I literally was at your uncle's place last weekend for the church thing. There is no Maximus. There's no dog. There's barely a farm." She locked eyes with me. "You've been talking about this dog for three months, Carlos. THREE."

My face burned. I'd spun this whole yarn freshman year when I was new and desperate and Maya actually smiled at me in homeroom. I just wanted to sound interesting. People who had dogs — cool dogs — had stories. They had texture. I had nothing.

"I..." What could I even say?

I grabbed my tray and bolted.

Running was the only thing I was actually good at. Track, cross country, running from awkward situations — all of it. Outside, I kept going, past the tennis courts, past the football field, until my lungs screamed and my legs burned. I collapsed against the old oak behind the bleachers and dragged in air like I'd never breathe again.

"You okay?"

I jumped. Maya stood there, holding two Gatorades.

"Following me to roast me some more?"

She shrugged and sat in the grass. "Nah. I figured you'd run. You always do." She tossed me a purple one. "Look, Carlos — why didn't you just tell us you didn't have a dog? We literally don't care."

"Because I wanted to be someone worth knowing," I said, and the words sounded pathetic even as they left my mouth.

"You already are, dumbass." She cracked her Gatorade. "We hang out with you because you're funny and you help us with bio and you're actually a good friend. Not because of some fake dog named Maximus."

We sat there while the sun dipped behind the stadium lights. My legs stopped shaking.

"So," she said, "my cousin's dog had puppies. They're very not-guard-dog-material. Fluffy disasters, honestly. You want to come see them? They're real. I swear."

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

"Cool." She stood up and brushed off her jeans. "Just don't name any of them Maximus. That ship has sailed."