The Zombie Dog Incident

Maya stood at the edge of the pool party like a certified zombie, her eyes half-lidded from three straight days of binge-watching apocalyptic shows. The invitation had said "casual swim hang," but what she really wanted was to be Netflix-and-chilled at home with her dog, Buster.

"You coming in or what?" called Jake, the varsity swimmer who'd somehow become the social center of their friend group. He was treading water like it was the easiest thing in the world, which was annoying.

"I'm good," Maya said, clutching her phone like a lifeline. "Just, you know, enjoying the atmosphere." Whatever that meant.

Then Buster—her elderly, arthritic golden retriever who usually acted like he'd been dead for three years—saw something in the bushes. Maybe a squirrel. Maybe existential dread. Either way, he bolted.

"Buster! NO!" Maya screamed, but it was too late. Her zombie dog launched himself into the pool with absolutely zero grace, creating a splash that soaked everyone within a ten-foot radius—including her crush, Sam, who'd been peacefully existing on a float.

Chaos erupted. Someone's phone fell in. Another person's snacks got drenched. And Maya? Maya had to jump in fully clothed to retrieve her now-very-energetic dog, who'd decided swimming was actually his new favorite thing and kept dodging her grasp.

"I am SO sorry," Maya gasped, finally wrestling Buster to the pool's edge while completely soaked, her makeup probably running down her face like a horror movie extra.

But then Sam started laughing. Not mean laughing—like, actual laughter. "That was legendary," they said. "Your dog just won the entire party."

"He's usually practically comatose," Maya said, her face burning. "I don't know what got into him."

"Maybe he was tired of you being a hermit," Jake called from the middle of the pool. "You know, since school ended, you've been MIA. Like, fully off the grid."

Maya froze. She'd spent the whole summer hidden behind her cable internet connection, streaming shows and avoiding everything. Buster'd literally had to drag her into the real world.

"Touché," she admitted, finally smiling as Sam helped pull a very soggy, very happy Buster from the water. "Maybe I needed this."

"Maybe," Sam said, handing her a towel. "But next time? Let's try swimming on purpose. Your dog's not always gonna be your social coordinator."