Thunderpaws Before the Storm

The ethernet cable lay sprawled across my bedroom floor like a dead snake, and honestly? Same energy. My mom kept nagging me to fix it before college started, but I'd spent the whole summer doomscrolling instead of, you know, having actual experiences.

"Marcus, you're not gonna make any friends hiding in your room," she'd say, which, rude but valid.

That's when Buster found the cable. My neighbor's Golden Retriever, this chaotic good dog who'd decided my backyard was his second home, trotted in through the sliding door I'd foolishly left open. He immediately grabbed the orange cable between his teeth and started wagging his tail like he'd just won the lottery.

"Buster, no!" I lunged, but he thought we were playing. We ended up in a wrestling match that somehow knocked over my Fanta, which exploded everywhere like a crime scene. The orange soda pooled around us while Buster sat on my chest, looking accomplished.

That's when the sky opened up.

Lightning cracked — literally shook the windows — and suddenly I was fifteen again, the kid who'd nearly drowned at summer camp because he was too proud to admit he couldn't swim. The panic hit me like a physical thing.

"Marcus!" Buster's owner, Lena, appeared at the door. She was dripping wet, wearing a hoodie that said 'EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE' in bold letters. "Have you seen him? He hates storms."

We spent the next hour in the garage, watching rain hammer the roof while Buster shook himself dry every three minutes. Lena told me she'd failed her driving test three times. I told her I'd never learned to swim.

"That's lowkey embarrassing," she said, but not in a mean way.

"Teach me?" I asked, before I could overthink it.

The next morning, the storm had passed. The community pool was empty except for us two. The water looked terrifying and infinite and kind of beautiful.

"First time's the worst," Lena said from the edge. "Then it's just... swimming."

I jumped in before I could talk myself out of it. The water swallowed me whole for a terrifying second, and then I broke the surface, gasping, alive. Lena high-fived me. Buster barked from the fence like a proud parent.

Later, I'd fix the cable. Eventually, I'd leave for college. But right now, I was just a kid who'd finally jumped in, with orange soda still drying on his shirt and a dog who'd somehow changed everything.