Thunderpups and Vitamin D

Leo's nickname at school was the Dog Whisperer, which was ironic considering he didn't even own a dog. But somehow, every time someone's **dog** went rogue or refused to walk, they ended up at his door. His secret? patience, and the fact he'd spent an entire summer watching dog-training videos instead of making friends.

"He'll only eat if I'm wearing this," Leo explained, gesturing to the ridiculous neon yellow bucket **hat** perched on his head. Diesel—a muscular pitbull mix who looked like he could crush Leo's skull—sat wagging his tail like a puppy.

Maya, the senior whose Instagram practically defined their high school's social hierarchy, raised an eyebrow. "That's... specific."

"Don't judge the hustle." Leo placed the bacon-flavored **vitamin** (Maya's holistic vet had prescribed, at $45/bottle) into a slice of turkey. Diesel swallowed it whole, tail thumping.

Outside, **lightning** fractured the sky. Thunder rattled the windows hard enough that the framed posters on Maya's wall tilted. Diesel cowered, pressing himself against Leo's legs.

"He's terrified of storms," Maya admitted, sliding down to sit on the floor. Leo joined her, and for the first time, the senior who everyone seemed to know looked small. "My parents think I'm too dependent on him. That's why they're making me go to France for the summer—to 'find myself.'"

Leo hesitated, then said, "I spent all of eighth grade pretending to be allergic to dogs so people would stop asking me to pet-sit. Then I realized... maybe I liked it better than hanging out with people who only wanted something from me."

Maya's laugh was surprised, genuine. "So what you're saying is, we're both hiding?"

"I'm hiding in plain sight," Leo adjusted the neon hat. "You're hiding behind Instagram followers and a dog who wears emotional support like armor."

"Fair." She extended a hand. "Truce?"

"Truce."

By the time the storm passed, Leo had somehow agreed to teach Maya how to actually communicate with Diesel instead of just carrying him everywhere. And Maya had somehow agreed to help Leo "rebrand" his dog-whisperer gig into something that didn't make him sound like a weirdo.

"Tomorrow," Maya said, "you're taking that ridiculous hat off."

Leo grinned. "No promises. Diesel's grown attached."