Wild in the Suburbs

Maya's first week at Oak Creek High felt like walking into a lion's den—if lions wore varsity jackets and posted thirst traps on Instagram. She'd moved from Chicago to rural Wisconsin two weeks before sophomore year, and her mom's parting gift had been a golden retriever puppy named Buster. "He'll help you make friends," she'd said. Buster spent most of his time barking at the delivery guy and sleeping on Maya's feet while she doom-scrolled through her new classmates' posts.

The social hierarchy at Oak Creek operated like a food chain, and Maya was plankton. Until she caught the attention of Riley, the junior with maple-syrup eyes and a reputation for being sly as a fox. They'd bonded over mutual confusion in AP Bio when Riley leaned over and whispered, "I'm pretty sure the teacher just called mitochondria the powerhouse of the cellular strip club."

Maya laughed so hard she snorted, and Riley grinned. "Want to hang after school? My brother's working at this weird petting zoo thing, they've got a literal bull there. It's kinda iconic."

"A bull?" Maya asked. "Like, masculine energy, or..."

"No, literally a bull. His name is Bucky and he's surprisingly chill. Also there's a fox kit I'm lowkey obsessed with."

The petting zoo turned out to be someone's backyard farm run by Riley's brother, who was apparently studying to be a vet. Bucky the bull regarded Maya with deep skepticism before accepting her offering of an apple slice. The fox kit, a bandit-faced creature named Bandit (original), immediately tried to steal Maya's phone.

"Same, Bandit," Riley said, watching the fox nosing through Maya's bag. "I'd kill for that case. Is that vintage?"

"My grandma gave it to me," Maya said, feeling weirdly pleased. "It's got actual strawberries on it."

Riley's brother appeared from the barn with a baby goat under each arm. "Who wants to hold a goat? They're basically dogs but worse at listening."

"I've met Buster," Maya said. "I'm good."

"What kind of dog?" Riley's brother asked.

"Golden retriever. Very cute, very dumb."

Buster chose that moment to burst through the fence, having escaped the yard somehow, and immediately tried to make friends with Bucky. The bull stared down at this golden intruder with expressionless judgment.

"Buster NO," Maya yelled, scrambling over the fence. "Sir, I am so sorry—"

"It's chill," Riley said, but they were already grinning. "Bucky's surprisingly patient with dumbasses."

Maya spent the next hour chasing Buster while Riley filmed it for their story ("look at this absolute legend," they captioned it). By the time they wrangled the dog, Maya's hair was a mess and her shoes were covered in mud.

"I can't believe I just had to bear witness to my dog attempting to befriend a creature twenty times his size," Maya groaned, collapsing onto a hay bale.

Riley sat beside her, their knees touching. Maya's heart did that nervous little flip it sometimes did when Riley looked at her a certain way. "Honestly? Better than my first week here. I got locked in the bathroom stall because the handle broke and had to climb out the top window."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Deadass. Coach Miller had to help me down. We haven't made eye contact since."

They were quiet for a moment, Buster snoring softly at Maya's feet. The sun was setting behind the silo, painting everything in gold and honey.

"You should come back," Riley said quietly. "Like, regularly. Bandit needs more victims to rob."

Maya smiled, feeling something warm and unfamiliar blooming in her chest. "Yeah. I think Buster needs to learn some boundaries."

"For sure," Riley said. "Also I was gonna ask—you doing anything Friday? There's this thing at the creek, everyone's gonna be there..."

Maya's phone buzzed. Her mom: WHERE ARE YOU?? Buster escaped!!!

"Yeah," Maya said, grinning. "Yeah, I'm free."

She grabbed Buster's leash and followed Riley back toward the road, the Wisconsin sunset painting stripes across the sky. Being the new kid still sucked. But maybe, just maybe, she was gonna survive it.