Electric Fox

The summer storm hit while I was at Jordan's pool party, the kind where everyone stands around pretending to be chill while secretly casing each other's outfits. I'd been crushing on Jordan for like three months, but every time I tried to talk to him, my brain would just buffer.

Then lightning cracked the sky open — close enough that the air tasted like ozone. Everyone scrambled inside, but I saw something near the back fence: a fox, silver-gold in the weird storm light, just watching us like we were the野生动物 exhibit.

"Yo, you see that?" I said, but Maya was already dragging me toward the house. Rain started hammering down, flattening my hair (goodbye, two hours of curling attempts).

Jordan's Golden Retriever, Bo, went ballistic at the sliding glass door, barking at something in the darkness. I followed his gaze and there it was again — the fox, standing on the patio edge, water dripping from its whiskers, looking way too calm for a creature in the middle of suburbia chaos.

"He's been showing up all summer," Jordan said, suddenly beside me. "My dad thinks someone's feeding him."

"He's gorgeous," I managed, my voice actually working for once.

Jordan laughed. "Yeah. Wild though. Can't tame something like that."

We stood there watching while the storm threw a tantrum outside. The fox dipped its head like a nod, then vanished into the rain-slicked dark.

"Want to see something cool?" Jordan asked.

We ended up in his garage, where he showed me his photography setup. Fox photos. Dozens of them, each one more incredible than the last. The fox at dawn. The fox mid-pounce. The fox and Bo somehow inches apart, both staring into the lens with this weird mutual respect.

"You've been —"

"Stalking him with a camera? Yeah. It's kind of my thing now."

We spent the whole storm going through the photos, him explaining the settings, me pretending I understood aperture. But really I was just watching his hands, his voice, the way his eyes lit up talking about composition and golden hour.

"You know," he said, as the rain finally slowed, "I'm glad you noticed him tonight. No one else even saw him."

My heart did this whole gymnastics routine. "I notice stuff."

"Yeah," he said, and the way he looked at me felt like lightning all over again, but the good kind this time. "I think you do."

We're going on our first date tomorrow. He says he knows a spot where the fox sometimes appears at sunset. I've got my outfit picked out, and I've been practicing not being awkward. But mostly, I'm just hoping for a little more lightning.