Fox at the Pool Edge

Maya gripped her orange soda can like it was a lifeline. The condensation slick against her palm, her heart doing backflips. Every single person from sophomore year seemed to be crammed into the Chen's backyard, their bodies splashing in the pool like overexcited dolphins. She'd spent forty-five minutes on her eyeliner alone. It felt stupid now.

"You gonna stand there all night?"

Caleb. The crush she'd been lowkey obsessing over since September leaned against the patio umbrella, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to organs.

"Just hydrating," she managed.

He laughed, and she hated how good it sounded. "Cool. Hydration's important." Something moved behind him—rust-colored, quick as a blink. A fox, its coat glowing under the string lights, paused at the edge of the pool deck. Their eyes locked for one wild moment before it slipped into the shadows.

"Did you see—"

"The fox?" Caleb's face lit up. "Dude, they live in the ravine behind their house. One stole my sandwich last year. Bold as hell."

Maya's cat, Beans, would've hissed herself into a frenzy at something that untamed. Beans, who currently judged her from windowsills, who loved her on her own terms, who didn't care about perfect eyeliner or whether Maya said something awkward at parties.

"Bold," Maya repeated. The word settled in her chest like something solid.

Caleb was still watching her, really looking at her. "Wanna swim? I won't splash you. Much."

The orange can crinkled in her hand. She set it down on the patio table.

"Bring it," she said, and stepped into the light.