Fox at the Pool Party

The papaya sat untouched on the paper plate, looking way too healthy for a Saturday pool party. I nudged it with my plastic fork, watching it slide into the chip dip. Classic me — awkward even with fruit.

"You gonna eat that, or just interrogate it?" Maya asked, flopping onto the lawn chair next to me. My best friend since kindergarten, and somehow still the only person who could make me feel seen and roasted at the same time.

"Not feeling it," I admitted, wiping sticky hands on my shorts. "Maybe I'm just not built for pool parties."

Maya's golden retriever, Buster, chose that moment to shake lake water all over both of us. Because of course.

"Buster, no!" someone yelled.

I looked up. It was Fox. Actual name: Fox. The new junior with the messy hair and the vintage band tees and the ability to make everything look effortless. He was standing waist-deep in the pool, droplets tracking down his chest like he was in a movie or something.

"Sorry," he called, grinning. "He likes you."

My brain short-circuited. "What?"

"The dog." Fox swam closer to the edge. "He only does that to people he likes. It's his whole deal."

Maya kicked my ankle under the table. I ignored her.

"Cool," I managed. "Thanks, Buster. Solid wingman."

Fox laughed. Actually laughed. "I was gonna come say hi anyway. You're in my English lit class, right? We're doing Gatsby next week if you wanna study together."

The papaya on my plate suddenly seemed a lot less intimidating.

"Yeah," I said, maybe too quickly. "I mean, sure. That could work."

"Cool." He pushed wet hair off his forehead. "See you Monday."

As he swam away, Maya turned to me, eyes wide.

"Did Fox — literal Fox, the Fox — just ask to study with you?" she whisper-yelled. "And did you just call his dog a wingman? OUT LOUD?"

I shoved the papaya into my mouth to hide my smile. It was actually pretty good.

"Shut up," I said. "And help me with my outfit. I need to look casual-but-effortless for Monday."

She smirked. "Now that? That I can help with."