Fox at the Pool Party

Maya stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her solo cup of flat orange soda like it was a lifeline. Her hair—supposed to be sun-kissed blonde—had turned a brassy orange that morning thanks to a DIY dye job gone wrong.

Across the pool, Fox held court on a lounge chair. Everyone called her that since eighth grade when she'd shown up to the first day of school with that wild red hair and that attitude like she didn't care what anyone thought. Which was ironic, because clearly Fox cared exactly what everyone thought. That's why she spent twenty minutes adjusting her bikini top before diving into the water.

"You coming in or what?" Fox called out, and Maya's stomach did that thing where it felt like it was rewriting itself in shorthand.

"In a minute," Maya lied, taking a sip of her lukewarm soda.

Then she heard it—a yap from behind the pool house. A dog. Not just any dog, but Mrs. Henderson's ancient poodle that was basically a furry doorstop. It was trotting toward the pool, looking like it was on a mission.

"Dog!" someone screamed, and suddenly the pool party chaos went nuclear. People were scrambling out of the water like sharks had been detected. Fox scrambled up from her lounge chair, her cool completely shattered, dripping wet and yelling about her phone.

The poodle paddled around the deep end like it owned the place, totally unbothered. And that's when Maya saw it—Fox's phone, floating in the water. Without thinking, Maya jumped in, grabbed it, and handed it to Fox.

"Thanks," Fox said, her perfect composure returning instantly. "You're Maya, right?"

Maya nodded, water dripping from her orange hair.

"I like your hair," Fox said. "It's brave."

Maya actually laughed. "Brave. That's one word for it."

"No, seriously." Fox's phone screen flickered ominously. "Whatever you did, it worked. You're the only one who actually did something."