Fox Code

My insta-stalking skills were next-level. I'd been spying on Maya's profile for weeks—every sunset beach pic, every aesthetic study session post, every cryptic song lyric caption. I knew her coffee order (oat milk latta, extra foam), her obsession with vintage band tees, and that she secretly hated calculus but was too proud to drop it.

"You're like a fox," my best friend Ty had said last week when I'd explained my recon strategy. "Sneaky. Always watching."

"Foxes are cool though," I'd replied. "Sleek. Mysterious."

"Yeah, and they eat trash."

I'd thrown a pretzel at him.

But now, standing in the supplement aisle at Whole Foods, my fox-like spying skills were about to fail me completely. Because Maya Chen, actual goddess of Westwood High, was standing three feet away, staring at the same vitamin D3 gummies I'd been trying to locate for my mom.

"Hey," she said.

My brain short-circuited. "Hey."

"You're in my AP Bio, right? You sit behind me."

"Yeah."

"You always look like you're silently judging my doodles."

"I'm not! I'm—I mean, your doodles are actually pretty good."

She raised an eyebrow. "You've been spying on my notebooks?"

My face burned. "No! I just—"

Maya laughed, and it was this genuine sound that made her whole face light up. "I'm kidding. I've seen you watching me. On Instagram, I mean. Your username pops up on my stories sometimes."

I felt like I'd been punched. "Oh."

"It's fine," she said quickly. "Actually, I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you without it being weird."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You seem... interesting. Different from the guys who are always trying to impress everyone."

She reached for the vitamin gummies, and our hands brushed. I swear I felt it everywhere.

"So," Maya said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "what's your strategy? For this bio test tomorrow? Because I am NOT prepared."

I thought about Ty calling me a fox. About all those weeks of watching from a distance. About how the real thing—Maya standing here asking for study tips, smelling like vanilla and possibility—was a million times better than any Instagram post.

"I have notes," I heard myself say. "Like, actually good ones."

Maya grinned. "Fox, you say?"

"What?"

"Clever. I like it." She grabbed her phone. "I'm Maya, by the way."

"Alex."

"Well, Alex, want to study at the Bean tomorrow after school? I promise not to judge your doodle game."

Some things, I realized, were better than spying. Like being seen.

"It's a date," I said, and immediately wanted to die.

Maya just winked. "See you tomorrow, Fox."

As she walked away, I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram. But instead of stalking, I finally typed: @mayachen — follow request pending.

Some foxes don't watch. They pounce.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.