Fox Fire & Friday Nights

I spot Liam by the kitchen island, surrounded by his usual hype-beast entourage. I'm pressed against the wall like wallpaper, clutching my iPhone like it's a life raft. I've been lowkey stalking Nova's Instagram all night—basically a certified spy at this point, refreshing her story every five minutes to see if she's at Tyler's party.

Maya crashes into my personal space, reeking of strawberry vape and desperation. "You should talk to him," she says, nodding toward Liam. "He's been looking at you all night."

That's bull and she knows it. Liam's been looking at everyone like he's king of the castle and we're all just peasants waiting for an audience. I met him freshman year when he tried to convince me that his dad knew someone at Spotify—classic pick-up artist nonsense, but I'd fallen for it.

"I'm good," I say, already angling toward the back door.

The night air hits me like cold water after a sauna. I'm halfway down the driveway when I see it—a fox, its russet coat glowing like something out of a dream under the porch lights. It freezes, watching me with these weirdly intelligent eyes.

My heart does this fluttery thing, not like a crush, but like recognition. Like we're both just pretending to belong somewhere we don't.

The fox dips its head once, then slips into the shadows between houses.

Inside, the bass drops. Someone laughs too loud. I pull out my iPhone, thumb hovering over Nova's DM. Then I delete the draft. Tonight, I'm not chasing anyone.

The fox knew something I didn't—sometimes the coolest move is knowing when to ghost yourself.

I walk toward the street, letting the party fade behind me. Somewhere between the streetlights, a pair of eyes watches me go. And for the first time all night, I don't feel watched. I feel seen.