Fox Fire Summer

The summer before sophomore year, I became obsessed with three things: getting my first girlfriend, making varsity soccer, and the way Lily Chen's hair caught the sunlight during lunch. Also, gummy vitamins. But that's because my mom started leaving those "teen wellness" packets on my pillow, as if cranberry-flavored antioxidants could fix my terrible conversational skills.

I was sitting with Marcus, my best friend since sixth grade, watching lightning spiderweb across the June sky. The air tasted like rain and impending doom.

"You're gonna do it," Marcus said, kicking my shin under the picnic table. "Before summer ends. You're gonna talk to her."

"Marcus. I can't even say 'vitamin' without sounding like an idiot."

"Dude. You don't say 'vitamin.' You say 'hey, Lily, wanna get food?'" He paused. "Also, stop saying 'vitamin.' Who says that?"

"I'm panicking, okay?"

"You're overthinking it. You gotta be like a fox."

"A fox."

"Yeah. Sly. Strategic. Foxes don't panic. Foxes wait for the perfect moment and then—BAM. They snatch the chicken."

"I'm not trying to steal poultry, Marcus. I'm trying to ask a human on a date."

He shrugged. "Same energy."

The thing about Marcus: he'd had a girlfriend since seventh grade. He knew what he was doing. I was still at the stage where accidentally making eye contact across the cafeteria felt like surviving natural disaster.

Then lightning struck closer, and the sky opened up. We ran toward the covered bike racks, and there she was. Lily Chen, leaning against the rack, scrolling through her phone, completely dry.

"Fox mode," Marcus hissed, shoving me forward.

"What? No."

"GO."

So I went. I walked up to Lily Chen while rain poured down like the sky was trying to wash away my dignity. She looked up, and her eyes were exactly the kind of warm that made me forget my own name.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," I squeaked. "Nice weather."

She laughed. "It's literally a storm."

"Right. Yes. Storms are... cool?"

I was going to die. This was it. My social life, over at 15, because I couldn't form a complete sentence around a pretty girl.

But then Lily looked at me, really looked at me, and something sparked between us like the lightning still cracking overhead. Something that felt like recognition.

"You're in my English class," she said. "You wrote that essay about foxes in literature."

"Yeah. I like foxes."

"Me too," she said. "They're clever. They don't need to be the biggest or the strongest. They just figure things out."

"Exactly," I said, finding my voice. "They're scrappy."

"Scrappy," she repeated, like she was testing the word. "I like that."

Then she asked, "You wanna walk to the library? I've got this research project on nutrition, and I need someone who knows about vitamins and supplements. My mom's making me do this wellness thing."

"I literally know everything about that," I said. "My mom's got me on this whole vitamin routine."

She laughed again, and it was better than thunder.

"Perfect," she said. "You can save me from myself."

We walked through the rain, and I didn't even care that we were getting soaked. Behind us, Marcus gave me a thumbs-up.

That summer, I learned three things: soccer tryouts were overrated, my mom's vitamins actually weren't that bad, and sometimes, you don't need to be a fox. Sometimes you just need enough courage to walk through the rain and say hey.