Fox in the Feed

Three AM and I'm deep in the rabbit hole again. Jordan's Instagram grid glows against my face as I scroll through brunch photos and party snapshots that feel like they're from another lifetime. We used to be inseparable in middle school, back when friendship bracelets were actual jewelry and not just metaphors.

Now Jordan's with the popular crowd, and I'm here playing detective with my own social isolation. pathetic, really — this virtual stalking habit I'd developed. I wasn't proud of it, but something kept pulling me back. Maybe I was trying to figure out where exactly we'd drifted apart, or maybe I was just obsessed.

When Jordan posts a new story, my heart does this stupid little jump. I tap too fast, trying to view it before it disappears, and my finger slips. Double tap. On a story from three weeks ago. I accidentally like ancient content like the ultimate creep.

"Screenshot it," my sister whispers from her bed. "Prove it was an accident."

My hands shake as I fumble for the screenshot combo, but it's too late. Jordan's already seen it. Active now.

My phone vibrates.

seen you lurking 😉

Before I can die of embarrassment, another message pops up.

I've been checking your Spotify weekly too. we're both obsessing over each other and it's weird.

I laugh out loud in the dark room. We're both spies in this stupid war.

Want to see something cool? comes next. Come outside.

I sneak out in my sweaters and bare feet, whispering that I'm just getting air. Jordan's already on the sidewalk when I step outside, real and three-dimensional and nothing like their curated posts.

"Follow me," Jordan says, and we walk two blocks in comfortable silence until something orange-red darts across someone's yard. A fox, sleek and wild, stops near a streetlight and looks at us with eyes that glow amber in the night.

"I've been watching it for weeks," Jordan whispers. "Thought you'd appreciate it."

The fox dips its head like it knows something we don't, then vanishes into the darkness between houses.

"We're not spying anymore," Jordan says, turning to me. "We're just people who both like foxes and stayed up too late."

"Yeah," I say, and for the first time in months, something in my chest loosens. "Just people.".