Fox in the Feeds

Alex's apartment complex had cable from 2004. While her classmates streamed 4K and posted TikToks without buffering, she was stuck with pixelated screens and loading wheels that spun like they were training for a marathon.

"You're such a fox about this," said Jordan, her best friend since seventh grade, when Alex complained about trying to spy on the popular kids' Instagram stories through her neighbor's borrowed WiFi. "Just ask them for the password like a normal person."

Alex rolled her eyes. Jordan didn't get it. It wasn't about the WiFi—it was about knowing things without having to ask. About being the person who noticed stuff. Like how she'd noticed that Maya, the junior everyone thought was perfect, had a private Twitter account where she posted about feeling lonely. Or how the group chat for the debate team accidentally left Alex's friend Chase in the conversation, and now she knew they were planning to ask her to join.

She felt like a spy in her own high school, gathering intel she couldn't use. If she confronted Maya about the tweets, she'd have to admit she'd found them through borrowed WiFi and sheer boredom. If she mentioned knowing about the debate team invitation, Chase would get in trouble.

The Friday before homecoming, Alex's mom finally called the cable company to upgrade their internet. While the technician worked on the cables in the living room, Alex's phone buzzed. It was Maya.

"Hey, I heard through Jordan that you're, like, really observant. Can I ask you something?"

Alex stared at her screen. Fox-like observant. Spy-like knowledge. And now, cable-fast internet that would actually let her help Maya figure out whatever was going on.

"Yeah," she texted back. "What's up?"

The popular girl's crisis wasn't what Alex expected. Maya wanted advice on how to tell her friends she was quitting the volleyball team to join the drama club—exactly the kind of thing Alex, theater kid and social observer, would know something about.

That night, Alex Facetimed Maya without the call dropping once. Her new cable connection hummed in the background, fast and invisible, just like she'd been all along.