Fox in the Hallway

Maya shuffled through third period like a **zombie**, the kind that hadn't slept since Tuesday because AP Chem was destroying her soul one equation at a time. Her **iPhone** buzzed in her pocket—again—but she ignored it. The group chat was blowing up about something stupid, and honestly, she didn't have the emotional bandwidth for teenage drama today.

Then she saw him.

Ethan.aka. the **fox**. Everyone called him that because he was clever as hell, with these sharp amber eyes and this habit of slipping through social situations untouched, like he knew something nobody else did. He leaned against his locker, scrolling through his phone with this weird half-smile.

Maya had been low-key **spy**-ing on his socials since September. Pathetic? Maybe. But his finsta was actually funny, unlike everyone else's curated aesthetic bullshit. He posted random stuff—bad drawings, cryptic lyrics, thoughts that felt real. No filters, no flexing, just him.

Their eyes met across the hallway. For three seconds, Maya forgot how to breathe.

Then Jessica slapped her phone onto Maya's desk, **bull**-shit level drama written all over her face. "Did you see what Sarah posted about you? She's literally throwing you under the bus."

Maya glanced at the screen. Sure enough, there it was—a sub-tweet about "fake friends" that was definitely about their fight over weekend plans.

"Whatever," Maya said, but her chest felt tight.

"No, not whatever. We need to respond."

Ethan walked past their table. He didn't even look up from his phone, but somehow he caught Maya's eye again. This tiny, knowing look.

Later, her phone dinged. A DM from him.

*Sarah's just projecting. You're good.*

Maya stared at the message. He'd noticed. He'd been paying attention. The fox, who everyone said was too cool to care about anything, had seen right through it.

*Thanks,* she typed back. *How'd you know?*

*I see things,* he replied. *Also, I saw you liked my post at 2 AM. We night owls gotta stick together.*

Maya laughed out loud. So much for being subtle.

But as she tucked her phone away, the zombie fog lifted just a little. Maybe high school wasn't completely hopeless. Maybe there were people who got it.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as invisible as she thought.