Fox Mode Activated

Maya's phone buzzed. Again. Her mom had blown up her iPhone with eleven texts and three missed calls, all because she'd forgotten to turn off Find My Friends before sneaking out to Jax's party. The notification hovering over her lock screen was basically a digital homing beacon, announcing her exact coordinates to parental authorities everywhere.

"You're being dramatic," whispered Chloe, adjusting her crop top in the vanity mirror. "It's not like she's actually spying on you. She's just... helicopter curious."

Maya slumped against the doorframe, the bass from downstairs vibrating through her ribs. "Easy for you to say. Your mom thinks you're at a 'study group.' My mom knows I'm at a 'party' because she can literally see my dot moving on a map. I'm practically living in a surveillance state."

"Okay, first, that's not even close to what surveillance means," Chloe said, grabbing Maya's shoulders. "Second, you need to get out of your head. Jax is literally asking about you."

Maya's stomach did that thing again—the thing that made her feel like she'd eaten expired papaya on an empty stomach. Jax Harmon. The same Jax who'd sat behind her in bio freshman year, the one who'd barely looked at her until she showed up to homecoming with a nose ring and suddenly developed a personality.

Outside on the balcony, Maya grabbed a solo cup of something that smelled like regret and artificial fruit punch. She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over Jax's Instagram. She'd been lurking his profile since Wednesday, which was basically spy behavior at this point. Stalking? No. Deep research? Absolutely.

Then she saw it—a flash of orange near the edge of the backyard, moving through the overgrown ivy like it owned the place. A fox. It paused, turned toward her, its eyes catching the patio lights like tiny amber headlights before slipping away into the darkness.

"Did you just see that?" Maya breathed.

"See what?" Jax appeared beside her, holding two cups. "You good?"

"Fox," she said. "There was a fox."

Jax's dog, Buster—a chaotic golden retriever puppy someone had brought—came bounding out the sliding door, barking at nothing, tripping over his own paws like the adorable idiot he was. The fox was long gone.

"You good?" Jax asked again, softer this time.

"Yeah," Maya said, pocketing her phone. "Actually, yeah."

Maybe the fox was a sign. Or maybe she was just reading into everything because she was seventeen and everything felt like a sign. Either way, she turned off Find My Friends, leaned against the railing, and let herself talk to Jax like a normal person. Not a spy. Not a daughter on a digital leash. Just a girl at a party, watching the moon rise over someone else's backyard, feeling like maybe, just maybe, she was exactly where she was supposed to be.