Foxes at 5 AM

The alarm screamed at 4:45. I rolled out of bed feeling like a straight-up zombie, eyes grainy, limbs heavy. November mornings for swim team were actual torture, but Mom insisted I needed "structure." Whatever that meant.

I shuffled outside with Max, our ancient golden retriever, half-asleep and freezing. The dog perked up instantly, nose to the wind, tail doing its metronome thing. Then suddenly—movement near the dumpsters. A flash of rusty red.

A fox. Straight-up bold, standing there like it owned the parking lot, watching us with those clever golden eyes. Max lost it, barking his head off, pulling at the leash like a maniac.

"Chill, Max, dang!" I yanked him back, but the fox didn't even flinch. Just tilted its head, almost mocking us, before slipping into the shadows like a ghost.

First period, Jasmine leaned over my desk, all casual. "You see that fox TikTok everyone's posting?"

"Wait, what?"

"Someone got video. It's going viral. Fox in the apartment complex?" She showed me her phone—there it was. MY fox. OUR fox, me in my pathetic practice swimsuit and Max being absolutely deranged. "That's you, isn't it?"

I died inside. "Please tell me I don't look as homeless as I feel."

Jasmine laughed, and something in my chest did that stupid flutter thing. "You look cute. You always look cute."

The bell rang. She didn't move right away. Neither did I. And for the first time since swimming became my entire personality, I didn't feel like a zombie at all.