Foxes Don't Dance at Pool Parties

Maya stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her orange solo cup like it was a lifeline. The sunset painted the sky in streaks of coral and gold, but inside, she felt like a total zombie—dead behind the eyes, moving through motions, completely unsure how to exist at Jake's party without looking like a total loser.

"You okay there, fox?"

Maya nearly jumped out of her skin. Marcus stood there, grinning that annoyingly perfect grin that made half the junior class swoon. He'd started calling her fox last month after she'd outsmarted their English teacher's trick question.

"I'm not a fox," she muttered. "I'm just socially awkward."

Marcus laughed. "Same difference. Foxes are just awkward geniuses." He gestured toward the pool where everyone was playing some chaotic game of chicken. "You gonna join the zombie apocalypse out there, or what?"

Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when Marcus talked to her—a nervous flutter she hated and loved equally. "I'd rather not drown in shallow water while trying to impress people."

"Fair." Marcus sat on the pool edge, feet dangling in the water. "You know what I figured out about parties? Everyone's faking it. The popular kids, the athletes, even Jake acting like he owns the place. We're all just pretending we know what we're doing."

Maya sat beside him, careful not to get too close. "You seem like you're doing fine."

"That's because I learned something from foxes," Marcus said, suddenly serious. "They don't care what anyone thinks. They just do their thing, sleek and clever and totally themselves." He bumped her shoulder. "Like you in English class. You don't care about being cool. You just are."

The orange cup was empty now. Maya set it down, heart racing. "Is that your way of saying I should jump in the pool?"

"I'm saying you should do whatever you want," Marcus said, standing up. "But if you wanted to prove you're a fox, you'd cannonball right in the middle of Jake's game."

Maya looked at the water, at Marcus watching her with that ridiculously hopeful expression, at the party she'd been avoiding all night. Then she stood up, took a running start, and leaped.

The splash was massive. The zombie feeling washed away with the chlorine. When she surfaced, Marcus was grinning.

"Told you," he called. "Foxes always land on their feet."