Foxes Don't Sleep

Sixteen-year-old Maya shuffled into third period like a zombie, her dark circles practically begging for sympathy points. Three nights of crashing on her AP History presentation would do that to you. She slumped into her desk, brain foggy, everything filtered through this exhausted haze where even her crush Lucas looked like a blurry blob instead of the beautiful human he actually was.

"You look dead," whispered Riley, sliding into the seat beside her. "Like, actually deceased."

Maya groaned. "Thanks. That's exactly the vibe I was going for."

Riley, being the sly fox she was, had already figured out the social pyramid at Westwood High. Freshmen at the bottom, seniors at the top, and everyone else scrambling somewhere in the messy middle. But Riley had this way of navigating it all without getting crushed—like how she'd somehow ended up on the planning committee for homecoming despite being a sophomore. It wasn't magic. It was strategy.

"So," Riley lowered her voice, "Lucas is having people over Friday. His parents are out of town."

Maya's stomach did that familiar flip thing. "And?"

"And I can get you in. But you have to promise not to be zombie Maya. You need to be, like, fun Maya. The one who actually laughs at jokes instead of calculating how many hours of sleep she lost."

Maya stared at her. "Since when do you hang out with Lucas?"

Riley shrugged, but her grin gave her away. "We have bio together. He's actually pretty cool once you get past the whole 'popular guy' vibe. Besides," she added, "I told him you're funny. Don't make me a liar."

The bell rang, but Maya barely heard it. Friday. Lucas. Actual possibility of something happening with him instead of just existing in the same vicinity.

"Fine," she whispered back. "But if I say something dumb, you're officially banned from ever setting me up again."

"Deal." Riley's smirk softened. "But seriously? Get some sleep. Nobody looks good pulling a zombie act, not even you."