Foxfire and Fake Wakes

Maya felt like a **zombie**. First Monday of sophomore year, and her brain was still operating on summer schedule—up till 2 AM bingeing, waking at noon. Now here she was, trudging to homeroom while her phone buzzed with group chat chaos.

"Did you see that **cable** news segment about the Foxfire neighborhood?" Mia whispered, sliding into the desk beside her. "Some residents are complaining about the noise."

Foxfire. That's where the wild **fox** lived—the one Maya had been watching from her bedroom window for weeks. It would appear at dusk, sleek and impossibly orange, moving through the manicured lawns like it owned everything.

"My parents want me to quit track," Maya muttered. "They say I'm not getting enough sleep."

"Dude, no." Mia stared at her. "You literally placed third at sectionals last year. **Running** is your thing."

Maya's stomach growled. She'd skipped breakfast again. Her mom was on this health kick—forcing everyone to eat **spinach** smoothies that tasted like lawn clippings. "I'm just tired, Mia. Everything feels fake. Like we're all just performing for college apps that won't even matter for two years."

"Okay, existential crisis at 7:45 AM. Classic." Mia's eyes softened. "You know what helps? The fox."

"What?"

"The fox doesn't care about GPAs or whether it's performing. It just *is*. Every night, same time, doing its fox thing. That's real."

That afternoon, Maya didn't go straight home. She laced up her running shoes and headed toward Foxfire, legs pumping, pavement blurring beneath her. She wasn't running from anything anymore—she was running toward something.

She spotted it near the edge of the woods. The fox paused, watching her with amber eyes. No judgment. No expectations. Just presence.

Maya slowed to a stop, chest heaving, and for the first time since summer ended, she didn't feel like a zombie at all.

She felt real.