Green Teeth and Thunder

Marcus's pool party was supposed to be my social resurrection. Freshman year had been a disaster — I was the girl who tripped over her own backpack during orientation — but this summer? This summer I was gonna be different.

"Yo Maya, you getting in or what?" Marcus called from the diving board. His shirt was off. His abs were basically a personal attack.

"Yeah, just, uh, grabbing food first," I said, heading toward the snack table like a smooth criminal.

Big mistake. The spinach artichoke dip looked delicious. I took a massive bite, felt instantly sophisticated, and went to find my best friend Priya to tell her I was finally adulting.

"You have spinach everywhere," Priya said, her face deadpan. "Like, everywhere."

I wiped my mouth for five solid minutes. When I finally looked up, Zara — the girl who'd been giving me death glares since seventh grade — was laughing with her squad by the pool edge.

"She's trying to be a fox," Zara whispered loudly. "Cute."

My face burned. I grabbed a solo cup of fruit punch and retreated to the deep end, planning to stay submerged until everyone left or I died of embarrassment, whichever came first.

The swimming helped. Underwater, the muffled sounds of laughter and music became peaceful. I did laps until my muscles burned, until I forgot about the spinach incident, until I felt strong instead of awkward.

Then lightning split the sky.

Everyone screamed and scrambled out of the pool. Rain came down in sheets — wild, warm summer rain that turned the whole backyard chaotic. Marcus herded everyone inside, slipping and sliding on wet grass.

I stayed in the water, treading water in the downpour. Something rustled in the bushes along the fence line.

A fox — a real one, copper-red and sleek — crept out, head tilted, watching the chaos. Our eyes met through the rain. It blinked, then trotted away like it owned the place.

"Maya! Get inside!" Marcus yelled, running back out. He held a giant beach towel. "You're gonna get electrocuted or something."

I swam to the edge. He wrapped the towel around my shoulders, and his hands lingered for half a second longer than necessary.

"Your hair's all messy," he said, smiling. "It looks good."

"Thanks," I said, shivering. The spinach was gone. Zara's laughter was muffled inside. The fox had disappeared into the night. And somehow, standing there in a thunderstorm with a boy who might actually like my messy hair, I didn't feel like the girl who tripped over her backpack anymore.

Maybe embarrassing yourself was just part of the plot. Maybe you had to be a disaster before you could be okay.