Midnight in a Snapback

The snapback sat low on my forehead, a shield against the world. Jordan's party pulsing through the walls, bass heavy enough to rattle my chest. I leaned against the garage, nursing warm soda like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

"Yo, Marcus!" Devin appeared through the sliding door, already sweating, red solo cup in hand. "You good out here?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Just needed some air."

He didn't buy it. Nobody ever did.

I heard it before I saw it – scrambling, yipping, like something small fighting for its life. Then a streak of russet fur tore through Jordan's manicured backyard, a fox with something in its jaws.

Before I could process, Jordan's dog – some massive rescue they'd gotten last month – burst through the fence boards, barking like it had lost its mind. The chase was on.

"HEY!" I shouted, but my voice got swallowed by the party noise.

I was running before I could talk myself out of it, sneakers gripping the dew-soaked grass. The fox bolted toward the creek, the dog in hot pursuit. I followed, heart hammering against my ribs.

I lost them in the woods behind the subdivision, chest heaving in the damp night air. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, twice, then went silent. A fox's eerie cry echoed back.

My hat had fallen off somewhere back there.

I walked home without it, the night air cool against my forehead for the first time all evening. My phone buzzed – five messages from the group chat asking where I'd disappeared to.

I didn't answer.

Sometimes running away isn't about escape. Sometimes it's about finally finding the ground you're supposed to stand on.