Poolside Fox

Maya's phone buzzed for the tenth time in five minutes. Emma's texts lit up her screen: "u coming??" "we need 2 talk" "plz respond"

She chucked her phone onto the pool chair and grabbed her goggles. The community pool was practically empty — Tuesdays were basically ghost towns, which was exactly what she needed after the fight yesterday. The one where Emma had called her "fake" in front of half the sophomore class.

The **water** was that weird perfect temperature — not warm enough to be gross, not cold enough to shock. Maya pushed off the wall, slicing through the silence. No group chat drama. No fake friends. Just the rhythmic splash of her own breath.

She surfaced after lap twelve, blinking chlorine out of her eyes. That's when she saw it.

A **fox" stood at the chain-link fence, unmistakable russet coat and that everything-I-do-is-intentional vibe. It watched her with amber eyes, like it was evaluating her form. Maya tread **water**, frozen.

The fox sat down. It actually sat.

"You gonna critique my stroke too?" Maya called out, voice echoing across the pool deck.

It tilted its head. Then it did this tiny nod — Maya swore it was a nod — before slipping back into the woods behind the rec center.

Maya's phone buzzed again from the chair. Emma again. But suddenly it didn't matter as much. Some people brought drama like it was their full-time job, and some creatures just showed up, saw you at your most basic level, and kept it moving.

She pulled herself out of the pool, dripping and oddly lighter. The fox hadn't fixed anything with Emma, but honestly? Some people were seasonal. And maybe that was okay.

Her finger hovered over Emma's text. Then she swiped left instead of opening it.

Tomorrow she'd bring extra grapes to the fence line. Something told her the fox would be back. And unlike certain people who called themselves her **friend**, this one didn't need anything from her.