Poolside Fox

I was dead. Like, actually dead. My shift at the community pool had started at six AM because apparently toddlers need their swimming fix before the sun even thinks about rising. I sat in the lifeguard chair, brain operating at approximately three percent capacity, feeling very much like a zombie from those cheap horror movies me and Leo binged on cable last weekend.

Then she walked in.

Maya Rivera. The same Maya Rivera who'd sat behind me in bio since September and whose laugh I could identify in a crowded cafeteria. She dropped her towel on the chair next to mine.

"You look terrible," she said, which was devastatingly accurate.

"Thanks," I managed. "Professional lifeguard look."

The pool was empty except for some old lady doing water aerobics in the corner. Maya pulled out her phone and started scrolling. My heart was doing something embarrassing. This was it—the moment I'd been overthinking since March. Say something smooth. Something funny. Something that didn't make me sound like a complete loser.

"So," I started brilliantly. "You come here often?"

She looked up, amused. "Really? That's your opening?"

"I'm running on zero sleep and questionable life choices, cut me some slack."

Maya laughed, and I felt weirdly victorious. We talked for twenty minutes about everything and nothing—her little brother's obsession with sharks, my failed attempt at learning guitar last summer, why the school cafeteria pizza defied the laws of physics. It was easy. It was right.

Then something moved by the fence.

It was a fox. An actual, gorgeous orange fox with the brightest eyes I'd ever seen, just standing there watching us like it was totally normal to chill at a pool.

"No way," Maya whispered, grabbing my arm. "That's literally a fox."

"What do foxes even want from pools?" I asked, but I was mostly distracted by her hand on my arm and how I really hoped this moment would last forever.

The fox stared at us for another second, then trotted away like it had better places to be.

"Did we just get blessed by a pool fox?" Maya asked, grinning.

"Totally a sign."

"Of what?"

"That you should let me buy you food after my shift."

Maya considered this. "Depends. Are you going to be less zombie-like?"

"No promises. But I make excellent waffle fries."

"Deal." She checked her phone. "Two hours. Don't drown."

I watched her walk away, feeling very much alive. The fox was gone, the pool was still empty, and somehow, everything had changed.