Static Electricity

The sky cracked open like someone had taken a baseball bat to a cloud. Lightning split the darkness right as my iPhone buzzed in my pocket.

"You coming?" read the text from Maya, my best friend since kindergarten. Or ex-best friend. The friend situation was complicated since the cafeteria incident last week.

I stared at my palm—sweaty, despite the autumn chill. The party was three blocks away. I could already hear the bass thumping through the rain.

A flash of orange darted across the street. A fox. In the suburbs. It paused under a streetlamp, looking right at me with these glowing eyes, like it knew something I didn't.

My phone buzzed again. "Everyone's asking where you are."

The fox tilted its head. I took a step toward it, and it vanished into someone's backyard like smoke.

What was I doing? Standing in the rain, chasing wildlife, avoiding a party I'd actually been excited about until everything got weird with Maya. The social hierarchy had shifted overnight, and suddenly I was floating in this weird limbo space—not popular, not an outcast. Just unmoored.

Another lightning strike. This time I saw the fox again, or maybe it was a different one, watching from behind a parked car. It felt like a sign, though I didn't believe in signs.

I messaged Maya back: "Yeah. Omw."

The fox dipped its head like it approved, then disappeared for good. My palm wasn't sweaty anymore. The rain felt lighter.

Sometimes you just need a random encounter with nature to remember that high school drama is temporary. And that foxes are apparently everywhere, who knew?