The Cable Guy's Daughter

Maya's dad was literally the cable guy, which meant her family's WiFi went out more often than her grandma's cat. But tonight, the 16-year-old had bigger problems than buffering Netflix.

"Your hair looks fire, bestie," Chloe said, but Maya caught her smirking behind her phone screen.

Yeah right. Maya had spent forty minutes straightening her curls, only for the summer humidity to make them frizz up like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Now she was at Tyler's end-of-summer party, trying to act normal around Leo—the guy she'd been lowkey crushing on since freshman year—while looking like a poodle that had just gotten electrocuted.

"Hey," Leo said, suddenly beside her. His eyes were that annoyingly perfect shade of golden brown. "Wanna come see something?"

Her heart did that thing where it basically forgot how to organ function. "Uh, yeah."

They ended up behind the garage, where Leo's dog Bull—a massive German shepherd who looked like he could swallow a toddler whole—was currently digging a hole under the fence like his life depended on it.

"He's trying to escape again," Leo laughed, crouching down. "Bull, you literal menace, get back here."

But Bull had found something. A baby fox, its red fur matted and scared-looking, was huddled against the fence line, trembling.

Maya's heart clenched. "Is it okay?"

"I think so," Leo said softly. "My neighbor's dog got one last year. We should probably..." He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time all night. "You have really pretty hair, by the way."

She waited for the sarcasm. Waited for the but it's frizzy as hell, or the subtle dig that Chloe and her friends were so good at.

But Leo's face was earnest. Like, weirdly earnest.

"Thanks," she said, feeling her cheeks get hot. "I, um... I kind of hate it today."

"Why?" Leo genuinely looked confused. "It looks wild. In a good way. Like you don't care what anyone thinks."

Maya stared at him. Then at the fox, who had stopped trembling and was watching them with curious eyes. Then at her phone, where she'd spent the last hour obsessing over how she looked in everyone's Instagram stories.

Maybe not caring what anyone thought was exactly what she needed.

"Yeah," she said, standing up straighter. "Yeah, I guess I don't."

Bull chose that moment to break through the fence, sending the fox scrambling into the woods and both of them laughing so hard their sides hurt.

Later that night, Maya's phone buzzed. A notification from Leo: a photo of her and Bull and the empty hole in the fence, captioned with heart eyes.

Her hair was frizzy. Her makeup was basically gone. And she looked genuinely happy.

For the first time in forever, Maya didn't feel like fixing it.