The Fox at Home Plate

The blue streaks in my hair weren't even dry yet, so I was hiding under my dad's old baseball cap like it was a witness protection program. Three days into freshman year, and I was already _that girl_ — the one who thought dyeing her hair midnight blue would somehow make her interesting. Spoiler alert: it didn't. It just made me look like I'd lost a fight with a highlighter.

"You coming to the game?" Marcus asked, spinning a baseball between his fingers like it was no big deal. Marcus Torres, varsity shortstop, accidentally gorgeous, and currently speaking to me in the parking lot before school. I'd been crushing on him since seventh grade health class, when he'd asked if hand sanitizer counts as a hygiene product and I'd laughed so hard I snorted.

"Probably," I managed, though the truth was I hadn't missed a single game all season. I'd sit in the bleachers with my sketchbook, pretending to draw while actually memorizing how his jersey clung to his shoulders when he wound up for a pitch. "My friend's cousin is on the team."

_Liar._ My only friend was a dead beta fish I'd buried in a shoebox behind the garage three months ago. I'd won that goldfish at the county fair last summer, named him Fernando after my abuelo, and accidentally loved him to death with overfeeding. That's the thing about being fifteen — you somehow manage to break everything you try to keep alive.

Marcus grinned, and my stomach did this embarrassing full-body swoop. "Cool. Maybe I'll catch you afterward."

"Maybe," I said, pulling my hat lower like that would somehow hide the fact that my face was approximately the shade of a stop sign. Then I spotted it — a fox, orange as a sunset, watching us from behind the dumpster near the baseball field. It tilted its head, almost like it was laughing at me.

"You see that?" I pointed.

Marcus looked, but the fox was already gone, vanished into the tall grass like it had never existed. "See what?"

"Nothing." I adjusted my hat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look. "Just... nothing."

"Hey." Marcus stepped closer, and I could smell cedar and something distinctly like sunlight. "Your hair's showing."

I froze. "Oh. Crap."

"It looks good," he said, and something in his voice made me believe him. "Blue suits you."

The fox peeked out from behind the dumpster again, ears perked up like it was waiting to see what happened next.

"Thanks," I whispered, and for the first time in forever, I didn't pull the hat back down.