The Fox at Home Plate

My iPhone buzzed in my pocket like a trapped bee, but I ignored it. The screen was probably lighting up with texts from the group chat I'd left on read three hours ago. They were probably dissecting why I'd ditched Jordan's party to be here, sitting behind the backstop at the empty baseball field with Leo.

"So," Leo said, swinging his legs through the railing. "You actually like baseball, or you just wanted an excuse to skip Jordan's?"

"Both," I admitted, which earned me a grin. Leo had this way of making honesty feel easy, like sliding into home plate when you knew you were safe.

Then I saw it—a red fox trotting along the baseline like it owned the place. Its coat caught the sunset, glowing almost copper in the dying light.

"No way," Leo breathed. We both went quiet, watching as the fox sniffed at home plate, then lifted its head to look straight at us with these unreadable golden eyes. Something about that moment felt massive, like we'd been let in on a secret.

"Take a picture," I whispered. "No one's gonna believe this."

Leo fumbled for his phone, but the fox was already gone, vanishing behind the dugout as if it'd never been there at all.

"Incredible," he said, still staring at the empty baseline.

"Yeah." I reached into my backpack and found the vitamin gummies I'd packed. They were shaped like dinosaurs, definitely not meant for sixteen-year-olds, but whatever. I held them out. "Want one? They're strawberry."

Leo laughed but took two. "My mom would be proud. Very nutritious."

We sat there as the sky turned purple, my iPhone buzzing every few minutes with messages I'd answer later. Maybe not. The fox felt like a sign—some things were wild and couldn't be captured, couldn't be posted. Some things were just meant to be lived.

"Hey," Leo said, nudging my shoulder. "Same time next week?"

"Same time," I said, and for once, the buzzing in my pocket felt like background noise to something real.