The Fox at the Empty Pool

The neighborhood pool glowed blue in the twilight, and I was officially done with tonight. Done with Tyler's epic graduation party that had somehow turned into everyone pairing off while I stood there nursing the same vitamin water for two hours. Like, who brings vitamin water to a pool party? Me. Apparently.

I slipped away from the noise, my flip-flops smacking against the concrete as I rounded the corner to the gated-off lap pool. Empty, quiet, perfect.

"Nice escape?" A voice from the shadows.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Leo, Tyler's older brother, was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water. He was wearing this fox-print shirt that was somehow cool and ridiculous at the same time.

"You scared the crap out of me," I said, but I sat down anyway, leaving three feet of respectable distance between us.

He shrugged, grinning. "You come here every year."

"What?"

"Tyler's parties. You always sneak off to the lap pool around 11. I've seen you."

My face burned. I'd thought I was being subtle.

"You're like a fox," he said softly. "Quiet. Always watching from the edges. But foxes are actually really smart. They adapt. They survive."

"You think I'm a fox?"

"I think you're better than this." He gestured toward the main pool, where someone had just done a cannonball and everyone screamed. "All that." He looked at me then, really looked at me. "You don't have to perform for them. The ones who matter will notice you anyway."

Something in my chest loosened. He'd noticed me. All these years, he'd noticed.

"My mom makes me take those vitamins," I blurted out, holding up my vitamin water. "She says I need to grow a spine."

Leo laughed, and it was the best sound I'd heard all night. "You already have one. You just haven't figured out how to use it yet."

We sat there until the pool lights clicked off, talking about everything and nothing. For the first time in my life, I wasn't watching from the edges. I was right in the middle of something real.