The Fox at the Fence Line

I'm supposed to be at Mason's pool party, but instead I'm crouched behind the oak tree in my backyard, spying on the baseball field where Caleb practices his pitching. The way his arm snaps forward when he throws—pure poetry. I'm pathetic, I know. Fifteen years old and I've never said a single word to him, just watched from behind fences and through tree branches like some total weirdo.

Our backyards share a property line, and there's this fox I've been secretly feeding—scraps from dinner, leftover sandwich crusts. I call her Firefox because of the rusty orange patch on her ear. She appears at the edge of the woods, tail twitching, watching me watch Caleb. Even the fox thinks I'm lame.

Caleb throws a wild pitch and the ball sails over the backstop, clearing the fence and landing three feet from me. I freeze. He jogs over, and I'm literally hyperventilating. He's wearing that gray tank top that shows his shoulders and—

"You gonna grab that, or just stare at it?" he calls. "It's okay, you can be my spy for the day. Tell me if my form's trash."

"I wasn't—" I start, but he laughs and it's this actual sound, not the fake laugh I've heard from across the cafeteria.

"Kidding. You're Maya, right? From Mr. Harrison's English?" He leans against the fence while I toss the ball back. "My dad's been on my case about pitching. He thinks if I don't make varsity this year, my entire future is ruined. It's a lot."

We talk for twenty minutes while Firefox curls up in the grass nearby. About his pressure with baseball, my anxiety about freshman year, how we both feel like everyone expects us to be people we're not. The popular jock and the quiet girl who watches from behind trees. Neither of us is really who people think.

"Pool party at Mason's," I say, pointing toward the noise two houses down. "You should come. After practice, I mean. If you want."

Caleb looks at the baseball in his hand, then at me, then at Firefox watching us with those amber eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Later that night, I'll text my best friend: remember how I said life was boring? Yeah. Never mind.