The Fox at the Pool House

Summer before freshman year, and I'm stuck at the country club because Mom's obsessed with me making 'meaningful social connections.' Whatever that means.

I'm sitting by the pool, pretending to be absorbed in my phone while other kids splash around. That's when I see her — this girl with orange hair in a high pony, moving like she owns the place. Everyone calls her Fox. Not because she's sly, but because she showed up to the eighth grade dance wearing a fox onesie and owned it so hard that nobody even laughed. That's the kind of energy I wish I had.

She's headed toward the padel courts, racket in hand, and before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and follow.

'You play?' she asks, spotting me hovering near the fence.

'Uh, yeah. Totally.' I haven't touched a racket in my life.

Fox grins like she knows I'm lying but doesn't care. 'Perfect. I need a partner for mixed doubles. These other guys are trash.'

We play for two hours. I'm terrible, but Fox keeps shouting encouragement every time I manage to hit the ball. 'There it is! That's the vitamin D you need, baby! Work on that tan!' She says everything with this unselfconscious joy that makes me feel like maybe being awkward isn't the worst thing in the world.

Afterward, we sit at the pool house, sharing a smoothie she insisted on buying.

'So,' she says, 'you starting at North High in September?'

'Yeah. I'm kinda stressed about it.' Which is an understatement. I've been losing sleep over the idea of walking into those halls knowing absolutely nobody.

Fox nods. 'I get it. But hey, now you know me. That's one person.' She punches my shoulder. 'And I know people. I'll put in a good word.'

Walking home later, my phone buzzes. A new Instagram follower — fox_fire_2024. The caption on her latest post reads: 'New padel partner unlocked. Don't suck, Liam.'

I smile. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe meaningful social connections are just people who call you out while also somehow making you feel like you can be braver than you actually are.

Freshman year might not be so terrible after all.