The Fox at Tyler's Party

The bass thumped through Tyler's basement walls, rattling the empty soda cans scattered everywhere. Emma stood near the snack table, clutching her Solo cup like it was a lifeline. She'd been invited to her first high school party, and she was absolutely lowkey freaking out.

Then she saw her.

A girl with wild copper hair that caught the dim lighting, moving through the crowd with effortless grace. Everyone called her Fox—not because of some cheesy nickname, but because she was clever and quick and always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else. Fox was the kind of person who owned every room she walked into, while Emma was still trying to figure out how to exist in one.

Fox's hair wasn't just red. It was that perfect orange-gold that made you think of autumn leaves and sunset drives with the windows down. Emma had been quietly obsessed with that color since middle school, back when she'd drawn little oranges in the margins of her math homework whenever she felt anxious.

"Hey," Fox said, suddenly standing right there. "You look like you're calculating your escape route."

Emma's face burned. "Is it that obvious?"

"Nah." Fox grinned, all easy confidence. "I just have excellent radar for my fellow introverts. You're hiding behind the chips like they're a shield."

They ended up on the back porch, away from the noise. Fox told her about how she'd gotten her nickname—something about outsmarting a security guard during freshman year—and Emma actually laughed, really laughed, for the first time all night.

"You know what's weird?" Fox said, gesturing to a plastic bag on the porch rail. "Tyler's parents have this giant goldfish pond in the backyard, and the fish supposedly have three-second memories. So they're just swimming around, constantly discovering everything for the first time. No wonder they look so chill."

"That's actually the most relatable thing I've ever heard," Emma said. "That's literally my brain at school. Just rediscovering that I forgot to do the homework, over and over again."

Fox laughed so hard she choked on her juice.

When Emma's mom picked her up at eleven, she didn't want to leave. For once, she hadn't been the quiet girl in the corner. She'd been someone Fox actually wanted to talk to.

"Same time next week?" Fox asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah," Emma said, and she meant it. "Same time next week."