The Fox Behind The Fence

Maya's green hair wasn't supposed to look like pool algae. That's what happened when you tried to dye it yourself with a box kit from CVS because your mom refused to pay for salon highlights the week before eighth grade graduation.

"It's... bold," her best friend Chloe said, wincing.

"Bold" was code for "a disaster."

Now they were at Tyler's pool party—the party of the summer—and Maya was wearing a baseball cap indoors. Smooth.

Through the sliding glass doors, she could see Tyler playing padel with his friends on the court behind his house. Padel was that tennis-ish sport everyone was suddenly obsessed with, the one Tyler's dad had installed because apparently regular tennis wasn't pretentious enough.

Tyler's hair fell in his eyes when he served. Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when she looked at him—the thing that felt like she'd swallowed a live fish.

"You should just talk to him," Chloe said, bumping her shoulder. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could laugh at me. Or worse, be nice about it."

Chloe snorted. "The horror."

Maya adjusted her cap, feeling the strands of green hair poking out the back, mocking her. Why did she care so much? It was just Tyler. It was just hair. It was just—

"Hey, Maya!" Tyler was suddenly standing there, wiping sweat from his forehead, racquet still in hand. "Thought I saw you hiding inside. You coming to swim or what?"

"I, uh..."

Her hat tipped sideways. A lock of algae-green hair escaped.

Tyler stared.

Maya's face burned. She reached for her hat, but then—something shifted. She looked at him, really looked at him. He was just a boy who played too much padel and thought he was cooler than he actually was.

"It's supposed to look like this," she said, tossing the hat onto a nearby chair. "It's called mercore. Google it."

"Mer... core?"

"Yeah. It's a whole aesthetic." She tilted her chin up. "What, you're not into it?"

Tyler blinked. He looked at her hair. Then at her face. Then he smiled—a real one, not his fake party smile.

"Actually... it kinda works. You're like, foxy with it."

"Foxy?" Maya laughed. "Who says foxy anymore? Are you a grandpa?"

"Shut up," Tyler grinned. "Come swim. The pool's actually not gross for once."

Maya stepped toward the door, green hair flowing free. Maybe eighth grade wasn't going to be so bad after all.