The Fox in My Fedora

The fedora sat crooked on my head, a dusty relic from drama class that I refused to take off even though Ms. Reynolds kept threatening to lower my participation grade. It was my armor against the world, my I-don't-care-what-anyone-thinks statement piece, even though I absolutely cared what everyone thought. Especially Jordan.

"You still wearing that stupid hat?" Jordan laughed, falling into step beside me as I left practice. Their purple track jacket was zipped to the chin, cheeks flushed from the cool November air.

"It's not stupid. It's vintage." I adjusted the brim, trying to look cool instead of like I was overthinking every microgesture.

"You're running for student council president in a fedora. Bold strategy." Jordan's eyes crinkled at the corners. "But also kinda adorable."

My brain short-circuited. ADORABLE? Jordan thought I was adorable? I tripped over nothing and nearly face-planted into the pavement.

We were almost to the parking lot when movement caught my eye. A fox—a real one, russet fur glowing in the streetlights—darted across the road, carrying something in its mouth. It paused at the edge of the woods and looked back at us, eyes reflecting golden in the darkness.

"Whoa," Jordan breathed. "That's insane. Like, actually magical."

"Yeah," I managed, my heart pounding for approximately seventeen reasons. "Magical."

"You know what foxes symbolize?" Jordan turned to me, suddenly intense. "Cleverness. Adaptability. Being whoever you need to be to survive."

The fox disappeared into the trees, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. Maybe I didn't need the fedora as armor. Maybe I could just be me—awkward, genuine, totally-into-Jordan me.

"Hey," I said, pulling off the hat and letting the wind mess up my hair for real. "You want to get bubble tea and help me with my campaign speech?"

Jordan's smile could've powered the whole city. "Only if you promise to keep the hat. It's growing on me."

Some things, I decided, were worth running toward instead of away from.