The Fox in the Baseball Hat

Maya pulled the beat-up baseball hat lower over her eyebrows. If she couldn't see them, they couldn't see her — that was the logic, anyway. The cable-knit sweater her aunt gave her felt itchy against her arms, but fashion was pain, right?

"You look like you're plotting something," said Jordan, falling into step beside her at lunch. Jordan always smelled like vanilla shampoo and trouble.

"I'm not plotting," Maya lied. She was absolutely plotting. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — probably another text from him.

The new guy. The one with the messy dark hair and that quiet smile that made her stomach do full-on gymnastics. He'd moved here three weeks ago and already had a nickname: Fox. Because he was clever, elusive, and honestly, kind of adorable.

"Fox is looking at you," Jordan whispered, not subtly at all.

Maya's heart hammered. "No he's not."

"Girl, yes he is. He's literally looking RIGHT NOW."

Fox sat on the grass outside the cafeteria, petting Mrs. Gable's golden retriever — the school therapy dog that showed up on Wednesdays. The dog was practically mauling him with love, and Fox was laughing, actually laughing, head tilted back.

He caught Maya's eye. Smiled.

She almost walked into a trash can.

"You're hopeless," Jordan said, but she was grinning.

Later, at her locker, Maya found herself staring at the goldfish poster she'd taped up freshman year. Don't be a goldfish, it said in glitter letters. Be a shark. She'd made it after reading some self-help book about having a longer attention span than a goldfish's supposed three-second memory.

Stupid poster. But she couldn't bring herself to take it down.

"Hey."

Maya spun around. Fox stood there, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in his hoodie.

"Hey," she managed. Her voice didn't crack. Victory.

"I like your hat," he said.

"Thanks. It's my hiding hat."

He laughed — the same laugh from earlier, warm and genuine. "I get that. Sometimes I wish I could disappear into a hoodie forever."

"But then you'd miss petting the dog."

"True sacrifice." He stepped closer. "So, I was wondering —"

The school bell shrieked, interrupting him, because of course it did.

"Tomorrow?" he finished.

"Tomorrow," she agreed, grinning like an idiot.

As he walked away, Maya touched the brim of her hat. Maybe she wouldn't need it forever. But for now? It was doing its job.