The Fox in the Baseball Hat

Maya pulled the brim of her brother's old baseball hat lower, effectively disappearing into her own personal cone of invisibility. It was her freshman year armor, and she needed it today more than ever.

From her spot behind the library bookshelves, she was officially on a mission. Not, like, a weird spy mission or anything—okay, maybe exactly that. She'd been watching Fox Lin for weeks now. Fox had this effortless thing going on, this way of existing that made it look like she'd never experienced a single awkward moment in her entire life. Fox always sat with the cool kids at lunch, laughing like everything was genuinely hilarious. Maya just wanted to understand how some people cracked the code to being fifteen while others were still stuck in tutorial mode.

"You're being weird again," said Charlie, dropping onto the library chair beside her. His golden retriever, Buster, had somehow followed him into school—again—and was now happily subjected to Charlie's backpack as a pillow.

"I'm observing," Maya said. "It's called social anthropology."

"It's called creeping." Charlie grinned. "Also, you have spinach in your teeth."

Maya's face burned. "Since when?"

"Since lunch. Forty minutes ago, Maya. You have been walking around with spinach in your teeth for forty minutes."

She grabbed her phone camera and—yep. There it was. A vibrant green flag announcing her existence to the world. All those covert glances at Fox's table, all that careful invisibility, and she'd had spinach in her teeth the entire time. She wanted to die. Actually die.

Then she heard a laugh.

Maya looked up. Fox was standing there, holding a copy of The Great Gatsby, smiling like she'd just witnessed something genuinely delightful.

"I mean," Fox said, "at least you own it. I spent three months in eighth grade walking around with my skirt tucked into my underwear before someone finally told me. I still have nightmares about it."

Maya's brain short-circuited. "You?"

"Me. I still catch myself checking my reflection in windows, just in case." Fox sat on the edge of the table. "Also, your hat. It's giving."

"Giving?"

"Like, it's working. The mysterious observer vibe." Fox tilted her head. "You want to sit with us tomorrow? Actually sit, not spy from the bookshelves."

Charlie, who had been pretending not to listen, gave Maya a look that said everything.

"Yeah," Maya found herself saying. "Yeah, I'd like that."

That night, she hung the hat on her closet door. Maybe she wouldn't need it tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to be seen—spinach and all.