The Fox in the Room

Maya felt like a **zombie** at Tyler's party. Not the cool, scary kind from TV — more like the awkward, shuffling variety that didn't know how to exist in rooms like this. She'd been standing by the snack table for twenty minutes, scrolling through her phone like it held the secrets to the universe instead of just texts from her mom asking if she was "having fun yet."

"Nice party, right?"

Maya jumped. Chase from AP Bio was suddenly next to her, holding a red plastic cup. He was cute in that way where you don't notice until you do, and then suddenly you're noticing everything.

"It's loud," she managed.

"Yeah, Tyler goes hard." He gestured toward the living room where people were dancing. "My **dog** would lose it in here. She's basically a noise detector — barks at everything louder than a sneeze."

Maya laughed. "What kind?"

"Golden retriever mix. Her name's Bean. She thinks she's a lap dog even though she's literally forty pounds." He paused. "You have pets?"

"My **cat**," Maya said, feeling weirdly relieved to be talking about something normal. "His name is Pixel. He's an orange tabby and he judges everyone. Like, full-on stares through your soul."

"Classic cat behavior."

The **cable** connecting the speakers to someone's laptop had come loose, and the music cut out mid-chorus. A collective groan rippled through the room, and then people were laughing, someone's phone flashlight cutting through the sudden dimness.

"Welp," Chase said. "Worst timing ever."

Maya's eyes landed on Tyler's sister Harper in the corner, wearing that vintage **fox** sweatshirt from the thrift store downtown — the one Maya had wanted for weeks but never bought because she'd convinced herself it was too "extra." Harper looked like she didn't care what anyone thought, typing on her phone with this focused intensity like she was composing a novel or something radical.

"I like that sweatshirt," Maya found herself saying, pointing.

Harper looked up, caught her eye, and smiled — like, actually smiled, not that fake polite thing people did at parties. "Thanks! Thrifted it last weekend. You should come next time, I've seen you checking out the band tees."

Maya felt something shift. Like she'd been hovering on the edge of everything forever, and suddenly someone was inviting her in.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I'd love that."

The music kicked back on, but Maya didn't feel like a zombie anymore. She felt like someone who might actually belong in rooms like this — eventually, one conversation at a time.