The Fox Who Didn't Care

I've been running my whole life. Literally — cross country, track, you name it. But today? Today I'm running away from practice because Coach Miller texted that we're doing timed miles and I just can't even.

My phone's blowing up in my pocket. Probably Maya asking where I am, or my mom wondering why I haven't left school yet. But I don't check. Instead I cut through the woods behind the athletic fields, where the trail gets muddy and the tree cover blocks all service. It's kinda genius, honestly.

That's when I see it.

A fox. Like, a real one, not the gross rubber mascot head we have to wear for pep rallies.

It's just chilling by the creek, staring at its reflection in the water. Orange fur all matted and messy, but somehow it still looks better than I do after third period gym. The fox turns its head, gives me this look like, yeah, I see you, I just don't care, and goes back to doing absolutely nothing.

I freeze. My heart's still racing from the run, my phone won't stop buzzing, and I've got approximately seven overdue assignments and a coach who's gonna kill me tomorrow.

But this fox? This fox is vibing.

I take a step closer and it finally glances up again, tail flicking like whatever, you're not that interesting. And suddenly it hits me — this animal is living its best life without worrying about college applications, or making varsity, or whether Jake from English thinks I'm weird because I still listen to Fallout Boy.

I sit down on a rock near the water's edge and just breathe. The creek's making those satisfying babbling sounds that ASMR YouTube wishes it could capture. The fox drinks from the water, laps it up like it's not gross at all, then shakes itself off and trots away without looking back.

No overthinking. No second-guessing. Just gone.

My phone buzzes again. I pull it out — five texts from Maya, two from Mom, one from that group chat that never stops talking. But instead of spiraling like I usually would, I just type back to Coach: Sorry, family emergency. I'll make up the miles tomorrow.

Then I sit there for twenty more minutes, watching the water move, feeling the most chill I've felt in months. The fox is gone, but whatever energy it left behind? That's sticking around.

Tomorrow I'll deal with everything. But right now, I'm done running.