The Fox Who Found Her Glow

The orange hair dye had been a mistake. Okay, not a mistake exactly—more like an impulse purchase at CVS when I was supposed to be buying toothpaste. But standing at the edge of Maya's pool party, my newly orange curls felt less like bold self-expression and more like a flashing neon sign that said LOOK AT ME, I'M TRYING TOO HARD.

I adjusted my oversized t-shirt, ready to bolt.

Then lightning flashed across the sky, and everyone screamed as thunder rattled the patio furniture. The party moved inside, but I stayed by the pool, watching the rain create ripples across the blue surface. That's when I saw it—a fox, its copper coat shining in the porch light, padding silently through Maya's backyard like it owned the place.

It paused at the pool's edge, water dripping from its snout. It looked at me with eyes that said, *I know exactly who I am, and I don't care who's watching.*

Then it slipped away through the fence, effortless and wild.

My phone buzzed. A text from Maya: *u coming inside?*

I typed *yeah,* then deleted it. Instead, I pulled my hair into a messy orange bun and slipped into the pool, clothes and all. The water was cold, shocking, perfect.

When I finally went inside, dripping and shivering, everyone stared. But for the first time all night, I didn't want to disappear.

"Your hair," someone said. "It's actually kinda sick."

"Thanks," I said, grinning. "I know."