The Fox Who Saw My DMs

Maya's iPhone buzzed for the third time in thirty seconds. Aesthetic check: actual bad. Her hair was doing that frizzy thing it always did when she forgot to hydrate, and she was currently crouched behind a bush in Mrs. Henderson's backyard at 11:47 PM on a Friday.

Totally normal behavior.

The lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the reason she was there: a fox. Not metaphorically. An actual, very real, very pointy-faced fox was currently staring her down like she was the intruder here, which—rude.

She'd been chasing this fox (again, not a sentence she thought she'd ever type) for like twenty minutes since she'd seen it dash through the neighborhood while she was supposedly studying for AP Bio but actually doomscrolling through her ex's new relationship timeline. Classic Maya behavior. Her therapist would have a field day.

The fox's phone buzzed.

Wait, what?

No, HER phone buzzed. Because SHE was the fox. In the group chat. The one where her friends were planning tomorrow's hang and someone had just asked, "Anyone heard from Maya? She's been weird lately."

Weird lately. Maya stared at the notification, her thumb hovering over the screen. She'd been ghosting them for weeks, ever since her parents announced they were splitting and she'd accidentally posted a crying selfie to her close friends story and immediately deleted it and then proceeded to panic-delete literally everything and just... stop responding.

The fox took a step closer. It had the audacity to look concerned. Its amber eyes were way too perceptive for a literal woodland creature.

"You too, huh?" Maya whispered.

Another lightning strike split the sky. The fox didn't flinch.

Maya's iPhone lit up with another notification: "Everyone's at Jordan's. We're doing that thing we used to do when someone's having a hard time. You know, with the pizza and complaining about how much school sucks. Please come?"

The fox made a noise. It sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Maya laughed too, this messy, wet sound that had been building in her chest for weeks. She typed back, "On my way. Grab the pepperoni."

The fox dipped its head, almost like a nod, and vanished into the darkness as the first raindrop hit Maya's screen.

She didn't run to Jordan's. She walked, letting the rain ruin her hair, knowing she looked terrible and feeling weirdly okay with it. Sometimes the best moments happen when you're not curating them.

And sometimes, foxes just want you to answer your damn texts.