The Night Everything Changed

Maya stood in front of the bathroom mirror for the twentieth time, her newly dyed copper-red hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Her mom had freaked when she saw the hair dye box on the counter, but Maya needed this change. Junior year was kicking her ass, and she needed to be someone else—someone who didn't overthink everything and who actually talked to her crush without sounding like an idiot.

"You're not going to be Fox's prey tonight," she told her reflection. Fox—real name Marcus, but everyone called him Fox because he was impossibly clever and somehow always got what he wanted—had been in her history class since September, and she'd barely managed three sentences to him. All of them awkward.

Her phone buzzed. Group chat: PARTY AT JAKE'S 8PM. YOU'RE COMING.

The real problem wasn't the party. It was what she'd done yesterday afternoon. Her little brother Liam's goldfish—stupidly named Goldie because eight-year-olds had zero creativity—had died while she was supposed to be watching it. She'd flushed it down the toilet and fully intended to replace it before anyone noticed, except the pet store was closed and now she was going to a party with literal goldfish murder on her conscience.

Maya couldn't bear another day of Liam asking where Goldie was. She'd figure it out tomorrow. Tonight was about being brave.

The party was exactly what she expected: too loud, too many people, some seniors playing beer pong in the kitchen like it was the Olympics. She grabbed a soda and was pretending to be deeply interested in a poster of a bear (why did Jake have a bear poster?) when someone slid up beside her.

"I like what you did with your hair."

She turned and it was Fox. Actual Fox, standing there in his gray hoodie, looking annoyingly perfect. "You're in my history class, right?"

"Yeah, Maya."

"Cool." He gestured toward the kitchen. "Want to get some air? The juniors are being intense."

They ended up on the back porch, and it turned out Fox was just as nervous as she was. He confessed he hated his nickname. She told him about the goldfish disaster, and he laughed so hard he almost fell off the porch.

"Dude, you're lowkey a serial killer now," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Goldfish serial killer."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious. We should probably put that on your college applications. 'Experienced in cover-up operations and pet disposal.'"

She was laughing too, and then he kissed her, and her hair was perfect, and the goldfish crisis and the bear poster and all the anxiety she'd been carrying for months just evaporated into the cool night air.

Maya walked home an hour later with Fox's number in her phone and a plan to buy the exact same goldfish tomorrow morning. Some things you could fix. Some things just changed you. Her phone buzzed with a text from her mom: DID YOU REPLACE THE FISH?

She smiled and typed back: GOT IT COVERED.