The Night Everything Went Sideways

Maya's hair refused to cooperate. Again. She'd spent forty-five minutes trying to tame the frizz, but it had other plans—mostly involving looking like she'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Which, honestly, she kind of had, but that's what happens when you're rushing because your ride is honking outside and you're already fifteen minutes late to Jordan's party.

"Whatever," she muttered, grabbing her phone. "It's giving chaotic energy. That's a vibe, right?"

Her best friend, now officially her ex-best friend since she'd bailed thirty minutes before, would've said she was overthinking it. But Jordan Anderson's party was legendary status. Everyone who was anyone would be there. Including, possibly, the person Maya had been lowkey crushing on since September.

When she walked in, the bass hit her chest like a physical thing. The house was packed—people in the kitchen, on the back patio, basically everywhere. Someone had set up a makeshift palm-reading station in the corner because apparently that's what happens when your parents are out of town and you have too much time on your hands.

"You're gonna meet someone tall, dark, and mysterious," some sophomore in a tie-dye shirt told her, tracing lines on her hand. "Like, soon. Tonight vibes."

Maya laughed, pulling her palm back. "Sure, Jan. Last week you told me I'd ace my math test and I literally got a sixty-seven."

But then the back door burst open and someone screamed, "OH MY GOD THERE'S A FOX OUT HERE!"

Because that's normal. Definitely normal party behavior.

Everyone rushed outside, phones out, because apparently a fox in the suburbs was content worth filming. The fox—impossibly fluffy and looking judgingly at a bunch of drunk teenagers—just sat there near the fence like it was waiting for something.

"Wait," Maya said, squinting. "Is that... is that wearing a collar?"

"It's NOT a fox," said someone else. "That's literally somebody's dog."

"It's a FOX-DOG hybrid," tie-dye palm reader insisted. "Rare. Mystical. This confirms everything I said about your romantic future, Maya. The universe sent you a sign."

The fox-dog (definitely a dog, actually) trotted over to Maya and sat at her feet, looking up with these expectant eyes like it knew she was the only sober enough person to actually help.

"His name is Barnaby," said Jordan, coming outside with a bag of dog treats. "My aunt's dog. He's a Finnish Lapphund. They look like foxes. He escaped from the backyard."

The mystical sign deflated. The universe had not, in fact, sent Maya a romantic prophecy. It had sent her a very fluffy, very good boy who just wanted snacks.

But then Cute Crush From September—who'd been watching the whole thing from the porch—laughed and said, "Your hair looks awesome, by the way. Like, actually."

Maya's palms were sweating again. But in a good way this time.

Maybe tie-dye sophomore was onto something after all.