The Taxidermy Party

Maya stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, finger-combing her frizzy hair for the fiftieth time. The party downstairs thumped with bass that vibrated through the floorboards. Her first high school party. At seventeen, she was technically "late to the game" as her cousin put it.

She pulled out her iPhone, scrolling through nonexistent messages. A notification popped up: *Mom: Remember, be home by 11. Love you!*

So embarrassing. But also kind of comforting.

Downstairs, someone yelled "SHOTS!" and Maya practically flinched. She didn't drink. Everyone knew that. But there was pressure—pressure to be someone she wasn't, someone who could handle cheap vodka and red Solo cups and pretending to care about whatever Jordan was saying.

"Hey, you hiding?"

Maya jumped. Leo stood in the doorway, holding a suspiciously red cup. The guy who sat behind her in Bio, who drew foxes in the margins of his notes and never spoke.

"Just... taking a break," she said.

"Yeah, same." Leo leaned against the doorframe. "I found something in the basement. You wanna see?"

Maya hesitated. This was exactly how horror movies started.

"Trust me," he said. "It's not creepy. Well, it's a little creepy. But like, in a cool way."

She followed him down to the basement, past couples making out in dark corners. He pushed open a door and flipped on a light.

There, mounted on shelves, was the most bizarre collection Maya had ever seen. A taxidermy fox, mid-pounce. A baby bear cub on a log. Jars of preserved specimens. In the corner, a solitary goldfish swam in a bowl, somehow alive in this museum of dead things.

"My dad's a taxidermist," Leo said. "I help sometimes."

Maya stepped closer, fascinated. The fox's glass eyes seemed to follow her. "Did you... do this one?"

"The fox? Yeah." He rubbed his neck. "I know, it's weird."

"No," Maya said, and she meant it. "It's incredible. It's like—you're preserving something. Keeping it around. Like, not letting it disappear."

Leo looked at her, really looked at her. "Exactly."

They sat on the basement floor for two hours, talking about art and death and what it meant to really *see* something. The goldfish circled its bowl, oblivious.

When Maya's alarm went off at 10:45, she didn't want to leave.

"Hey," Leo said, "want to come over tomorrow? I could teach you how to preserve leaves. Easier than dead animals."

Maya smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'd love that."

Her iPhone buzzed with another text from Mom. This time, Maya typed back: *Coming home now. Had a really good night.*

Upstairs, the party raged on. But Maya had found something better.