Vitamin Fox on Palm Sunday

Maya's palms were sweating again. Gross, absolutely swamp-like. She wiped them on her apron, which only made it worse. Behind the counter at GreenLife Supplements, she rearranged the vitamin C bottles for the fiftieth time that afternoon. Sixteen years old and already trapped in the purgatory of summer employment.

"You missed a spot," said Fox, sliding behind the counter with that fox-like grin that made everyone either love him or want to punch him. Fox was his actual nickname — given in seventh grade when he'd talked his way out of detention by convincing the assistant principal he was delivering important "environmental samples" (which were totally just contraband chips from the cafeteria).

"Shut up, Fox."

"Your palms are all sweaty again." He leaned against the vitamin display. "Nervous about tonight?"

Tonight. The end-of-summer party at Jake's house. The party where everyone would be. The party where Maya had finally decided she would tell Jake she liked him. Instead of just liking his Instagram stories from three accounts back like a creepy phantom.

"I'm not nervous," Maya lied. "I just need more vitamin D. I'm clearly deficient."

"You literally work here and take three supplements daily." Fox flipped his phone. "Jake posted. Pool party. Palm trees everywhere. Very Miami."

"Shut. Up."

"Hey." Fox's voice softened, which was weird. "He's going to say yes."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm a fox. I know things." He pocketed his phone. "Also, he literally asks about you every time we hang."

Maya's heart did that embarrassing fluttery thing. "Really?"

"No, I'm messing with you. He never asks about you. You're doomed."

Maya threw a vitamin bottle at him. He dodged, laughing, but then caught her wrist.

"I'm lying. He does ask about you. Constantly. It's annoying, honestly."

She looked at Fox — really looked at him. For three years, he'd been her work partner in crime, her annoyance, her friend. The one who covered her shifts when she was sick. Who helped her with chem homework sophomore year when she was failing. Who noticed when her palms were sweating and didn't make her feel weird about it.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

Fox shrugged. "Because you're my friend, and you're nervous, and your palms are still gross."

"Thanks."

"Also," he said, heading to the back room, "if you and Jake start dating, who's going to help me finish organizing the protein powder aisle?"

"NOT my problem."

But she was smiling. Her palms were dry for the first time all day.

Later that night, standing under the palm trees at Jake's party, Maya would indeed tell Jake how she felt. And he would say yes. But that's not the part she'd remember most.

She'd remember Fox, earlier that afternoon, throwing a vitamin bottle back at her and saying, "You got this. And if he's an idiot, I still have your back."

Some foxes are tricky. Some are loyal. And some — the rarest kind — are both.