Bad Hair Day Chronicles

The bathroom mirror showed a disaster zone. My hair, usually manageable after forty minutes with product and a flat iron, had decided to rebel against humidity and physics alike. I looked like I'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket.

"You're not gonna make it," my sister Zara announced from the doorway, holding her hairless sphinx cat like a baby. "Party starts in twenty. Jordan's gonna be there."

"Shut up, Zara." I attacked my hair with emergency spray. "And why is Colonel Fluffers staring at me?"

"He likes your hair. He's jealous he has none."

"Stop. Please."

The pool party was already in full swing when we arrived. I spotted Jordan immediately by the water, laughing at something, hair perfect even in the chlorine-scented air. My chest did that stupid flutter thing it always did.

"Go talk to them," Zara pushed me. "They asked about you yesterday."

"What? When?"

"Math class. They think your hair looks cool." She paused. "I may have told them you style it that way on purpose."

"ZARA!"

She grinned and sprinted toward the snacks. I stood there, Jordan approaching, water dripping from their swimsuit, and me with my hair defying gravity in approximately seventeen directions.

"Hey," Jordan said, smiling. "I like what you did with your hair today. It's... fearless."

I reached up, self-conscious. "It's a disaster."

"Nah." Jordan dipped wet fingers into their own hair, shaking droplets everywhere. "Hair is just hair. Mine's usually a mess too. You just can't tell 'cause I keep it wet."

They laughed, and I found myself laughing too. Something in my chest unclenched.

"Want to go in the water?" Jordan asked. "Unless your hair has strict orders to stay dry."

"It's whatever," I said, and meant it.

We jumped in together, and the best part? When I climbed out, my hair was a wet, flat, honest mess. And for the first time ever, I didn't care. Colonel Fluffers would be proud.