Bad Hair Summer

When my mom chopped my **hair** into a "sensible chin-length bob" the week before freshman year, I literally wanted to evaporate.

Gone were the waist-length waves I'd spent three years growing out. Now I looked like a middle school librarian who'd given up on life.

"You'll thank me later," Mom said, sweeping my precious hair off the bathroom floor like it was confetti instead of my entire personality.

"Later when exactly? When I'm fifty?"

She didn't get it. Somehow I ended up spending that disastrous August at my aunt's juice bar in Palm Springs, hiding from anyone who might see me, when *he* walked in.

Mateo.

The guy from my PE **padel** unit who'd actually made me laugh when I tripped over my own racket in front of everyone.

"Can I get a..." He froze, staring at me. "Chloe?"

The overhead lights hummed. My apron said FRESH & FRUITY in bubble letters. This wasn't happening.

"Hey!" I squeaked. "You're... you're..."

"Mateo." He grinned, and oh no, I had forgotten how his smile had that one slightly crooked tooth. "I remember. You smashed me at padel. It was embarrassing."

"You'll get me next time." He leaned against the counter. "So... what's good here?"

My brain turned into static. The **papaya** in the fruit bowl suddenly felt like the most interesting object I'd ever seen.

"The... the Tropical Sunset? It's got papaya and mango and..."

"Sold."

For three weeks, Mateo came in every day at 3 PM. We talked about everything — his abuela's cooking, my identity crisis without my long hair, how we both hated algebra but lived for Friday night football games even though neither of us understood the rules.

My aunt kept winking at me. "You're like a different **vitamin** for him," she whispered. "He was so pale before you started working here."

"Gross, Tía, please don't."

But I caught myself checking my reflection in the smoothie blender. Maybe the bob wasn't tragic. Maybe it was... brave?

The Friday before school started, Mateo showed up with a padel racket.

"My cousin runs this clinic at the rec center," he said, not quite meeting my eyes. "Beginners welcome. If you wanted to... you know, get revenge for last semester?"

I looked at my sensible chin-length bob in the reflection one more time. I looked at Mateo's hopeful face.

"I'll be there."

My hair would grow back. But this summer? This was just the beginning.