Blue Hair and Dead Fish

The bathroom counter looked like a crime scene. Electric blue hair dye splattered across the porcelain, the sink stained like I'd murdered a smurf. My hands shook as I checked the timer—seven more minutes until I found out if my mom would actually disown me or just ground me until college.

Outside the door, Buster started whining. My golden retriever had been weirdly clingy all day, probably sensing my anxiety like dogs do. Or maybe he just wanted the taco I'd dropped earlier.

"Buster, chill," I whispered, wiping a smear of dye from my forehead.

The truth was, I didn't know who I was anymore. Yesterday I was Maya, the girl who got straight A's and never caused problems. Today I was Maya, the girl with blue hair who'd just lied to her best friend about being sick so she could skip Sarah's party to do this alone.

My phone buzzed. Sarah: *where r u??? everyone's asking about u*

I ignored it. In junior year, your social currency is basically everything, and I was currently bankrupting mine on impulse.

The timer beeped. I turned on the shower and stepped in, watching blue swirl down the drain like I was washing away my old self. When I looked in the mirror fifteen minutes later, I didn't recognize the girl staring back. Her hair was this wild, unnatural blue, framing a face that looked simultaneously terrified and fierce.

Buster pushed open the bathroom door and sat there, tilting his head like I was a stranger.

"Yeah, I know," I said. "Your owner's lost it."

I walked to my room and stopped cold. On my desk, Goldie's bowl sat empty. I'd forgotten to clean it after finding him floating that morning—my first real pet that was actually mine, dead after three weeks of mediocre care. The irony wasn't lost on me. I couldn't keep a goldfish alive, but I thought I could reinvent myself.

I sat on my bed, blue wet hair soaking my pillow, and started laughing. Not the fake laugh I used at parties when someone made a joke I didn't get, but real laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt.

Maybe that's what growing up actually was—messy and weird and sometimes exactly like dying your hair blue on a Tuesday night because you're tired of being everyone else's version of yourself.

Buster jumped up and licked my cheek, leaving a wet stripe across my face. For the first time all day, I didn't feel like crying.

"Yeah," I said. "We're figuring it out."

My phone buzzed again. Sarah: *okay but seriously r u okay???*

I texted back: *not really. but I will be.*