Cable Kings and Bad Hair Days

The first weekend at Jared's cabin should've been legendary. No parents. No rules. Just the squad and "actual freedom," as Tyler kept announcing at maximum volume every five minutes.

But here I was, locked in the bathroom mirror spiral, examining my hair like it held the secrets to the universe. I'd started taking those gummy hair vitamins because TikTok said they'd make you "main character energy" ready, but so far, the only thing main character about me was the anxiety.

"You good in there?" Maya called through the door. "Cable's out again."

Cable. The cabin's ancient internet situation had been dying all weekend, which meant no streaming, no posting, and critically—no fresh content consumption to distract from the fact that I was significantly overthinking everything.

"One sec," I lied, applying another coat of something that promised "effortless texture."

When I finally emerged, Tyler and Jared were on the porch, arguing about running into town for better signal. Because apparently, being offline for forty-eight hours was practically medieval torture.

"We're bear-aware, bro," Jared was saying, gesturing at a cheesy sign near the driveway. BEAR COUNTRY: SECURE YOUR TRASH.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll bear with it," Tyler groaned. "But I need to check my streaks."

Maya found me on the deck, breathlessly describing how she'd almost hooked up with Tyler's cousin before the cable situation killed her playlist timing.

"You're overthinking," she said, reading my soul. "The hair? It's giving main character energy. The vitamins? Placebo, but like, in a good way. Just vibe."

"Vibe?" I laughed. "Maya, I can't even vibe properly without WiFi."

Then Jared screamed.

We all rushed outside—there, rummaging through the outdoor garbage like he owned the place, was an actual bear. Actual bear. Not metaphorical. Big, fuzzy, distinctly unbothered by our collective teenage crisis.

"What do we DO?" Tyler whisper-shouted, finally not caring about his streaks.

"Back away slowly," I heard myself say, recalling every nature documentary I'd half-watched while scrolling. "Don't run. They chase running."

So we stood there, four teenagers who'd been stressing about hair and internet and social performance, watching a bear eat week-old pizza boxes like it was fine dining. My hair was a mess. The vitamins in my pocket felt ridiculous. The cable was definitely not coming back anytime soon.

And for some reason, I started laughing.

Maya joined in. Then Tyler. Even Jared cracked up, still keeping his eyes on the bear.

"This is so stupid," Tyler said, wiping actual tears. "We're literally being held hostage by a trash panda with a testosterone problem."

The bear glanced at us, entirely unimpressed, and lumbered off into the woods like we weren't even worth robbing.

We sat on the porch for hours after that, not checking our phones (because, cable), not caring about hair or vitamins or whatever performative coolness we'd planned. Just watching the sunset and talking about everything and nothing, until Maya grabbed my hand and said, "Okay, THIS is the legendary part."

My hair was still a mess. But for the first time all weekend, I didn't care.