Disconnected

Maya's hair was supposed to be blonde. Like, actually blonde — not the "my mom says it's natural blonde" that was really just dishwater brown with ambition. She'd saved up for three months working at Scoops, listening to customers complain about their ice cream being too cold, to afford the appointment at Jazzy's, the salon where all the popular girls went.

Now she sat in the swivel chair, watching her reflection morph in the mirror as Jazzy painted foils onto her head. The chemical smell burned her nose, sharp and weirdly exciting. Like change.

Her iPhone lay face-up on the counter, screen lighting up every thirty seconds with notifications. TikTok likes. Snap streaks. Instagram DMs from her group chat debating whether to go to Jake's party Friday or whether Jake was even worth the gas money.

"You good?" Jazzy asked, catching Maya's eyes in the mirror. "You've been staring at your phone for twenty minutes without touching it."

Maya blinked. Had she? She reached for the iPhone instinctively, thumb hovering over the screen. "Just... waiting. For my hair."

"Girl, your hair's gonna take an hour," Jazzy said, chuckling. "What's actually wrong?"

Maya's throat tightened. She'd been asking herself the same question all week. Why did everything feel so... automatic? Wake up, school, practice, scroll through content she didn't even like, post stories she didn't even care about, sleep, repeat. She was moving through her life like a zombie — body present, brain somewhere else entirely.

"I think," Maya said slowly, "I think I forgot how to be bored. Like, actually bored. Not scroll-bored. Just... sitting with my thoughts bored."

Jazzy's eyebrows shot up. She set down the foil packet and leaned against the counter. "You know what? Same. I caught myself scrolling TikTok while my kid was showing me his drawing yesterday. Like, what am I doing?"

Maya looked at her iPhone again. The screen lit up with another notification — someone asking if she was coming to the party Friday. She'd probably go. She'd probably stand in a corner, holding a red solo cup she wouldn't drink from, fake-laughing at jokes she didn't find funny, taking photos she'd edit and post and then obsessively check for likes.

Zombie behavior.

"Hey Jazzy?" Maya said suddenly. "Can you turn my phone off?"

Jazzy stared at her, then grinned. "Girl, you sure?"

"Yeah." Maya slid the iPhone across the counter. "Keep it till my hair's done."

For the next hour, Maya sat in the silence. She watched Jazzy work. She thought about Jake's party, about whether she actually wanted to go, about what she'd do if she wasn't constantly performing for an audience she couldn't even see.

When Jazzy finally pulled off the foils and rinsed her hair, Maya barely recognized the girl in the mirror. The blonde was bright and bold and unapologetic. New.

"Damn," Jazzy said, turning her chair around. "You look like yourself."

Maya studied her reflection. The new hair was perfect, but something else was different too. Her eyes looked clearer. More present.

"Can I have my phone back?" she asked.

Jazzy slid it across the counter. The screen was dark. No new notifications that mattered.

Maya picked it up, then slipped it into her pocket without unlocking it. She could check everything later. Right now, she had new hair to get used to. And maybe, just maybe, a life she actually wanted to show up for.