Electric At The Top

The social pyramid at Northwood High was as real as the acne on my forehead. And me? I was practically in the basement, hanging out with the drama kids and eating lunch in the library while the popular crowd ruled the upper levels.

"You going to Jordan's party?" My best friend Raj asked while we played FIFA at my house.

"As if," I scoffed. "Like I'd be invited."

"Bro, you literally got an Insta invite. Did you not check your DMs?"

My heart did this little electric jump thing. Jordan Castillo had invited me. Jordan, who sat at the apex of the pyramid. Jordan, whose hair I'd been obsessed with since seventh grade when it was short and curly, and now it was this perfect man-bun situation that made me question everything.

The problem: my hair. My mom had convinced me to get it chemically straightened before eighth grade, and now I was stuck with this weird puffy-ish straight situation that made no sense. I looked like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical outlet. Every morning was a battle against the frizz, and most days, the frizz won.

Saturday night rolled around and I was sweating through my favorite hoodie. The party was already packed when I arrived, the bass vibrating through my chest. I spotted Jordan across the room, laughing with their friends, looking effortless and perfect and completely untouchable.

I grabbed a soda and hovered near the wall, doing that thing where you pretend to be really interested in your phone while secretly watching everyone.

Then the weather turned. Summer storm, typical for July. The sky outside the windows suddenly turned that ominous purple-green, and then – CRACK. Lightning split the sky like it was personal. The power flickered once, twice, then died completely.

"Everyone stay calm!" someone shouted through the darkness.

Then someone else: "YO whose hair is standing up?!"

My hand flew to my head. Thanks to the static electricity from the lightning and the chemical straightener disaster, my hair was literally floating above my head like I'd touched a balloon. I wanted to die.

But then someone laughed. Jordan.

"Dude, your hair looks AMAZING," Jordan said, suddenly right beside me in the dark. "Like, actually iconic."

"It's the chemicals," I muttered, my face on fire. "And the lightning."

"No, it's brave," Jordan said, and I could hear the smile in their voice. "I've been wanting to do something different with mine forever, but my parents trip about it. You just go for it."

We spent the rest of the storm talking about hair and parents and how the social pyramid was stupid anyway. By the time the power came back on, I wasn't at the top of anything, but I wasn't in the basement either.

And sometimes, I learned, the best things happen when everything goes dark and your hair defies gravity.