Fresh Cut, Fresh Start

The bathroom scissors glinted under fluorescent lights as Maya stared at her reflection. Sixteen years of the same long, dark hair—gone in five jagged minutes. Her mom was going to flip, but honestly? Maya needed something to change.

Everything had changed since Jackson made varsity baseball.

He used to be her best friend since kindergarten, the one who'd helped her through her parents' divorce, who'd let her cry on his shoulder when her cat died. But ever since baseball season started, Jackson was different. He hung with the jocks now, the guys who called her "weird" for wearing vintage band tees and reading during lunch.

Maya ran her hand over her buzzed head. The sensation was electric—like she could feel everything, like she was finally awake.

Her phone buzzed. Jackson: "Practice runs late. Can't make movies. Sorry."

Again.

Maya grabbed her backpack and headed to the community center. She'd signed up for that summer cooking class on impulse, anything to fill the endless hours of Jackson-free summer.

"Today we're working with tropical fruits," Chef Rodriguez announced, arranging a rainbow display on the counter. "Who's never tried papaya?"

Maya raised her hand, along with a guy with neon green hair and a girl with a septum piercing. They exchanged grins.

"I'm Leo," Green Hair said, sliding her a wedge of the orange-fleshed fruit. "It tastes like summer vacation."

Maya took a bite. Sweet, musky, with black seeds that spilled like tiny pearls. "It's... weird. But good weird."

"Like us," the girl with the septum said. "I'm Sam."

By the end of class, Maya had papaya juice on her chin and two new numbers in her phone. Jackson texted again: "Dinner with the team. Maybe tomorrow?"

Maya looked at her buzzed head in the reflective oven door. She looked fierce. She looked like herself.

She typed back: "Have fun. I've got plans."

The baseball field would still be there tomorrow. So would Jackson. But Maya? She was just getting started.