Frizz, Fur, and Failed Signals

Maya's hair had a mind of its own, and today it had decided to stage a full-blown rebellion against the humidity. She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, armed with a straightener and determination, mentally rehearsing what she'd say to Lucas when she finally FaceTimed him after school. They'd been flirting for weeks, and tonight was supposed to be *the night*—the first time they'd actually talk outside of their awkward hallway encounters at Northwood High.

Her cat, Mittens, clearly had other plans. As if summoned by the universe's worst timing, the calico jumped onto the counter and knocked over Maya's phone—which was currently charging, its cable dangling dangerously close to the sink. The phone slid, the cable pulled taut, and somehow both ended up in the wet basin.

"No, no, NO!" Maya groaned, grabbing handfuls of her now-frizzy hair in frustration. "Mittens, you actual demon!"

The cat purred innocently, completely unbothered by the catastrophe she'd unleashed. Maya's phone screen flickered ominously before going completely black. Her life, her social standing, her potential relationship with Lucas—all trapped inside a suddenly useless rectangle of glass.

She sank to the bathroom floor, still in her outfit for the call (crop top and ripped jeans she'd spent forty minutes choosing), and let her hair do whatever it wanted. What was the point? Lucas would think she'd blown him off. He'd probably move on to Jessica, whose hair apparently defied the laws of physics and never once looked like she'd been electrocuted.

But then—her laptop. The old Dell her dad had given her for schoolwork. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't aesthetic. But it had Skype installed, and the WiFi worked most of the time if she sat in just the right spot by her door.

The call connected. Lucas appeared, looking nervous and exactly like the kind of cute that made her stomach do backflips. "Maya? Hey! I thought—"

"My cat murdered my phone," she blurted, then immediately wanted to die. "Literally. It's dead. I'm on my ancient laptop and I'm sorry this is so awkward."

Lucas laughed. Not a mean laugh. A genuine, relieved laugh. "Dude, your cat is a hero. I've been sitting here stressing about looking cool, and now I can just be like—your hair looks awesome, actually."

Maya blinked. "It's a frizz ball."

"It's got personality." Lucas grinned. "Hey, you know my cable's been messed up too? Haven't had real TV in months. We can bond over our technological struggles."

They talked for two hours. About everything. About nothing. Maya's hair stayed frizzy. Mittens eventually wandered in and fell asleep on the keyboard (Lucas said that was "objectively the cutest thing ever"). And somehow, without the perfect lighting or the straightened hair or the phone that was supposed to make everything *aesthetic*, it was perfect.

"Tomorrow at school?" Lucas asked as the call lagged and pixelated.

"Tomorrow," Maya promised. And for once, she didn't care what her hair looked like.