Hair Disaster Friday

My hair was supposed to be sunset orange, not traffic cone orange. I stared in the mirror, wanting to cry but refusing to give my sister the satisfaction.

"It's not that bad," Maya lied, badly. She'd talked me into this DIY dye job, promising salon results for twenty bucks. "Just wear a hat for school tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's the fall formal, Maya." I slumped onto my bed, next to my goldfish bowl. Goldie floated there, looking judgmental. Even my fish was living her best life more than me.

Mom's voice drifted up from downstairs. "Did you take your vitamin?"

"Yes!" I shouted back. Because apparently, at sixteen, I still needed reminders to take a daily multivitamin or I'd get, like, scurvy or something.

The real problem wasn't even my hair anymore. It was that Jason—the absolute bull of a varsity captain who'd been flirting with me all week—was going to see me looking like a radioactive traffic cone.

My phone buzzed. Jason: "Can't wait for tomorrow. You look great in orange."

I froze. "He's talking about my hoodie from yesterday," I told Maya. "Not knowing my hair would end up orange. That's not—"

"Bro saw your Insta story, didn't he?"

Oh. OH. I'd posted a screenshot of the dye box captioned "adventurous era incoming." He'd thought it was bold, not a disaster.

My hair was still terrible. But maybe Jason wasn't. And maybe that was enough.

"Hat," I decided. "But I'm going with confidence."

Maya nodded. "Now that's the glow-up."