Kai and the Vitamin C Conundrum

I stared at my reflection, yanking a comb through my hair for the third time that morning. Mom swore the new biotin shampoo would make it 'pop,' but mostly it just looked like a brown frizz bomb exploded on my head. Meanwhile, Jenna's perfectly straight blonde hair probably had its own Instagram account by now.

"You need a vitamin D supplement," she'd announced at lunch yesterday, sliding a gummy bottle across the cafeteria table like contraband. "Your skin is literally glowing from staying inside all weekend. It's giving vampire, not mysterious."

I took the gummies. I always took whatever Jenna offered, even when it made zero sense.

The next morning, I was power-walking past the Miller house when their golden retriever, Barnaby, spotted me. Suddenly, I was running. Full-on, arms-flailing, panic-running. Barnaby wasn't even chasing me—he was just excitedly trotting alongside, tongue hanging out like we were best friends on an adventure.

My hair whipped into my eyes. The vitamin gummies bounced in my pocket. Barnaby barked happily.

"Kai!" called Maya from her driveway. She was THE Maya—junior varsity track star, somehow cool with everyone, impossible to talk to without sounding like an alien trying human language for the first time. "Nice form!"

I skidded to a stop, chest heaving. "Just... cardio?"

She laughed. Not mean-laughed. Actually laughed. "Barnaby's a thief. He stole my track phone last week. Want help catching him?"

We walked together, Barnaby leading the way like a fuzzy GPS. Maya didn't mention my frizzy hair or question why I was randomly sprinting at 7 AM. She talked about ditching track practice because she missed painting, how she'd transferred from private school last year because she felt like a 'NPC in her own life,' how her mom made her take the same stupid vitamin gummies.

"Wait," I said, pulling the bottle from my pocket. "Jenna gave me these too."

Maya squinted at the label. "These are expired. By two years."

We stood there on the sidewalk, Barnaby wagging his tail like he'd just orchestrated the world's most perfect meet-cute. The sun hit my hair—actually making it glint, not glow. Maya's eyes crinkled when she smiled, genuine and messy and real.

"So," she said, "you running tomorrow?"

"Only if Barnaby chases me."

"Deal."

I tossed the expired vitamins in the next trash can we passed. Some things you outgrow. Some things you run toward. And sometimes the coolest moments happen when your hair looks like a frizz bomb and you're being chased by a golden retriever named Barnaby.