Lightning in a Bottle

Maya's hair was gone. Well, not gone-gone, but the waist-length waves she'd had since middle school were now a jagged chin-length bob. She burst into my room with a beanie pulled low, looking like she'd fought a lawnmower and lost.

"Dude," I said, setting down my phone. "Your hair."

She yanked off the hat, revealing the uneven ends. "I did it myself. Last night. During the storm."

Maya had been my best friend since fourth grade, but lately she'd been different. Distant. Secretive. I'd turned into a total spy, checking her Instagram stories the second she posted them, analyzing her mood based on her playlist choices. Pathetic, I know, but best friend obsession is practically a teenage requirement.

"Why?" I asked, touching the chopped strands.

"Because I wanted to, okay?" She snapped, then softened. "Sorry. It's just – everyone's always like, 'Maya's so pretty, Maya's got perfect hair,' and I'm like, am I though? Who am I underneath all this?"

The lightning flashed outside, illuminating her desperate expression. Thunder rattled my window frame.

"You're Maya," I said. "The one who makes me laugh so hard soda comes out my nose. The one who binge-watched all eight Harry Potter movies in one day with me when we had the flu. You think changing your hair changes that?"

She stared at me. "I don't know. I feel like I'm supposed to be someone else sometimes."

"Well, you're not," I said. "You're the person who just gave herself a horrific haircut with kitchen scissors during a thunderstorm because she couldn't sleep. That's weirdly badass."

Maya finally cracked a smile. "It is pretty badass."

"It's tragic, actually. I can fix it. Maybe. Or we can shave it all off and you can pull a Natalie Portman."

"Don't you dare." She put the hat back on, grinning now. "Thanks, though. For not freaking out."

"Freaking out is my job," I said. "Just, next time you have an identity crisis at 2 AM, maybe text me first? I'm excellent at crisis management. I once talked you off a ledge because you thought you liked Twilight too much."

"That was a legitimate crisis!" She flopped onto my bed. "Friend, you have terrible taste in vampires."

"And you have terrible hair, but we're working with it." I grabbed my laptop. "YouTube tutorials, here we come. If we're gonna fix this disaster, we're gonna need professional guidance."