Lightning Strikes the Bad Hair Night

The bathroom mirror showed a disaster zone. I'd attempted to dye my hair platinum blonde for Jordan's party, but instead I'd ended up with this patchy orange nightmare that looked like a cheese puff explosion. Typical. My mom's sphynx cat, Mr. Wrinkles, sat on the counter watching me with his weirdly wise, hairless face like he was judging my life choices.

"You're not helping, dude," I muttered, fighting back tears.

Outside, thunder cracked so hard the mirror rattled. Perfect timing—the storm was supposed to be nasty tonight, and I was supposed to be at Jordan's in twenty minutes looking like I'd stuck my head in a bag of Cheetos.

My phone buzzed. Jordan: you coming?? everyone's asking about u

I couldn't show up like this. Not when this was finally my chance to maybe, finally, make something happen with Jordan after months of friendly banter and near-misses at lunch. I'd hyped myself up for weeks, bought the perfect outfit, practiced my casual-but-interested vibe in the mirror.

Then the bathroom lights flickered and died. Great.

A flash of lightning illuminated everything—my disastrous hair, Mr. Wrinkles' startled leap off the counter, my pathetic reflection. In that split second of clarity, something hit me. I was so stressed about how Jordan would see me that I'd forgotten who I actually was. The person Jordan had been texting all week wasn't some blonde-haired version of me. It was me—the dork who made terrible jokes, who read too much, who maybe messed up hair dye but could laugh about it.

I grabbed my phone, found Jordan's number, and sent a selfie by lightning flash. Caption: hair disaster SOS. still coming tho?

Three dots bounced. Then: lol omg YES. we're all eating pizza and watching the storm anyway. come as u are, cheese puff hair is iconic.

Mr. Wrinkles head-butted my ankle. I laughed, threw on a hoodie, and grabbed my umbrella. Some nights, even with terrible hair and worse timing, lightning really does strike.