Orange Courts and Wild Hair

I showed up to the padel courts with my hair looking like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. My mom had convinced me to try this 'natural orange henna' DIY treatment she found on TikTok, and instead of subtle highlights, I looked like a traffic cone.

I'm already slinking toward the exit when I hear, 'Yo! Carmen! We need you on our team!'

Jordan's waving me over like a maniac, and before I can ghost them, Marcus catches sight of me. The bull of sophomore year, the guy who literally charged through the cafeteria last year when someone cut in front of him at the pizza line. He's already on the court, sweat dripping, serving at like 100mph.

'Love the hair, Carmen,' Marcus smirks. 'Very... bright.' His friends snort.

My face burns hotter than the orange disaster on my head. I'm about to bolt when my phone buzzes. My dog Buster had been waiting by the fence again—my brother sent a pic of him looking pathetic without me. That goofball is my emotional support animal, even if he is just a golden retriever who thinks every stranger wants to be his best friend.

Something shifts. I'm already having the worst hair day ever, and Marcus is being his typical douchey self. Why not lean into it?

'You like it?' I call back, flipping my neon curls. 'It's called making a statement, Marcus. You should try it sometime instead of whatever that basic fade is.'

The whole court goes silent. Jordan's jaw drops.

Then Marcus laughs—actually laughs, not his usual mean chuckle. 'Alright, then. Let's see if that orange hair comes with any game.'

We play. I suck, honestly. But every time I miss a shot, I flip my hair like it's part of the strategy. By the time we finish, Marcus daps me up and Jordan's live-tweeting my glow-up.

Walking home, Buster jumping all over me, I catch my reflection in a store window. The orange is still ridiculous, but maybe that's not so bad. Sometimes the worst disasters make for the best stories—and honestly? Traffic cone hair kind of slays.