Orange Crown in a Glass Bowl

The carnival lights blurred against my orange hair—fresh from a box of Splat my mom definitely didn't know about. Three days into freshman year, and I was already reinventing myself. Or at least my hair.

"You look like a traffic cone," Mia said, but she was grinning. She'd been my best friend since kindergarten, back when I was still boring brown-haired Emma who never took risks.

"Traffic cones get noticed," I shot back. Though standing in the middle of Sparkle Fest with a bag of cotton candy, I felt less noticed and more like I was wearing a neon sign that said TRYING TOO HARD.

That's when I saw it—the bull. Not a real one, obviously. The mechanical kind that spat teenagers off like they were nothing. Jordan from my history class was currently clinging for dear life, his face the color of grape jelly.

"Bet you can't last eight seconds," someone called.

"Eight bucks says she bails in three," another voice responded. I didn't look, but I knew it was Tyler. He'd been making comments about my hair since homeroom. "Like a goldfish," he added. "They have three-second memories. Probably matches her attention span."

My face burned hotter than my hair.

The ride operator caught my eye. "Five dollars, eight seconds. Your dignity's optional."

Before I could overthink it, I was handing over crumpled bills from my pocket. The metal seat was warm from previous riders. My hands shook.

The bull jerked to life. One second. Two. I was flying through the air, my orange crown whipping around like flame. Three seconds, four—Mia was screaming something I couldn't hear. Five, six—I wasn't thinking about Tyler or my hair or whether anyone was watching. Seven...

I sailed off sideways into the inflatable padding.

"TIME!" the operator shouted.

I lay there staring up at the ferris wheel lights, heart hammering. People were cheering. Someone helped me up.

"You did it," Mia said, beaming like she'd won something.

Later that night, Tyler appeared beside the ring toss booth. He handed me a plastic bag filled with water. Inside, a tiny goldfish swam in circles.

"Sorry about earlier," he mumbled. "You were... pretty epic up there."

The goldfish stared at me through its bowl. Three seconds, my brain supplied automatically.

I watched it swim, then watched Tyler walking away, and for the first time all day, I didn't feel like I was performing. Just a girl with orange hair, a bruised ego, and a fish that probably needed a bigger tank.

Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes that's everything.