Orange Crush

The orange hair was supposed to be my rebrand. Fresh start, junior year, new me who didn't care what anyone thought. Except I did care, obviously, which is why I spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom this morning trying to make it look intentional-chic instead of I-got-into-my-mom's-hair-dye-accident.

"Nice pumpkin, Marcus," called Tyler from his locker. He's had it out for me since seventh grade when I accidentally tripped him in gym class. Totally an accident, but he acts like I personally ruined his life trajectory.

"Thanks, bro," I shot back. "Matches your personality." Weak comeback, but whatever. I was already late for track practice.

Running was the one place where none of that mattered. Coach blew the whistle, and I took off, orange hair streaming behind me like some weird flame. My PRs were solid this season, and I had my eyes on regionals. That is, until my phone blew up mid-cooldown.

Mackenzie: party at Jared's tonight. Everyone going. You coming?

My thumb hovered over the screen. Jared's parties were legendary but also terrifying. Last time, someone broke a window and his parents almost canceled homecoming. Plus, Tyler would be there.

But Mackenzie was different. She'd transferred in sophomore year, all confidence and cool, and for some reason she actually talked to me in bio.

I was still debating when my charging cable frayed for the third time this month. Perfect. My phone died at 14%, right as I was trying to psych myself up.

Ended up going because of course I did. Jared's basement was packed, smelling like cheap body spray and teenage desperation. I spotted Mackenzie immediately—she had this way of standing out without trying.

"Marcus! You made it!" She grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the garage. "You have to try this."

The mechanical bull.

"No way," I said. "Hard pass."

"Come on, live a little. Your hair says you're adventurous."

"My hair says I make questionable life choices."

She laughed, and honestly? That was enough. I climbed on, determined not to embarrass myself completely. The operator—a senior named Carlos who looked like he was enjoying this way too much—started slow.

I lasted twelve seconds. Not terrible, but not impressive either. As I picked myself up off the padded floor, Mackenzie was smiling.

"Orange hair, black and blue butt," she said. "Nice look."

"Worth it," I decided, and I meant it.

Later, we sat on the driveway watching Tyler and his crew fail spectacularly at the bull. Mackenzie's phone was dying, so she borrowed my charging cable, which was barely holding it together.

"You know," she said, looking at my hair in the streetlight. "I like it. It's brave."

"It's orange, Mackenzie."

"Exactly." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "Nobody else could pull it off."