Orange Hair and Hairless Cats

The orange dye still stained my mother's bathtub when Summer's text lit up my phone: pool party at 2. Don't be lame.

I stared at my reflection—freshly orange hair, newly bold, suddenly questioning everything. Was this the summer I'd finally become someone interesting, or just someone with ridiculous hair?

Her backyard was already buzzing when I arrived. The pool glittered like something from a lifestyle post. People I'd known since middle school were everywhere, somehow taller, louder, more themselves than I'd ever been.

"Yo! Riley!" Marcus called from where he was perched on the diving board. "Your hair is bold as hell."

"Yeah, um, thanks." I adjusted my towel.

Someone cannonballed. Water sluiced over the concrete, nearly soaking my sandals. Everyone laughed. I stood there, holding my towel like a shield, feeling conspicuously dry in my street clothes.

That's when I saw it—or rather, her—a sphinx cat perched elegantly on a lounge chair like she owned everything. Pink and wrinkled and utterly unbothered.

"That's Cleo," Summer said, suddenly beside me. "Weird, right? But she kind of slays."

"Yeah," I said. "She's... herself."

Summer studied me. "You know, nobody's watching you as hard as you think they are." She gestured at the pool. "Also, Marcus has been doing that same cannonball for three years. It's not even impressive anymore."

I laughed—a real one.

"Your hair's sick, by the way," Summer added. "My friend Maya did hers green last month. Her mom lost it."

My chest loosened. Just like that.

By 4 PM, I was in the water, floating on my back while orange hair fanned around me like flames. Marcus was still doing cannonballs, someone's phone played the same song for the sixth time, and Cleo the sphinx cat watched us all from her throne, completely judgmental and completely perfect.

Some things you don't find by swimming toward them. Some things you find by just diving in.