Orange Hair & Backup Plans

The fluorescent bathroom lighting made the orange dye job look even more catastrophic than I'd feared. Mom was going to lose it, but that was kind of the point.

"You look like a traffic cone," Jenna said, leaning against my doorframe while I contemplated my life choices. "But like, in a badass way?"

I pulled my beanie down lower. "I'm wearing a hat to school tomorrow. No questions."

"You're literally going to roast in that thing." She grinned. "Also, it's ninety degrees."

"I'd rather look like a fashion disaster than let everyone see this disaster." I gestured at my hair. "I can't just walk in looking like I dipped my head in Fanta."

Monday morning, I felt like a zombie from three hours of sleep and existential dread. The hat stayed on through first period, second period, and lunch. But third period gym? Coach made a big deal about "no headwear during physical activity."

So there I was, running laps in the gym, sweating through my t-shirt, my orange hair flopping out like I'd personally offended gravity. Everyone stared. I wanted to disappear.

Then Austin Matthews—actual Austin Matthews, who sat three rows behind me in English and never spoke to anyone—started running beside me.

"Your hair's sick," he said, like it was the most normal observation ever.

"What?" I gasped, trying not to die.

"The orange. It's bold." He shrugged. "I've been spying on your art portfolio thing on Insta. You've got style."

I nearly tripped. "You've been what?"

"Spying. Not in a creepy way!" His face got red. "Just, you know. I follow your finsta. Your stuff's actually decent."

We kept running in silence for maybe thirty seconds before I started laughing. Like, actually laughing, so hard I had to stop.

"What?" Austin looked panicked.

"I thought I was having the worst day ever," I said, pulling off the hat. "But apparently the quiet kid in English has a secret finsta and just complimented my terrible hair."

"It's not terrible."

"It's orange, Austin."

"Yeah, but like..." He paused. "Nobody else at this school would dare to do it."

Maybe he had a point. Maybe the hat wasn't the backup plan at all—maybe it was just me hiding from something I'd actually done on purpose. Something bold.

"You wanna run another lap?" I asked.

Austin grinned. "Race you."