Orange Hair, Dead Goldfish

Bleach burned my scalp for the third time, but I didn't care. Tonight was the baseball game where Josh would finally notice me. I'd been invisible since freshman year, just the quiet girl in AP Bio who everyone forgot existed. But this—this bright, neon orange hair would change everything.

My goldfish, noodles, floated sideways at the top of his bowl again. Third time this week. Mom said he was old, that fish didn't live forever anyway, but something about watching him spiral down felt like watching my own potential decay. Feed him, change his water, watch him struggle, repeat. Just like high school.

"Riley! You're gonna be late!" Mom yelled from downstairs.

I checked the mirror. The orange screamed against my pale skin, looked radioactive. Perfect. Josh played center field and always sat behind me in history. Maybe this would be the thing that finally made him say something more than "can I borrow a pencil."

The baseball field buzzed under Friday night lights. My stomach did that awful flip thing it always did when I saw his number, 23, warming up near the dugout. I squeezed into the bleachers next to Maya, who was already scrolling through her phone with those fake eyelashes that made her look perpetually surprised.

"Holy shit, Riley." Maya looked up, eyes wide. "Your hair."

"Yeah, I—"

"It's giving... orange highlighter that exploded in a backpack."

I shrank inside my oversized hoodie. "That bad?"

"No, it's giving main character energy. Seriously. Josh is literally looking over here right now."

I froze. Josh Anderson was looking. At me. With the orange hair that made me look like a radioactive traffic cone. He jogged over, still in his uniform, and my heart launched itself into my throat.

"Hey." He leaned against the bleachers, all sweaty and gorgeous and completely terrifying. "Your hair looks sick."

"Thanks." I managed, voice cracking. "Just wanted to switch it up, you know?"

"Yeah. For real." He fidgeted with his batting gloves. "Hey, my goldfish died yesterday. Bubbles. I know that sounds stupid, but I've had him since sixth grade."

I stared at him. "My fish is dying too. Noodles."

Josh smiled, actually smiled, and it was different from his usual baseball field swagger. Something real underneath. "Wanna go get food after the game? I know this place that has great orange chicken."

"Yeah," I said, and for the first time in forever, I didn't feel invisible. "Yeah, I'd like that."