Orange Hair & Deep Water

The mistake started with a box of neon orange hair dye and ended with me standing at the edge of Miller's Creek, toes curled over the limestone ledge while everyone from school watched.

"You gonna jump or what?" Jason called out, cupping hands around his mouth like a megaphone. The same Jason who'd spent three years making my life miserable—the same Jason who was, coincidentally, currently shirtless and dripping wet like some Greek god come to torment me specifically.

My newly orange hair—which I'd dyed at 2 AM after watching too many coming-of-age movies—felt like a neon sign announcing my existence to the entire county. "I'm thinking," I yelled back, though what I was actually doing was calculating the water depth versus my chances of survival versus the probability of never showing my face at school again.

"She's not gonna do it," whispered Taylor, who I thought was my friend until approximately twelve seconds ago. "Maya's all talk."

Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the four orange sodas I'd chugged trying to look casual, or maybe it was just sixteen years of being the quiet girl who never did anything unexpected. I thought about my mother's voice in my head: "Maya Eleanor Reed, you're as stubborn as a bull when you want to be."

So I jumped.

The water hit me like truth itself—cold, shocking, absolutely undeniable. I surfaced sputtering while people cheered, and when I wiped the water from my eyes, Jason was actually smiling. Not mocking, but... impressed?

"About time," he said, extending a hand to pull me up the rocky bank. "Nice hair, by the way. Bold move."

I'd survived the jump, the attention, and apparently earned the respect of the biggest bull in school. But mostly, I'd survived myself.

"Yeah," I said, shaking orange droplets everywhere. "I'm just getting started."