Orange Hair, Old Bear

Maya's mom practically force-fed her the **vitamin** gummies every morning, like they were magic pills that would fix everything. "For your immune system, mija," she'd say, pressing them into Maya's palm before first period. As if vitamins could help with the actual immune system killer: sophomore year.

The first day back, Maya walked in with newly dyed **orange** hair—bright, chaos orange, the kind that screamed I'M HERE even when she wasn't sure she wanted to be. Her crush, Jamison, actually noticed. "Sick hair," he'd said in the cafeteria line. Maya's stomach did that embarrassing flip thing, and she'd mumbled thanks while staring at her shoes.

Now she was hiding in the media room at Keisha's house party, nursing a warm soda, wearing her dad's old **cable** knit sweater because she'd been too nervous to wear the cute top she'd planned on. The sweater was basically a social blunder in wool form—itchy, shapeless, and radiating I peaked in middle school energy.

"You look like you're plotting something," said a voice. Maya looked up. It was Jamison, holding two cups of juice.

"Just... existing?" Maya winced. Good one. Real smooth.

He sat beside her. "I get that. Parties are low-key exhausting."

They ended up talking for an hour about everything and nothing—video games, why their English teacher was weirdly obsessed with symbolism, the time Maya's childhood **bear** got lost at Disney World and her dad spent three hours searching while she sobbed hysterically. Jamison actually laughed at that story, not in a mean way, but like he got it.

"I still have that bear," she admitted, feeling weirdly brave. "Mr. Floof. He sits on my bed."

"That's actually kind of iconic," Jamison said. "I have this old blankie I can't throw away. Don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me," Maya said, and suddenly the orange hair didn't feel like too much anymore. The sweater was still a choice, but whatever. Sometimes the weirdest parts of you were exactly what made you worth knowing.

Her phone buzzed—her mom, asking if she needed a ride. Maya typed back yes, feeling lighter somehow. Vitamins couldn't fix everything, but apparently, showing up as your messy self wasn't the worst strategy either.