Orange Hair Summer

Maya stared at her reflection, the fluorescent bathroom light making her newly **orange** hair look like a traffic cone. Well, technically "sunset coral," but her phone's camera had been brutally honest. Three weeks until sophomore year, and she'd already messed up her reinvention.

The text came through: carnival tonight. You coming?

Her thumb hovered over her **iPhone** screen. Last year, she'd been the quiet girl who packed **spinach** wraps for lunch while everyone else traded Dunkaroos. This summer was supposed to be different. Bold. New Maya.

"You going?" her mom called from downstairs. "Your **vitamin** supplements are on the counter!"

"Yeah, whatever."

The carnival smelled like fried dough and desperation. Maya found her friends by the Ferris wheel, their phones glowing like fireflies in the dusk.

"Whoa," said Chloe, the girl who'd ruled their grade since seventh grade. "Love the hair. It's... brave."

"Thanks," Maya lied, smoothing her frizzy curls.

Then she saw him.

The guy from her history class, the one who drew comics in the margins of his notes. He was wearing a vintage **bull** riding t-shirt, the kind you'd find at a thrift store for seven dollars. He caught her eye and actually smiled.

"Nice hair," he said. "My sister tried to dye hers blue once. It came out green for a month."

"This was supposed to be coral," she admitted. "Obviously failed."

"Nah, it's fire," he said, and for the first time all summer, Maya believed it.

They ended up sharing cotton candy, watching people scream on rides they both refused to go on. His name was Leo. He drew a picture of her on a napkin—a stick figure with wild orange hair and a smile that took up her whole face.

"Maybe I'll keep it," she said, touching a curl.

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe you should."

Later, she checked her phone. Three texts from her old group, wanting to know where she'd gone. She ignored them.

Some reinventions didn't start with a plan. Some started with a box of hair dye and a boy who drew pictures on napkins and made you feel like being different was exactly what you were supposed to be.