Orange Sphinx Sunset

Marcus painted his hair orange that morning because he was tired of being invisible. Three days into sophomore year, and he was still the guy who sat three rows from the back, the one teachers forgot to call on.

"You look like a traffic cone," his sister Jasmine said, not looking up from her phone. She was a senior now, which apparently gave her license to roast him constantly.

"It's called self-expression, Jazz. Look it up."

Their cat, a judgmental tabby named Pharaoh, wound around his legs and meowed for breakfast. Marcus filled the bowl while his brain spiraled through the same loop it had been running all week: **Kaitlyn noticed him on Tuesday.** She'd actually laughed at his joke about the sphinx in history class—how it was literally just asking to get robbed, walking around all stony-faced with its nose gone. But now, with orange hair, would he seem like he was trying too hard?

His phone buzzed. GROUP CHAT: **@everyone** baseball game after school, varsity vs. North. Be there or be square.

Marcus stuffed his phone in his pocket. He wasn't athletic—last season in little league, he'd been hit by more pitches than he'd connected with. The bull pen experience had been literal and figurative.

But Kaitlyn would be there.

The baseball game turned into autumn sunset perfection. Students sprawled across the bleachers, orange and gold light painting everything in that weird, beautiful way that made normal moments feel like movie scenes. Marcus spotted Kaitlyn immediately—dark hair, that oversized gray hoodie she always wore, sitting three rows up with her friends.

He sat two rows below. Close enough to possibly be noticed, far enough to not look weird.

"Hey! Orange Hair Guy!" someone called from the field.

Marcus's heart launched into his throat. It was Tyler, the varsity pitcher, dusting off his uniform. "You gonna paint your face too or what?"

Everyone turned. Kaitlyn turned.

"Only if we win!" Marcus yelled back, surprised by his own voice.

The crowd went wild. Someone slapped his back. Kaitlyn caught his eye and grinned.

Later, when the game ended and the crowd thinned out, Marcus found himself sitting alone on the bleachers, watching the sky darken. He'd actually survived. He'd spoken. People had laughed with him, not at him.

"Nice hair," a voice said behind him.

He turned. Kaitlyn. In person. Close enough to see the tiny freckles on her nose.

"Thanks. I was going for 'mysterious art student vibes,' but I think I landed on 'traffic cone.'"

She laughed, and it was better than he'd imagined. "Traffic cones are underrated. They're basically guardians of the road, you know? Like sphinxes. But more practical."

"Did you just compare me to a construction..."

"I mean it as a compliment." She sat beside him, their shoulders almost touching. "So, history class yesterday. About the sphinx."

"Yeah?"

"Nobody laughs at Mr. Harrison's jokes. Like, ever. But you did. That was... kinda cool."

The bull pen of anxiety in his chest finally settled. He wasn't invisible anymore. He was Orange Hair Guy, the sphinx-roaster, the guy who made Kaitlyn laugh.

"Wanna walk to the parking lot?" he asked. "Pharaoh—that's my cat, not the statue—probably needs dinner. And my sister will roast me if I'm late again."

"Pharaoh the cat?" Kaitlyn stood up. "That's actually genius."

They walked toward the parking lot together as the first stars appeared. Orange hair or not, Marcus was finally starting to feel seen.