Orange Streak

The box said 'Sunset Orange' but my bathroom mirror screamed 'traffic cone.' I'd dyed my hair on a Tuesday because Wednesday was photo day and I was done being invisible. Done letting Tyler and his basketball bros call me 'ghost boy' in the halls like it was some clever inside joke instead of just lazy.

My mom took one look at me over her coffee mug and sighed. 'You look like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket.' She didn't even ask why. She just handed me a fifty for lunch and told me to own it.

Easier said than done when your first class is PE and you've got Coach Miller barking about the mile run like it's combat training. I'd been dead last since seventh grade, asthma and zero motivation working together perfectly. But today something felt different. Maybe it was the orange hair making me feel like I had nothing left to lose, or maybe I was just tired of running away from everything metaphorically so I decided to lean into running literally.

'Laps!' Miller shouted. 'You know the drill.'

I started at the back of the pack, orange bobbing against the sea of normal. Tyler was already making gagging noises somewhere ahead. My lungs burned at the first turn. My brain supplied its usual playlist of reasons to stop: you're slow, you're weird, you dyed your hair orange for attention.

But then I remembered something my dad said before he bailed: 'The only thing worse than a bull is someone who won't get in the ring.' I'd never understood what he meant—still didn't, really—but it echoed in my head as I passed the first group of walkers. My legs found something they'd never had: momentum.

I wasn't fast, but I was consistent. One by one, I passed people. Tyler's shock when I blew past him was better than anything I could've planned. I finished fifth from last, which was basically a gold medal in my personal history.

'Nice hair, freak,' he muttered afterward, but it lacked conviction. His boys didn't even laugh.

'Do better,' I said, and walked away with orange-streaked sweat dripping down my neck, feeling like I'd finally started running toward something instead of just away from everything else.