Papaya Stains and Pink Hair

I spent two hours dyeing my hair bubblegum pink the night before freshman orientation. This was it. The new me. The Maya who didn't exist in middle school, the one who didn't get panic attacks before gym class or eat lunch in the library every single day.

"You look like a cotton candy factory exploded," my little brother Leo said, staring at me over his breakfast.

I ignored him, grabbing a papaya from the counter. Mom had gone through a tropical phase last month, and now our kitchen was constantly stocked with fruit nobody actually wanted to eat. But I was determined to be someone who ate papayas now. Someone exotic and interesting.

The papaya was suspiciously soft. I took a bite anyway.

Big mistake.

"Oh my GOD, Leo!" I yelled, spitting it into the trash. "Why does this taste like — "

"Foot soap?" he suggested, not looking up from his phone. "It's a papaya, Maya. That's what they taste like."

I was still trying to get the taste out of my mouth when I started running to school. I'd joined the cross team over the summer because athletic people had their lives together, obviously. But mostly I just wanted to be outside when everyone else was trapped in classrooms, feeling like they didn't belong.

Third lap in, someone fell into step beside me.

"Nice hair," she said. "Did it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your soul. Did removing it hurt?" She grinned, and I realized she was joking. "I'm Riya. Also running away from our problems, apparently."

We ran the rest of the practice together, somehow managing to breathe through conversations about terrible first impressions, overbearing parents, and the universal struggle of being fourteen. Riya had blue hair. Hers was intentional. Mine was crying in the bathroom during fourth period because someone said I looked like I was trying too hard.

"Your hair's bleeding," Riya said at lunch, pointing at my pink forehead. "Also, you've got — " She gestured at her chin.

Papaya. I still had papaya on my face. From this morning.

"I was trying to be someone who eats papayas," I admitted, feeling stupid. "You know, interesting people eat weird fruits."

"Maya." Riya looked at me so seriously I thought she was about to drop some major truth bomb. "My mom's a nutritionist. I know for a fact that papayas are basically just nature's vitamin supplement. They're not interesting. They're just healthy."

She paused.

"Your hair is interesting, though. Even if it is bleeding all over your face."

I laughed so hard milk came out my nose.

That afternoon, I bought hair dye remover. And Riya came over with her mom's infamous papaya smoothie recipe, which she swore actually tasted good if you added enough honey. We sat on my bedroom floor eating takeout and watching terrible movies, and for the first time in forever, I wasn't running away from anything. I was just... hanging out. Being weird and messy and exactly who I was.

The pink hair washed out in three days. But Riya didn't care. And for some reason, that mattered more than reinventing myself ever could.