Pink Hair and Dead Goldfish

The bathroom mirror showed a disaster. My hair, supposed to be subtle caramel highlights, looked like a highlighter explosion. Senior photos were in two days. I texted Mia: *I look like a cotton candy factory exploded on my head.*

She didn't reply. Probably busy with cheerleading practice, being perfect.

"Honey, you look... unique," my mom said, wincing. "It'll fade."

"PHOTOS ARE IN TWO DAYS."

I hid in my room, glaring at my pet goldfish, Neptune, who swam around like nothing was wrong. Typical male energy — oblivious to my suffering.

Then my phone buzzed. Jason. The guy I'd been lowkey crushing on since September.

*Hey, u going to Luke's party tonight?*

*Maybe?*

*I'll be there. Hope u come ;)*

I stared at my hair. I couldn't show up looking like this. But if I didn't go, I'd miss my chance.

My grandma called. "Rowdy got out again. Can you believe it? That bull is too smart for his own pasture."

Rowdy was my grandparents' bull. My grandpa named him because he was "ornery as a rodeo," but really, Rowdy just hated fences. This was the third escape this month.

"I'll help catch him," I sighed. Anything to avoid mirrors.

The chase took forty minutes. Rowdy had cornered himself behind the barn, snorting at his own reflection in an old mirror. He looked ridiculous — massive and confused.

I laughed so hard I forgot my hair disaster for a whole ten minutes.

Back home, I found Neptune floating upside down.

No. NOPE. I refused to deal with this today. I left him there (RIP, you judgmental little swimmer) and headed to Luke's party.

Mia found me immediately. "Your hair is... DIFFERENT."

"Disaster, right? I know."

"Actually..." She tilted her head. "It's giving main character energy. Like, you're not basic anymore. You're interesting."

Jason appeared. "Whoa. Your hair is sick. You look confident tonight."

I looked at Mia's stunned expression. I thought about Rowdy, that magnificent escape artist who didn't care what anyone thought. I thought about Neptune, who'd lived his entire goldfish life in a bowl, never questioning his boundaries.

"Yeah," I said, running a hand through my pink-streaked disaster. "I guess I am."