Purple Hair & strikeouts

The purple hair was supposed to be a rebellion. Instead, it was a disaster.

"You look like a grape exploded on your head," my brother Jesse snorted from the driver's seat. I pulled my hood down further, fighting back tears. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The box promised "vibrant plum," not "Easter egg accident." Now I had to hide it at my cousin's baseball game.

Great.

I tugged at the cable-knit sweater Mom made me wear—something about "family photos" after the game. The wool scratched my neck. Between the hair disaster and this ugly sweater, I was practically invisible. Which was fine, honestly.

"You gonna eat that?" Jesse asked, eyeing my spinach dip.

I stabbed at it with a chip. "Yes. It's the only good thing here."

The baseball field buzzed with energy. My cousin Maya was pitching, her face concentrated in that way she got before every throw. But I wasn't watching her. I was watching him—Lucas, the boy from my English class who sat three rows back and always smelled like mint gum.

He was here. Of course he was here.

I tried to disappear into my seat. But then a foul ball came flying our way, and somehow—I still don't know how—I ended up with it in my lap.

"Nice catch," said a voice behind me.

I turned around. Lucas. He was smiling at me.

"Thanks," I squeaked. I heard my voice crack. Why did it always do that?

"I'm Lucas."

"I know," I said, then immediately wanted to die. "I mean, I'm Cassie. We have English together."

His eyes crinkled. "Yeah, I know."

He knew who I was?

"Your hair's really cool," he said, nodding at my hood.

My heart stopped. I'd been so caught up in the moment that my hood had slipped down. My purple hair was showing.

"I... it's new."

"Yeah, I can tell." He grinned. "It suits you."

Maybe the universe wasn't conspiring against me after all.

"Want to hang out after the game?" Lucas asked. "There's a snow cone stand."

"Yes," I said too quickly. Then, remembering my manners: "I mean, sure. Yeah."

As Lucas walked toward the concession stand, I caught my reflection in the window of the snack bar. The purple hair wasn't a disaster. It was me. And for the first time all day, I didn't want to hide.

Then Jesse leaned over. "You've got spinach in your teeth, by the way."

Some things never change.