Running Toward Wild

My new blue **hair** was supposed to be a transformation. Instead, I'm crouched behind the bleachers, spying on Tyler like some desperate stalker instead of just talking to him like a normal person.

"You're being weird," my best friend Maya had said that morning. "Just tell him you like him already."

Easy for her to say. Maya's naturally perfect, with effortless waves and zero anxiety. I'd spent forty minutes dyeing my **hair** midnight blue because I read somewhere that blue means confident. So far, I just looked like a smurf who'd lost their confidence.

My **dog**, Barnaby, chose that moment to squeeze under the bleachers and lick my face. Great. Now I smelled like desperation and dog breath.

"Barnaby, no," I whispered, but he was already gone, trotting toward Tyler and his friends. I had to follow.

So much for subtle.

"Nice **dog**," Tyler said, grinning down at Barnaby, who was now shamelessly begging for attention. His friends laughed. I froze.

Then Tyler looked up and saw me. My blue hair. My panic. My absolute humiliation.

"Hey," he said. "I like the hair. It's... different."

Different. The universal teen code for "weird but trying to be nice."

"Thanks," I managed, my face burning. Barnaby sat between us, looking pleased with himself. The traitor.

"You're on the track team, right?" Tyler asked. "I've seen you **running** after school."

"Yeah. It's... therapeutic?"

"Cool." He smiled. "Maybe I'll join you sometime."

My brain short-circuited. Did he just say what I thought he said?

"Really?"

"Yeah." His cheeks pinked. "Unless that's weird."

"No! Not weird. I mean, it's fine. Good. I mean—" I stopped before I could embarrass myself further.

Tyler laughed. Not mean laughter. Real laughter. "Okay. Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow."

As I walked away, Barnaby trotting proudly beside me, I realized something. Maybe transformation wasn't about the hair dye. Maybe it was about showing up, even when it's terrifying. Even when you feel like you're going to **bear** your soul and get rejected.

And maybe sometimes, when you take the risk, you find out that the person you've been watching from afar has been watching you too.

"Good boy, Barnaby," I whispered, scratching behind his ears. "But you're still banned from the bleachers."