Strike While You're Orange

I stared at my reflection, mouth slightly open. The orange dye job wasn't vibrant pop — it was like a traffic cone had melted all over my head. Sophomore year and I was finally making a statement, except the statement was apparently "I made some questionable life choices at 2 AM."

My dad poked his head in. "Great, now you'll be easy to spot when a bear mauls you."

"Thanks, Dad. Way to boost my confidence before the camping trip."

I shoved my iPhone in my pocket — last thing I needed was to drop it in a lake like Jordan did last year. The whole group was going: Jordan (my crush since eighth grade), Elena (his ex-slash-current-bestie), and me (the orange-haired third wheel who definitely didn't get a group chat invite until someone "accidentally" added me).

Three hours later, our tents were pitched and Jordan and Elena were definitely not hiking together alone. I sat by the fire, poking at it with a stick, feeling like the world's most conspicuous traffic hazard.

Then the sky opened up.

The rain came hard, washing away my carefully applied mascara (waterproof my foot). I scrambled to my tent, heart pounding, and that's when I saw it — a massive black bear sniffing around our cooler like it was reviewing restaurant options on Yelp.

I froze. Literally couldn't move. The bear looked at me, and I swear it paused, almost like it was processing my existence.

And then — CRACK.

Lightning struck so close I could taste ozone. The bear bolted. I scrambled backward, tripping over tent stakes, and my iPhone flew from my pocket, landing in a mud puddle.

I sat there in the downpour, orange hair plastered to my face, phone probably dead, absolutely soaked, and started laughing. Because somehow this was the most authentic I'd felt in months — no filter, no performance, just a terrified orange-haired girl who'd almost been bear food.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it started. Jordan and Elena came running back, both looking disheveled and guilty.

"Are you okay?!" Jordan's eyes went wide when he saw me. "Your hair..."

"Orange," I said. "Very orange. Very alive."

He started laughing, and Elena joined in, and pretty soon we were all three sitting in the mud, losing it under the clearing sky. My iPhone screen flickered to life like a tiny miracle.

"Take a picture," I said. "I need to remember this exact moment."

Later that night, wrapped in dry clothes and blankets, Jordan posted the photo: three muddy teenagers, me with my wild orange hair and the biggest, most genuine smile ever, looking like we'd just survived something. Which we had.

The caption read: "Strike while you're orange, I guess." Elena liked it first. Jordan DM'd me: "You look... kind of amazing."

I fell asleep watching the last storm clouds clear, my orange hair practically glowing in the moonlight, feeling like maybe being a walking traffic cone wasn't the worst thing in the world. Sometimes you have to get struck by lightning — almost — to see how brightly you can shine.