The Day I Became an Orange

The bathroom mirror showed exactly what I'd expected: brown hair, same as always. But after thirty minutes with that box dye Maya swore would make me look like an Instagram model, I washed it out and—no joke—my hair looked like a traffic cone.

"OMFG," I whispered. This wasn't the warm auburn I'd paid for. This was nuclear orange. Like, orange orange.

Maya FaceTimed me immediately. "Actually, it's iconic," she insisted. "Very avant-garde. Very 'I did this on purpose and I'm secure.'"

"Very 'I'm going to die of embarrassment' is more like it." Because tomorrow was the first baseball game of the season, and I was the starting pitcher. The entire school would be there, including Jordan, who'd finally noticed me at lunch last week.

I spent all night researching fixes. Lemon juice would only make it blonder. Box dye over it? Risky. Which is how I ended up at school the next day wearing a beanie in 70-degree weather, sweating through first period while my teammates gathered around my locker like they'd never seen someone commit social suicide before.

"Bro, you look like a pumpkin," said Ryan, the shortstop who'd been crushing on me since seventh grade and chose to express it by being annoying 24/7.

"Shut up, Ryan."

"Actually," said Jordan from behind him, and my stomach did that thing it does whenever Jordan appears within a 50-foot radius, "it's kinda cool. Like, really bold. You're just gonna own it?"

I pulled off the beanie. The orange hair puffed out like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. A freshman gasped. Someone actually took a picture.

"Yeah," I said, surprised that my voice didn't shake. "I'm gonna own it."

And you know what? I pitched a no-hitter that game. Not because hair color suddenly made me athletic (lol), but because what was the worst that could happen? I already looked like a human-sized fruit. Nothing else mattered.

Afterward, Jordan found me by the dugout. "Hey. Your hair's actually really cool. Like, confidence level: expert."

"Thanks. It's called 'disaster turned aesthetic.' You should try it sometime."

Jordan laughed. And the next day, I found an orange hair tie on my locker with a note: For the bravest pitcher I know.

Maya still thinks I did it on purpose. I'm not correcting her. Sometimes the best identity crises are the ones you just roll with.