The Girl Who Unbecame

Maya's hair had been every color except its own. Copper, auburn, mahogany—anything but the neon orange that betrayed her genetics every three weeks at the roots. Four hundred dollars worth of brown hair dye between eighth grade and sophomore year, all to keep people from calling her carrot top or Fanta or, her personal favorite, traffic cone.

"You're going to that party looking like THAT?" her mom had asked when Maya finally stopped dyeing it two weeks ago. Now it was a crown of impossible, electric copper—like she'd swallowed a sunset.

The bonfire crackled behind the old gym where the pre-game tailgate roared. West High's mascot was a bear, obviously. Some senior in a sweat-soaked costume lumbered near the snack table, high-fiving people with zero enthusiasm. Maya's crush, Diego, was over there, laughing at something she couldn't hear.

Her best friend Sam materialized with two sodas. "You good? You look like you're about to puke."

"I'm just—" Maya gestured helplessly at everything. "Everyone's gonna stare."

"They're gonna stare anyway." Sam popped her soda open. "Might as well give them something worth looking at."

A fluke of wind sent a napkin spiraling toward Maya's face. Before she could react, the bear mascot—without breaking character—plucked it from the air with a exaggerated bow. Someone whooped. Another person clapped.

And Diego was looking.

He nudged through the crowd, still in his football jersey, and stopped in front of her. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I like your hair." He said it so simply, like he was commenting on the weather. "It's... I don't know. It's cool that you don't hide it."

Maya felt something unfamiliar bloom in her chest—like someone had flipped a switch she hadn't known existed. "Thanks."

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "So, you want to sit with us?"

She caught Sam's eye across the circle. Sam raised both eyebrows like: well?

Maya ran a hand through her ridiculous, impossible, perfect orange hair and smiled. "Yeah. I think I do."