The Glow-Up That Wasn't

The vitamin gummies stared at me from the kitchen counter, promising "radiant skin" and "peak performance." Another wellness trend my TikTok feed swore would transform me from invisible-Alejandra to the kind of girl who walked into homeroom like she owned the place. Junior year loomed—fresh start, fresh aesthetic, fresh everything.

I started running that July. Not because I liked it (I hated every breathless minute) but because everyone said clearing your head literally meant clearing your head, and mine was crowded with expectations. My route: down Maple, past the old elementary school, through the park where the kids from the charter school hung out doing risky things that looked suspiciously like fun.

Third week in, I found him. A scrawny orange cat with one ear that refused to stand up, hiding under the bench where I stopped to wheeze and question my life choices. He looked at me like I was the ridiculous one.

"Hey, carrot-top," I said, because naming things felt like a step toward having my life together.

Carrot-top became my running buddy. I'd jog, he'd stalk alongside like a tiny orange supervisor, judging my form. We developed a rhythm: I'd struggle through three miles, he'd appear from nowhere, and I'd share my turkey sandwich with him behind the 7-Eleven. My friends thought I was weird for spending my summer with a stray instead of at Jessica's pool parties. But Carrot-top didn't ask why I wasn't wearing the right shoes or invite me just to make fun of me later.

The vitamins ran out first. Then I stopped checking my reflection in every storefront window. The running shifted from performance to something else—movement, meditation, an excuse to see my orange friend.

"You're not glowing," my mom observed in August, dumping my barely-touched gummies in the trash. "You're just... happier."

Junior year started. I walked into homeroom not glowing but grounded. Carrot-top waited by my usual bench that afternoon, orange tail twitching. I didn't need a transformation anymore. I was already someone I liked. Some glow-ups aren't about who you become—but who you stop pretending to be.