The Green Dye Incident

Maya's hair was supposed to be her statement. The midnight-blue dye cost three weeks of allowance money and an hour of YouTube tutorial watching. Instead, it came out a disturbing shade of spinach green. Like, actual salad greens.

"No way," Chloe said when Maya video-called her, nearly choking on her iced coffee. "That's literally the color of my lunch yesterday."

Maya buried her face in her hands. "My mom's gonna kill me. We're supposed to go to that baseball game tonight—Nick's pitching, and I was finally gonna talk to him after, and now I look like a walking vegetable."

The baseball game. Nick Rodriguez, whose eyes crinkled when he laughed and who'd sat next to Maya in English since August. The one person she actually wanted to impress.

"Girl," Chloe said, "wear a hat. Problem solved."

But Maya didn't have a hat that could hide this disaster. She spent forty-five minutes trying different hairstyles until she settled on a messy bun, pulling every strand tight and praying the gym lights would be dim enough that no one would notice the greenish tint around her hairline.

The baseball field smelled like cut grass and concession stand popcorn. Maya found Chloe in the bleachers, sliding in beside her just as Nick took the mound. He looked good—his uniform fitted perfectly, his focus locked on the batter.

"You nervous?" Chloe whispered.

"About what?"

"About talking to Nick. About your hair being green. Pick a crisis."

Nick threw a fastball; the batter swung and missed. The crowd erupted. Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when she watched him play—half excitement, half terror that he'd notice her staring.

Bottom of the seventh, their team down by one. Nick came up to bat. Maya held her breath without meaning to. The first two pitches were balls. Then—he connected. The ball sailed into the gap between left and center field.

"YES!" Maya screamed, jumping up with everyone else.

Nick rounded second, looking up at the stands. His eyes found hers. He smiled, that crinkly-eyed smile, and—

Maya's bun came undone.

The spinach-green hair cascaded down around her shoulders like a terrifying revelation. She froze. Half the bleachers were looking. Chloe gasped.

And then Nick was trotting toward the dugout, but he glanced back, still grinning, and pointed at her.

"Nice hair!" he yelled, like it was the coolest thing he'd ever seen.

Maya's face burned. But then someone behind her said, "Wait, is that green? That's actually sick."

By the ninth inning, three different people had asked where she got it done. And when she finally worked up the courage to talk to Nick after the game—heart pounding, palms sweating—he said it first.

"Seriously, that color's awesome. Super bold."

Maya smiled. "Yeah, well. Bold was the goal. Sort of."

"You nailed it," he said.

Her hair was still spinach green. She'd probably have to dye it back before Monday. But somehow, standing there in the cooling night air with Nick's eyes on hers, Maya didn't mind so much. Sometimes disasters were just plot twists in disguise.