The Hair Heard 'Round the Cafeteria

I was literally going to die. This wasn't even hyperbole — I was going to actually cease to exist from mortification.

"It looks fire, trust me," Jordan said, but the way she wouldn't meet my eyes said everything.

My hair. My formerly shoulder-length, mostly manageable brown hair. Was now neon blue. And not in a cool, intentional way. In a "we left the dye in too long because Jordan was texting her crush" way.

We were supposed to be getting ready for the Homecoming game, where I'd be running for Homecoming Court because Jordan thought it would be "so iconic" if we infiltrated the school's social pyramid. She'd been going through this whole "we need to leave our mark before we graduate" phase ever since her breakup with Tyler.

"You look like a mermaid," she tried, desperate now. "A very bold, very chaotic mermaid."

I stared in the mirror. The blue was aggressively blue. Like, radioactive blue.

My phone buzzed. Mom, wondering where I was. I couldn't go home like this. I couldn't go to school like this. I couldn't exist in general society with this head.

Jordan sighed, dropping the phone she'd been clutching. "Okay, maybe I messed up. But also, maybe this is exactly what you needed?"

I turned on her. "How is this what I needed?"

"Because you've been playing it safe forever, Maya." She stepped closer. "You always do what's expected. You run track because your dad did. You take AP classes because that's what 'good kids' do. You never take risks."

The room felt suddenly very small. The blue hair situation felt suddenly very insignificant.

"I thought we were friends," I said, voice quieter than I wanted it to be. "I thought you liked me the way I am."

Jordan's face fell. "I do. I love you. I just... I see how much you could be if you stopped being so scared of everything."

I looked at my radioactive blue reflection again. She wasn't wrong, not entirely. I had been coasting. Playing it safe. Running from anything that might go wrong.

"So what's the move?" I asked finally. "Do I own it? Or do I try to fix it?"

Jordan's eyes lit up. "We own it. We absolutely own it. You're going to Homecoming with blue hair, and you're going to work it like you personally invented color."

And you know what? I did. I walked into that gym with my head held high, my blue hair catching every fluorescent light like I'd planned it that way all along. Jordan's hand found mine in the crowd, and for the first time, I understood what she'd been trying to say.

Sometimes you have to crash spectacularly before you learn how to fly.