The Hair Incident

The worst part about getting your hair cut too short isn't the looking like yourself part. It's the everyone looking at you part.

I'd been spying on Jordan from behind the library bookshelves for three weeks when my mom took me to Supercuts for a "trim." I came out looking like a fifth grader who'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Jordan had this perfect curly hair that fell just right, like they'd never had a bad hair day in their life. Meanwhile, I looked like I'd lost a fight with a lawnmower.

"You're staring again," Maya said, sliding onto the bench next to me. "It's kinda creepy, actually."

"I'm not staring. I'm... observing. For research purposes."

"Right. Because you're definitely not just being a weirdo with a crush." She checked her phone. "Also, Coach is looking for you. Something about the 400-meter."

Running was the one thing I didn't completely suck at. I wasn't the fastest, but I could keep going when everyone else was dying. That counted for something.

Jordan was at the track meet too, sitting in the bleachers with their friends. I tried to act casual while my heart hammered like someone was punching it from the inside. The gun went off and I took off, legs pumping, air rushing in my ears.

I didn't win. But I didn't come in last either.

After, I found Jordan waiting by the water fountain.

"You were good out there," they said.

"Thanks. My hair's—"

"Growing back." They smiled. "I noticed you've been watching me at lunch. From behind the books?"

My face burned so hot I thought I might pass out. "I..."

"It's okay." Jordan's hand brushed against mine. "I've been watching you too. From behind my phone."

They showed me their lock screen. A photo of me running at the previous meet, hair already starting to grow back, face twisted in effort.

"You're not exactly subtle either," they said.

And just like that, the running, the spying, the bad hair—it all made sense. Being seen isn't the worst thing in the world. Being invisible is worse.