The Orange Hair Incident

I was running late. Again. Mrs. Gable's chemistry final was in fifteen minutes and I was three blocks from campus, clutching a stolen Gatorade and praying my bike chain wouldn't fall off for the third time this week.

Then I saw him.

Tyler was leaning against his truck, that stupid orange Snapback backward on his head, talking to Jessica like he didn't have a care in the world. Tyler, whose hair somehow looked perfect even at 7:45 AM. Tyler, who'd barely acknowledged my existence since sixth grade, back when I was the weird kid who brought his dog to school for show-and-tell.

My hair was another story. Last night's DIY dye job had been supposed to be "subtle auburn highlights" according to the YouTube tutorial. Instead, I woke up looking like a traffic cone. My mom had actually asked if I was feeling okay, which is parent code for "you look concerning."

I considered turning around. Running home and hiding under my bed until graduation seemed like a solid life choice.

Then Tyler looked up and caught my eye.

"Hey!" He waved, jogging over. My heart did that embarrassing flutter thing it does when I'm within twenty feet of him. "You heading to the final?"

"Yeah," I managed, trying to casually smooth my hair. "Just... you know. Taking my time."

Tyler grinned. "Your hair looks sick, by the way."

I froze. "What?"

"The orange. It's bold." He adjusted his Snapback. "I dig it. Takes guts to pull that off."

Before I could process this, a massive bulldog came barreling around the corner, dragging some poor woman behind it. The dog made a beeline for Tyler's truck, apparently determined to either befriend it or destroy it.

"Buster! NO!" The woman yelled, but the bull-headed dog was already trying to eat Tyler's tire.

Tyler started laughing, then looked at me. "Race you?"

I didn't think. I just started running.

We ended up spending twenty minutes helping the woman wrangle her stubborn bulldog while completely missing the chemistry final. We sat on the curb afterward, breathless and dusty, as Tyler's phone started blowing up with texts from Jessica about where he was.

"She's gonna be pissed," I said, suddenly self-conscious about my orange hair again.

Tyler just shrugged, still grinning. "Eh. This was better. Way better."

Maybe weird orange hair and chemistry final disasters weren't so bad after all. Maybe they were exactly the kind of thing that made life interesting. Or maybe I was just overthinking it because Tyler Miller had just risked his GPA to help catch a dog with me.

Either way, I decided right there on the curb: I wasn't dyeing it back.