The Orange Incident

Maya's bedroom door was closed, but that never stopped her cat, Luna, from scratching like a maniac until someone let her in. The moment Maya cracked the door, Luna bolted in and immediately began investigating the disaster zone that was the bathroom counter.

"You can't tell anyone," Maya whispered to her cat, as if Luna could keep a secret. "This is between us."

The box had said "Sunset Copper." It was supposed to be a rich auburn, the kind of color that said I'm mysterious and artistic and definitely not freaking out about the homecoming dance. Instead, Maya's hair was now violently, aggressively orange. Like traffic cone orange. Like I-made-a-huge-mistake orange.

Her phone buzzed. Group chat blowing up with questions about who was taking who. Three hours until the dance, and Maya was about to show up looking like a walking construction zone.

Luna jumped onto the counter and knocked over a bottle of developer, which rolled across the floor. Great. Now her cat was sabotaging her too.

"This isn't happening," Maya said to her reflection. "I'm just gonna wash it out. I'll go with my natural hair. I'll own it."

But the dye had already set. Her hair was a permanent orange disaster.

The doorbell rang. Her stomach dropped. It was probably Jake—her sort-of boyfriend, her maybe-date, the reason she'd even attempted this DIY dye job in the first place.

She considered faking illness. Considered moving to Canada. Considered shaving it all off and starting fresh.

Instead, she heard voices downstairs. Her brother's friends. They were talking about the rodeo documentary they'd watched the night before, something about a guy who'd been the only person brave enough to ride this insane bull that everyone else refused to go near.

"Dude stood his ground," her brother was saying. "Bull bucked like crazy, and he just held on."

Maya stared at her orange hair in the mirror. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

She could hide. Or she could ride the bull.

Luna meowed, as if agreeing this was a terrible idea.

Maya grabbed her phone and texted Jake: I'm going to look a little different tonight.

Then she walked downstairs, orange hair and all, straight into the living room where everyone was waiting.

Her brother's jaw dropped. Jake looked confused, then surprised, then weirdly delighted.

"Dang," Jake said. "That's... actually kinda sick."

Maya felt something loosen in her chest. The bull had bucked, and she'd held on. And maybe, just maybe, traffic cone orange wasn't the worst thing in the world.