The Pool Party Reset

Maya's hair had been the source of approximately 73% of her problems since seventh grade. Okay, that was an exaggeration. Maybe only like 40%. But ever since she'd stopped straightening it every morning and let her natural curls take over, she'd been fielding comments from everyone. "Omg, you look so different!" "Your hair got SO big." "Are you trying to make a statement?"

She wasn't trying to make a statement. She was just tired of fighting with her hair every single day when she could be sleeping instead.

Which is how she ended up at Jordan's pool party in late May, standing at the edge of the concrete in her favorite high-waisted bikini, overthinking everything. Jordan — the Jordan who'd transferred in October and immediately become the most talked-about guy in sophomore year — was already in the water, laughing at something his friends said.

Maya hated pool parties. Hated them. She always felt like everyone was looking, waiting to see if she'd actually get in, if her hair would frizz up, if she'd be "pretty without trying" or just a mess.

"You coming in or what?" Jordan called out, grinning at her. And in that moment, something in Maya just snapped. Maybe it was the humidity, maybe it was the way he smiled like he actually wanted her there, or maybe she was just done caring what everyone thought.

She jumped.

The water hit her like a shock, cold and perfect, and when she surfaced, sputtering and laughing, her hair was already wrecked. Curls everywhere, dripping down her back, absolutely zero chance of recovering the "cute messy" look she'd spent forty-five minutes perfecting.

And you know what? It was fine. It was actually kind of amazing.

She swam over to where Jordan and his friends were treading water, feeling lighter than she had in months. They played categories and marco polo and something involving a beach ball that was apparently called "death ball" but was mostly just chaos.

Later, when everyone had gotten out and was eating pizza on the patio, Jordan sat next to her on a lounge chair.

"Your hair," he said, and Maya felt herself tense up, bracing for it. "It looks really cool like that. All natural and stuff."

Maya blinked. "Oh. Thanks?"

"No, seriously," he said, kind of intense about it. "Like, you look like you. It's cool."

Maya looked at her reflection in the sliding glass door — damp curls everywhere, zero product, completely unapologetic. And for the first time in forever, she actually liked what she saw.

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Yeah, it kind of is."