The Summer We Mattered

My hair was supposed to be blue. That was the plan—everything about sophomore year was supposed to be different. New me, new aesthetic, zero more of that invisible-girl energy that had defined freshman year.

Then my mom walked in on me with the box dye, and now I'm hiding in Taylor's bathroom, staring at my hair in the mirror. It's green. Not the cool, intentional sea-green. It's that "I made a questionable life choice at 2 AM" green. The kind of green that announces itself before you do.

"You coming out or what?" someone yells through the door. It's Taylor—of course Taylor's hosting the pool party that everyone who's anyone is attending. The pressure to show up feels like sitting on the edge of a diving board, knowing you have to jump but your stomach's staging a protest.

"I'm good!" I call back, but my voice cracks.

Someone snorts. "Don't give me that bull, Maya. I can hear you overthinking in there."

That's when I notice it—Taylor's old mascot head from middle school, sitting on the counter like a creepy trophy. The school bear. Someone drew sunglasses on it with sharpie. It's ridiculous and perfect and suddenly I'm laughing, actually laughing, because what even is my life?

I open the door.

The whole backyard goes quiet. Fifty people in various states of pool party readiness, and they're all staring at me. My heart's doing that thing where it forgets how to heart properly. But then Jake from my English class calls out, "Finally! Someone who committed to the bit!" and suddenly everyone's laughing with me, not at me.

"Your hair is iconic," Taylor says, grabbing my hand. "You're literally bearing your soul to us right now and it's adorable. Get in the pool, you're too extra for dry land."

So I jump in. The water's perfect, the chlorine burns my eyes in the best way, and for the first time in forever, I'm not worrying about who sees me. I'm just here. Green hair and all.