Three Strikes Until Friday

My hair was doing this frizzy halo thing that made me look like I'd stuck my finger in a socket—not exactly the vibe I wanted for Maya's birthday party. I'd spent forty-five minutes with the flat iron fighting humidity, and now here I was, hiding in the bathroom while everyone else was downstairs living their best lives.

"You coming back out?" Jordan stood in the doorway, my oldest friend since we'd shared juice boxes in kindergarten. But everything felt different lately. Jordan had started wearing polo shirts and talking about cross-country practice and whichever girl liked him this week. I was still the same guy who collected vintage skateboard decks and said "like" way too much.

"In a minute," I muttered, staring at my reflection. "My hair's betraying me."

"Dude, it's fine. You're overthinking it." Jordan leaned against the doorframe, checking his phone. "Anyway, everyone's gonna head to the Henderson barn after this. Apparently there's some livestock thing going on? Maya's dad knows the guy."

Perfect. A barn. In August humidity.

The Henderson barn smelled like sweet feed and something ancient. Maya and her friends were taking selfies in front of a pen where a massive bull stood, unimpressed. Then I saw it—Jordan, laughing way too loud at something Jessica said, standing way too close, acting like a whole different person.

"Whatever," I whispered to myself, turning toward a fence at the edge of the property. I sat down, arms on my knees, letting my hair do whatever it wanted. Who cared?

"He's not worth it," someone said.

I looked up. Maya's dad stood there, watching the bull. "Your friend. He's figuring himself out. It's what fifteen looks like."

The bull snorted, lowering his head like he was about to charge, then just... chewed. Like he couldn't be bothered.

"You know why bulls can't really see red?" Maya's dad said. "It's a myth. They're colorblind to it. They charge at movement, not colors."

I thought about Jordan, about how he'd been moving away from me for months now, and how I'd been charging at nothing, getting worked up over something I couldn't even see properly.

"So... what? I just let it happen?"

"You find your people," he said simply. "The ones who stick around when you stop performing."

Jordan found me ten minutes later. "Hey, dude, where'd you go? We were gonna play—"

"I'm gonna head home," I said, and it came out easier than I expected. "Hair's not cooperating anyway."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." And the weird thing was, I meant it.

Walking home, I pulled out my phone and texted Leo from my art class. He'd asked if I wanted to collaborate on a mural project, and I'd been too worried about what Jordan would think to respond.

The bull in the pen had no idea he'd changed anything. But somehow, standing there watching him just be exactly what he was, I figured out I could do the same.