Washing Away the Fake

Maya's hair had been three different colors since seventh grade. Currently it was sunset orange, which her mom claimed was "not real-world appropriate." Whatever that meant.

"You're not actually going in there, right?" Kiara asked, gesturing at the lake where half the sophomore class was already splashing around, their clothes piled on the grass like shed skin.

Maya's phone buzzed. Jackson—the cute junior from AP Bio—had just posted a mirror selfie with the caption: "Lake day 🌊 DM me open."

"Yeah, no. Water's gross," Maya lied. Truth was, she'd spent forty-five minutes flat-ironing her hair that morning, and the humidity was already winning.

"You're letting your hair control your life again," Kiara said, then immediately backedpedaled. "Sorry, that came out wrong. But for real, when's the last time you went swimming?"

Maya couldn't remember. Freshman year? Before she started caring what boys thought?

"Whatever." Maya kicked off her sandals. "Fine. Watch this."

She waded in. The water was shock-cold, and suddenly she was chest-deep, treading water while her carefully straightened hair floated around her face like seaweed. Her curls were coming back. The real hair, the hair she'd been fighting with expensive products and 400-degree tools.

Jackson posted another selfie. Maya's phone sat on her towel, screens away.

"You good?" Kiara called from the shore.

Maya dove under. The silence was perfect. When she broke the surface, gasping, her hair was a chaotic halo of frizz and curls. Sunset orange fuzzball. The real Maya surfaced with it.

Someone laughed. A group of guys near the dock.

Maya's face burned. But then—one of them waved. "Sick hair!"

"Wait, really?" she shouted back.

"Yeah! It's like, honestly iconic."

Maya treaded water for a long moment. The lake was gross. Her hair was ruined. Her orange dye was probably bleeding everywhere.

She felt lighter than she had in months.

"Kiara!" she yelled. "Get in here! The water's actually fine!"

Her friend hesitated, then grinned. "Race you to the dock!"

Maya's curls bounced as she struck out swimming, leaving the carefully curated version of herself on the shore with her phone.