Zombie Prom Hair Crisis

Maya's hands were literally shaking as she stared in the mirror. The purple dye disaster sitting on her head looked less "vibrant violet" and more like a zombie had chewed through her scalp. Which was kind of ironic, considering she had exactly forty-five minutes to get ready for the Halloween dance she'd been obsessing over for weeks.

"This is a catastrophe," she groaned, grabbing her dad's old baseball hat and shoving it over the disaster. The brim covered her forehead but did nothing to help the exposed chunks of patchy hair sticking out the sides like she'd been attacked by a lawnmower.

Her cat, Luna, jumped onto the bathroom counter and let out the most judgmental meow possible. Even the dog, Buster, who literally ate garbage last week, was looking at her with concerned eyes from the doorway.

"Don't look at me like that, Luna. I'm aware this is tragic." Maya grabbed her phone—fifteen texts from Jordan. *u coming?? where r u?? everyone's asking!!*

Jordan, who she'd been secretly crushing on since seventh grade. Jordan, who she'd finally worked up the courage to actually talk to at lunch yesterday. Jordan, who was probably waiting at the dance right now, looking perfect while Maya was hiding in her bathroom looking like a failed science experiment.

Her phone buzzed again. *everything ok?? u good??*

Maya stared at herself in the mirror—hat pulled low, zombie hair hidden underneath, eyes wide with anxiety. This was it. She could either stay home and spiral into another overthinking session, or she could show up looking like a hot mess and own it.

She took a deep breath. Jordan had seen worse. Probably. Okay, maybe not worse, but still. She grabbed a zombie makeup tutorial she'd saved ages ago and went to work. Dark circles. Fake cuts. Greenish skin tint. By the time she was done, her hair wasn't a mistake anymore—it was part of the look.

When she walked into the gym ten minutes later, Jordan's jaw literally dropped.

"Dude," Jordan said, eyes wide. "Your hair—that's actually genius?"

Maya finally let herself breathe. "Thanks. I call it 'zombie chic.'"

"Whatever it is," Jordan laughed, "it's working." And for the first time all night, Maya wasn't thinking about her hair anymore.