Zombie Prom Hair Disaster

Maya's hair was supposed to be perfect. Like, *actually* perfect—the kind of effortless waves that say 'I woke up like this' but actually required three hours, two curling irons, and an entire bottle of texturizing spray. Instead, she was staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, looking like a hot mess express.

"This is literally a nightmare," she groaned, yanking at the frizzy rat's nest that had somehow morphed from her原本 sleek beach waves. "I'm going to look like a zombie at prom. A dead-inside, hasn't-slept-in-three-days zombie."

Her best friend Chloe rolled her eyes from where she sat on the counter, legs swinging. "Drama queen. You're not even close to zombie status. That's literally what dry shampoo is for."

Maya's phone buzzed with incoming texts. Her crush Ethan was asking who she was going with, and somehow the idea of admitting she'd been ghosted by her date felt worse than just... not going. Which was ridiculous, because prom was just a glorified dance in a gym that smelled like floor wax and teenage hormones.

She turned on the faucet, letting the water run cold over her hands. Maybe she could just text everyone that she was sick. Or that she'd moved to Antarctica. Or that she'd joined a zombie apocalypse survivalist commune and had more important things to do.

"You know what?" Maya said, grabbing a handful of hair gel. "Screw it. I'm going anyway. Zombie hair and all."

Chloe grinned. "That's the spirit. Besides, Ethan's probably going with that sophomore who thinks TikTok dances count as actual choreography. You're gonna look amazing, and he's gonna realize he made a huge mistake."

Maya studied her reflection again. The frizz was still there, but whatever. It was kind of punk rock. Kind of messy-cool. Kind of like her actual life, which was nowhere near as Instagram-perfect as everyone else's seemed to be.

"Let's do this," she said, and for the first time all night, she actually meant it.