I scroll through the endless videos of girls with shiny, perfect, pin-straight hair on my phone, envy brewing in my stomach. How could they be so effortlessly beautiful, not have to wake up hours early every morning to sit in front of a mirror with a flat iron, or worry about a single drop of water turning their entire head into a frizzy mess? I stare at myself in the mirror, like a detective, overanalyzing every inch of my dark, damaged hair, comparing it to the sleek golden hair of the girl on my phone.  The loud blaring of the car horn snapped me back into reality.  I look down and glimpse at the time, I was going to be late.  I rushed outside where my mom was waiting in the car, signaling me to hurry.  I hesitate running to the car thinking about grabbing an umbrella as I stare up at the closely approaching clouds, but my mom honks the horn once again and I hurry down the driveway.    

At school, I grabbed my bag out of the car and kicked the door shut.  I felt a cool breeze and looked up at the dark grey sky.  My heart plummeted as I felt cool drops of water hit my face like fists.  I quickly ran to the door of the school and shook the handle: locked!  I swung around to run back to the car but it was already gone. My heart felt like a train pounding down the tracks.  I could feel my hair getting heavy with water, shrinking up into tight curls like springs. I paced from door to door desperately trying to find a way in.  Finally, a door swung open and I bolted inside.  As I walked through the crowded hallway, I felt hot stares from hundreds of eyes in the back of my head like flames.  I got to my locker and hid my bright red face in it.  Suddenly, I felt the tap of someone's hand on my back. I turned around and my heart stopped. It was a girl from my history class. I had always admired the way she looked. Her straight, bleached blonde hair and freckles speckled across her face like stars in the sky.  Why did she choose today, of all days, to talk to me?  I looked up from the ground to make eye contact with her and realized that something was different. Instead of her usually straight hair, it looked like ocean waves on a rough day.  Just like mine frizzy and messy. 

      “Rainy days can be rough, huh?” she said with a smile. 

      “Yeah,” I nodded. 

      “Your hair looks nice like that,” she said. 

      “Thank you,” I answered, trying to hide the surprise in my voice.

She smiled and walked to the other side of the hall to join her friends. I stare at them laughing and talking with her like nothing was different. The bell rang and I hurried to my first-period class. I sat down in my seat as my head spun with thoughts. I couldn't believe it, the same girl that I stayed up all night longing to possess what she had was just like me. 

That night when I got home, I looked up curly hair on my phone.  Video after video showcased girls and boys with hair like mine, some applying thick, jelly-like products while others experimented with various hairstyles.  An intense feeling of belonging washed over me.  Raising my gaze from the phone, my eyes met the reflection of the gleaming straightener across the room.  I picked it up and examined it for a while before tossing it in the trash beside my desk.