Hello guys! This is my story for NaNoWriMo, and it's unedited. So I'll be improving it at some point. I'm going to be frantically writing to get it finished, so updates might be infrequent. But here you go, anyway. Hope you like it! <3

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One: Light Honey Blonde? I Think They Made a Typo...

Remind me again why I'm curled up on the toilet seat in Savannah's bathroom on a Saturday afternoon, alone and with hair bright enough to stop traffic?

Oh yeah. Because it took three things: my stupidity, a packet of completely misleading hair dye and my over-enthusiastic best friend, who's always thought of herself as a bit of a beautician. Note to self: remember that she's not actually qualified, despite how persuasive she may be.

"Come on Bailey, what can go wrong?" Savannah had said, as she waved the packet in front of my face. The packet, which I will add, clearly read Light Honey Blonde, in bold letters. Well, excuse me for thinking that actually meant Light Honey Blonde, instead of Carrot Ginger.

Yup, you heard right. Bailey Cunningham is now unmistakably ginger. Bright, orange ginger.

I love my life.

Seriously, how long does it take to run down to the store, grab a packet of hair dye that would turn my hair a color other than orange, and return to the bathroom bearing my lifesaving gifts?

Way too long. I can practically feel the ginger burning through the scalp, probably attacking my brain while it's at it. What would actually happen if my brain turned ginger? Would I start to see the whole world as an orange tint? Would I be unable to recognize any other color except the tangerine shade of my hair?

Oh my God, why am I even thinking about this? I think the fumes from the hair dye are making me high.

Is this what it's like to be high? If so, I don't like it.

Shut up, brain.

When there are three sharp knocks on the piece of wood that is separating me from the rest of humanity (also known as the bathroom door), I leap off the toilet at the speed of light. Yes, finally! Savannah's back, and soon enough I can reverse this whole procedure and forget this ever happened.

"Bailey? Is that you in there?"

Wait... I don't remember my best friend's voice being so deep and manly. Either she's had a quick sex change on the journey to Wal-Mart, or that's not her. For some reason, I'm swinging towards the latter.

"Are you going to be finished up in there any time soon?"

Oh, crap.

Did I mention that Savannah also has a completely and utterly gorgeous nineteen year old brother, who goes under the name of Sam, who already thinks I am a complete weirdo? (Just another person to add to the list, then...)

Must've slipped my mind.

"Uh..."

I turn towards the mirror, grimacing at the severity of my reflection which, to say the least, startles me. As it is drying, the color seems to be increasing in brightness. I lift up my hand, taking a strand of hair between my thumb and forefinger, and inspect it, as if this will magically improve its appearance.

It doesn't.

"Sorry, Bailey, can I use the bathroom?"

Seriously? Why do things like this always happen to me? I think I've been punished enough in this lifetime - every day I seem to do something that involves public ridicule, or at the very least, humiliation. Because when you're me, ridiculously unpopular and with absolutely no experience with the opposite sex whatsoever, I have to say it: life sucks.

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