My Hairiest Adventure (7 page)

I’m the only one,
I realized.
I’m the only one who is growing the ugly
hair.

That’s why Jared and Kristina thought it was so funny. It wasn’t happening to
them. They didn’t have to worry about it.

But Lily wasn’t joining in with the jokes. She turned away and started
picking up music sheets from the floor and straightening the room.

Lily always enjoys teasing me and making me blush. I stared at her, wondering
if she had the same secret I did.

I packed up my guitar slowly and waited for Jared and Kristina to leave. Then
I put on my coat and baseball cap and followed Lily to the front door.

On the front stoop, I turned back to her. “Lily, tell me the truth,” I
insisted, studying her face. “Have you been growing weird patches of black hair
on your hands and knees?”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “I… I don’t want to talk about it,”
she replied in a whisper.

Then she slammed the front door.

I didn’t move from the concrete stoop. I kept picturing her troubled
expression. I kept hearing her whispered voice.

Was it happening to Lily? If it was, why wouldn’t she admit it to me? Was she
too embarrassed?

Or was she embarrassed for me?

Maybe it wasn’t happening to her, I realized. Maybe she just thinks I’m
crazy. Maybe she feels bad for me because I keep acting like such a jerk.

Feeling totally confused, I turned and headed for the street. The sun was
still high in the sky, but the air felt cold. A sharp wind blew at my face as I
started toward home.

Leaning into the wind, I reached up and tugged down my cap to keep it from
blowing away. To my surprise, I couldn’t pull it down.

The cap suddenly felt tight. Too tight.

I removed it and held it close to my face to study it. Had someone adjusted
the back to make it tighter?

No.

A chill of dread ran down my back as I raised a hand to my forehead. And
discovered why my cap didn’t fit.

My entire forehead was covered with thick, bristly hair.

I burst through the back door, into the kitchen. “Mom—look at this!” I
cried. “Look at my head!”

My eyes darted around the room. “Mom?”

Not there.

I ran through the house, calling for her. I decided it was time to show my
parents what was happening to me. Time to make them believe me.

The stripe of hair would totally gross them out, would finally convince them
this was
serious.

“Mom! Dad? Anybody home?”

No.

When I returned to the kitchen, I found a note on the refrigerator:
WE
WENT SHOPPING IN BROOKESDALE VILLAGE. HOME LATE. FIX YOURSELF A SNACK.

With a cry of disgust, I tossed my cap across the room. Then I pulled off my
parka and let it fall to the floor.

My heart pounding, I made my way to the mirror in the front hall and studied myself. I looked like some kind of comic
book mutant!

My pale face stared back at me. It appeared exactly the same. Except that I
had a thick, black stripe of fur across my forehead.

Looks like I’m wearing a bandanna, I thought miserably. Like one of those
headbands that skiers wear. Except this one is made of disgusting hair.

I ran a trembling hand over the thick hair.

My chest heaved up and down. I felt like crying and screaming furiously at
the same time. I felt like grabbing the stripe of fur and ripping it out of my
head.

I couldn’t bear to look at myself. The hair was so gross, so disgusting.

I decided there was no way I could wait for Mom and Dad to get home. I
couldn’t leave that horrible hair on my face. Spinning away from the mirror, I
ran upstairs to shave it off.

I lathered up the strip of hair with shaving cream. Then I began to scrape my
dad’s razor over it.

“Ow!” It hurt, but I didn’t care. I had to cut it off. Every thick, bristly
strand of it.

Watching the hair fall into the sink, I suddenly knew what I had to do. I had
to find the INSTA-TAN bottle. I had to find it and take it to Dr. Murkin.

“If I bring him the bottle, I can make him believe me!” I told myself. Then
Dr. Murkin can do tests on it. He can figure out why it’s making hair grow on
me.

And once he knows that it’s the INSTA-TAN that’s growing hair, Dr. Murkin
will give me a cure, I decided.

But where did we toss the bottle?

I shut my eyes and struggled to remember.

After I discovered the bottle, we had all run into Lily’s house to splash the
stuff on. Then we had gone back outside to mess around in the snow.

Did we toss the INSTA-TAN bottle back in the trash Dumpster next door?

I had to find out.

I scribbled a note to my parents, telling them I left something at Lily’s and
would be back soon. Then I grabbed my coat and hurried out the door.

The air had become a lot colder. Clouds had rolled over the sun, making the
evening sky gray. I zipped up my parka and pulled the hood over my head. My
forehead still tingled from where I had shaved it.

The three blocks to Lily’s house seemed like three miles! As I turned the
corner, her house came into view.

I don’t want her to see me, I realized. If she sees me poking around that
trash Dumpster, she’ll want to know why. And I’m not ready to tell her the whole
story.

She wouldn’t tell
me
the truth, I thought bitterly. Instead, she
slammed the door on me.

So I’m not ready to tell her the truth, either.

I felt glad that it had become so dark out. Maybe Lily wouldn’t see me.

I kept my eyes on her house as I approached. The lights were on in the dining
room. Maybe her family was having an early dinner.

Good, I thought. I’ll dig into the trash Dumpster, pull out the bottle, and
disappear before they finish, before anyone has a chance to glance out the
window.

I stopped short when I saw that there was just one little problem.

The trash Dumpster was gone.

The workers must have hauled it away.

I let out a long sigh and nearly slumped to my knees. “Now what?” I murmured
out loud.

Now how do I prove to Dr. Murkin that the INSTA-TAN is making me grow hair?

The cold wind swirled around me as I stared at the curb where the Dumpster
had stood. Fat brown leaves, blown by the twisting wind, fluttered around my
legs.

I shivered.

Turning to leave, a memory flashed through my mind.

The INSTA-TAN bottle. We
hadn’t
dropped it back into the Dumpster. We
had tossed it into the woods on the other side of the neighbors’ house.

“Yes!” I cried happily. “Yes!”

We had chased each other across the neighbors’ yard—and I’d heaved the
bottle into the trees.

It will still be there, I told myself. It
has
to be there.

I darted past Lily’s house, glancing up at the front windows. I couldn’t see
anyone looking out.

Past the neighbors’ house, dark and empty. The remodeling work not finished.

Into the woods. The dead leaves wet and slippery under my shoes. The bare
tree branches shook and rattled in the shifting, sharp wind.

Where had the bottle landed? I asked myself. Where?

It hadn’t gone far, I remembered. Just past the first trees.

It had to be nearby, I knew. Somewhere near where I stood.

A blanket of deep shadow had fallen over the woods. I kicked at a pile of
dead leaves. My shoe hit something hard.

Bending quickly, I tossed leaves away with both hands.

Only a tree branch.

I moved deeper into the woods, pushing my way through clumps of tall, dead
weeds.

I stopped.

It has to be around here, I knew. My eyes desperately searched the shadows.

There it is. No. Just a smooth stone.

I kicked it away. Then I turned slowly, making a complete circle, my eyes
sweeping the dark ground.

Where is the bottle? Where?

I sucked in my breath when I heard the sound.

The crack of a twig.

I listened hard. I heard the crackle of leaves. The brush of a leg against a
winter-dry shrub.

Another twig cracking.

Swallowing hard, I realized I was no longer alone.

“Wh-who’s there?” I called.

“Who’s there?”

No reply.

Frozen as still as a statue, I listened. I heard the scrape of feet moving
rapidly over the ground. I heard heavy breathing.

“Hey—who is it?” I called.

I glanced down—and saw the bottle. Lying on its side, nestled in a pile of
leaves right in front of me.

I bent quickly, reached eagerly for the bottle with both hands. But I jerked
back up to my feet in fright as a dark figure lumbered out from the trees.

Panting hard. Its long tongue flapping from its open mouth.

A tall, brown dog. Even in the dim light, I could see how scraggly and
tangled its fur was. I could see large burrs stuck in its heaving side.

I took a step back. “Are you alone, boy?” I called in a frightened whisper. “Huh? Are you alone, doggie?”

The animal lowered its head and let out a whimper.

I searched the woods for other dogs. Was he part of a pack? Part of the pack
of stray dogs that liked to chase me, growling and snapping?

I didn’t see any others.

“Good dog,” I told him, keeping my voice low and calm. “Good doggie.”

He stared up at me, still panting. His scraggly, brown tail wagged once, then
drooped.

I bent slowly, keeping my eyes on the dog, and picked up the bottle. It felt
surprisingly cold. I held it up and tried to see if any of the liquid remained
inside.

But it was too dark to see.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t use every last drop, I thought, struggling to
remember. There has to be a little left. Enough for Dr. Murkin to test.

I shook the bottle close to my ear, listening for the splash of liquid
inside.
Please, please, let there be a drop left!
I pleaded silently.

The trees shivered in a sharp, swirling gust. Leaves rustled and scraped
against each other.

The dog let out another soft whimper.

I grasped the bottle tightly in my right hand and started to back away.
“Bye-bye, doggie.”

He tilted his head and stared up at me.

I took another step back. “Bye, doggie,” I repeated softly. “Go home. Go
home, boy.”

He didn’t move. He let out another whimper. Then his tail began to wag.

I took another step back, grasping the INSTA-TAN bottle tightly. Then, as I
started to turn away from the staring dog, I saw the others.

They poked out quickly, silently, from the dark trees. Five or six big dogs,
their eyes glowing angrily. Then five or six more.

As they lumbered nearer, moving quickly, steadily, I could hear their growls,
low and menacing. They pulled back their lips and bared their teeth.

I froze, staring in terror at their darkly glowing eyes, listening to their
menacing, low growls.

Then I spun around awkwardly. Started to run.

“Ohh!” I let out a shrill cry as I stumbled over a fallen tree branch.

The bottle flew out of my hand.

As I fell, I reached out for it, grasping desperately.

Missed.

I watched in horror as it hit a sharp rock—and shattered. The jagged pieces
flew in all directions. A tiny puddle of brown liquid washed over the rock.

I landed hard on my knees and elbows. Pain shot through my body. But I
ignored it and scrambled to my feet.

I whirled around to face the dogs.

But to my surprise, they were running in a different direction. Through the
trees, I glimpsed a frightened rabbit, scrabbling over the leafy ground. Barking
and growling, the dogs chased after it.

My heart pounding, my knees still throbbing, I walked over to the rock and
stared down at the jagged pieces of orange glass. I picked one up and examined
it closely.

“
Now
what do I do?” I asked myself out loud. I could still hear the
excited barking of the dogs in the distance. “Now what?”

The bottle was shattered into a dozen pieces. My evidence was gone. I had
nothing to show Dr. Murkin. Nothing at all.

With an angry cry, I tossed the piece of glass at the trees. Then I wearily
slunk toward home.

Mom and Dad hurried to a school meeting after dinner. I went upstairs to my
room to do my homework.

I didn’t feel like being alone.

I took Jasper in my lap and petted her for a while. But she wasn’t in the
mood. She glared at me with those weird yellow eyes. When that didn’t work, she
scratched my hand, jumped away, and disappeared out of the room.

I tried calling Lily, but no one answered at her place.

Outside, the wind howled around the corner of the house. It made my bedroom
windows rattle.

A chill ran down my back.

I leaned my elbows on my desk and hunched over my government textbook. But I
couldn’t concentrate. The words on the page became a gray blur.

I walked across the room and picked up my guitar. Then I bent down and
plugged it into my amp.

Lots of times when I’m feeling nervous or upset, I play my guitar for a
while. It always calms me down.

I cranked the amp up really high and started to play a loud blues melody.
There was no one else home, no one to tell me to turn it down. I wanted to play
as loud as I could—loud enough to drown out my troubled thoughts.

But I had played for only three or four minutes when I realized that
something was wrong.

I kept missing notes. Messing up the chords.

What’s wrong with me? I wondered. I’ve played this tune a million times. I
can play it in my sleep.

When I glanced down at my fingers, I saw the problem.

“Ohh!” I uttered a weak groan. That disgusting hair had sprouted over both of
my hands. My fingers were covered in thick, black hair.