The Town That Loved Scissors

Bloomberg was the kind of town where every storefront window sparkled, every garden was perfectly trimmed, and the residents — without exception — had the most magnificent hair anyone had ever seen.

There were salons on every corner. Twelve of them, to be exact. People in Bloomberg didn't just get haircuts; they got *events*. The hairdressers were known all over the county. They were proud, skilled, and just a little bit dramatic about it.

Then there were the kids.

Six of them, to be precise — Ollie, Remi, Mike, Jacob, Carson, and Jackie. And every single one of them had hair so wild, so enormous, so spectacularly untamed that old Mr. Finch once mistook Ollie for a particularly fluffy hedge.

Jackie pushed her long black hair out of her eyes — again — her red-streaked bangs flopping right back.

"Ugh," she muttered, adjusting her shark-tooth necklace. "I can't see a thing."

Remi grinned. "Then maybe it's time for a—"

"DON'T," Jackie warned.

The Parrot Knows Too Much

Remi didn't finish his sentence, but the damage was done.

"Say that word and you're walking home," Jackie said flatly, pushing her bangs out of her eyes for the fourth time that minute.

They were all at Carson's place — Ollie, Remi, Mike, Jacob, Carson, and Jackie — sprawled across the living room floor eating chips and watching a skateboarding video on Carson's tablet. Normal Saturday. Safe Saturday.

Then Carson's gran walked in.

She was a tiny elderly woman with enormous glasses and a bright orange parrot on her shoulder named Biscuit. Biscuit had yellow-tipped feathers and very strong opinions.

"Boys!" she announced cheerfully, clapping her hands. "I booked you all appointments at Sal's! Tomorrow morning! All six of you — nice and tidy before school photos!"

Dead silence.

Ollie went the color of old cheese.

"HAIRCUTS!" Biscuit screeched happily. "HAIRCUTS! HAIRCUTS!"

Everyone looked at Ollie.

Ollie looked at the door.

"Don't—" Mike started.

Ollie bolted.