The Town That Smells Like Hair Gel

Harristown was the kind of town where the barbershops outnumbered the bakeries, and the hairdressers waved at you like they knew something you didn't.

They did.

Jackie — Jack to everyone who valued their teeth — stood at the edge of Maple Street with her long black hair blowing sideways in the afternoon wind. Her skull earrings glinted. Her shark-tooth necklace swung. She squinted at the row of cheerful pink-and-white salon signs like a soldier studying enemy territory.

"They repainted again," muttered Remi beside her, pushing his enormous puff of curls out of his face.

Ollie, standing slightly behind both of them, had gone very quiet. That was never good.

"Ollie," said Jacob. "You good?"

"Totally fine," Ollie said, in the voice of someone who was absolutely not fine.

Mike and Carson exchanged a look.

Down the street, the door of Curl Up & Slay swung open, and someone stepped out holding a pair of clippers.

The Parrot Knew First

The person holding the clippers stepped fully onto the sidewalk.

She was tall, with a bright yellow apron and a name tag that said *Donna*. She wasn't running. She wasn't chasing anyone. She was just standing there, looking straight at the group, smiling the kind of smile that meant she had absolutely all day.

On her shoulder sat a green parrot.

"HAIRCUT TIME!" the parrot screamed. "HAIRCUT TIME! THEY NEED IT BAD!"

Remi made a sound like a deflating balloon.

"That bird," Jackie said through her teeth, "is a snitch."

Carson was already backing up slowly. "Nobody run," he whispered. "Running makes it worse."

Then Ollie ran.

He bolted left, skidded on a wet drain cover, grabbed a street sign to stop himself, spun around — and ran directly back toward Donna.

Donna caught him by the hood of his jacket, calm as anything.

"Gotcha," she said cheerfully.

The parrot bounced on her shoulder. "GOTCHA! GOTCHA! TOLD YOU! GOTCHA!"

Jackie's eye twitched. Mike hadn't moved. Jacob had his phone out, recording everything.