Welcome to Bloomberg, Population— Gorgeous

Bloomberg was the kind of town that took its hair seriously.

Every shop window gleamed. Every garden hedge was trimmed to perfection. And every single person on Clover Street walked around looking like they'd just stepped out of a magazine. The hairdressers here didn't just cut hair — they were basically celebrities.

Jackie had lived here her whole life and still thought the whole thing was ridiculous.

She stomped down the footpath in her red-and-black striped skull tee, ripped jeans, and Mary Janes, her long black hair swinging behind her. Her shark-tooth necklace bounced with every step. Her skull earrings glinted in the sun.

"Jack! Wait up!" Remi called, jogging to catch her.

Behind Remi came the rest — Mike, Jacob, Carson, and at the very back, Ollie, dramatic as always, one hand pressed to his forehead like he was already having a terrible day.

"Did you hear?" Remi panted. "There's a notice at the salon."

The Notice on the Wall

The notice was taped right to the front window of Sal's Salon, big and yellow, impossible to miss.

Jackie stopped walking.

"Read it," Remi said, crossing his arms.

She leaned in. The words were typed in bold black letters:

**BLOOMBERG TOWN HAIRCUT COMPETITION — ALL RESIDENTS WELCOME. LONGEST, WILDEST HAIR WINS A TROPHY. WINNER ANNOUNCED IN ONE WEEK. MANDATORY TRIM FOR ALL PARTICIPANTS AFTER JUDGING.**

"Mandatory," Jacob said slowly, like the word tasted wrong.

"That means they make you," Mike whispered.

Ollie grabbed Carson's arm. "They can't MAKE us—"

"They absolutely can," said a voice.

A large parrot, brilliant green with an orange beak, sat on a perch just inside the open salon door. He tilted his head and said again, very clearly, "They absolutely can."

Everyone jumped.

"That's Clipper," said a tall man stepping out from behind the doorway. He had a friendly smile, a very neat beard, and scissors tucked behind his ear. "He's my bird. I'm Sal."

He looked at their hair — all six of them — and his eyebrows went up slowly.

"Perfect," he said. "You six are entering."

"We are NOT—" Ollie started.

"You are," Sal said cheerfully. "Town rule. All residents. Check page two."

Jackie looked. There was a page two.