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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.
    I turned my hands over. Both palms were covered, too.
    The guitar fell heavily to the floor as I jumped to my feet.
    My arms began to itch.
    With trembling hands, I tore at the cuffs. Pulled up the sleeves.
    My arms were covered, too! The thick, bristly hair swept over both arms and
hands.
    I stood there, swallowing hard, staring down at my hairy arms and hands. My
legs were trembling. I felt weak.
    My mouth suddenly felt dry. My throat ached.
    I tried to swallow.
    Was the disgusting hair growing on my tongue ?
    Feeling a jolt of nausea, I lurched across the hall to the bathroom. Clicking
on the ceiling light, I leaned over the sink. I brought my face up close to the
mirror and stuck out my tongue.
    No.
    My tongue was okay.
    But my face—my cheeks and chin—were covered with black hair.
    It’s spreading so fast! I realized. The mirror reflected my horror.
    It’s spreading so fast now—all over me.
    What am I going to do?
    Isn’t there anything I can do?

 
 
20
     
     
    I got to school early on Monday morning and waited for Lily at her locker.
    It had taken hours to shave off all the bristly clumps of hair. But I did it.
    This morning I wore a sweater with extra-long sleeves, and I pulled a
baseball cap down low on my head in case the hair grew back during the day.
    “Lily, where are you?” I murmured impatiently. I paced nervously back and
forth in front of the row of green lockers.
    Lily and I have to face this problem together, I told myself. I remembered
the frightened expression on Lily’s face when I asked her if she had been
growing weird hair.
    I knew the same thing was happening to Lily. I just knew it.
    And I knew that Lily must be embarrassed like me, too embarrassed to admit
it, to talk about it.
    But the two of us can figure out what to do, I decided.
    If the two of us go to Dr. Murkin and tell him about the INSTA-TAN lotion and
the hair, he’ll have to believe us.
    But where was Lily?
    Kids jammed the