26 - My Hairiest Adventure Read online

  She stopped walking and stared at me. A solemn expression darkened her face. “Yes,” she confessed in a hushed whisper.

  9

  “Huh?” I gasped. My heart skipped a beat. “You grew hair on your hand?”

  Lily nodded grimly. She moved closer. Her blue eye and her green eye stared at me from under the wool ski cap.

  “Hair grew on my hands,” she whispered, her breath steaming up the cold air as she talked. “Then it grew on my arms, and my legs, and my back.”

  I let out a choked cry.

  “Then my face changed into a wolf’s face,” Lily continued, still staring hard at me. “And I ran out to the woods and howled at the moon. Like this.” She threw back her head and uttered a long, mournful howl.

  “Then I found three people in the woods, and I ate them!” Lily declared. “Because I’m a werewolf!”

  She growled at me and snapped her teeth. And then she burst out laughing.

  I could feel my face turning red.

  Lily gave me a hard, playful shove. I lost my balance and nearly fell on to my back.

  She laughed even harder. “You believed me—didn’t you, Larry!” she accused. “You actually believed that dumb story!”

  “No way!” I cried. My face felt red-hot. “No way, Lily. Of course I didn’t believe you!”

  But I had believed her story. Up to the part where she said she ate three people.

  Then I finally figured out that she was joking, that she was teasing me.

  “Hairy Larry!” Lily chanted. “Hairy Larry!”

  “Stop it!” I insisted angrily. “You’re not funny, you know? You’re not funny at all!”

  “Well, you are!” she shot back. “Funny-looking!”

  “Ha-ha,” I replied sarcastically. I turned and crossed the street, taking long strides, trying to get away from her.

  “Hairy Larry!” she called, chasing after me. “Hairy Larry!”

  I slid on a patch of ice. I quickly caught my balance, but my backpack slid off my shoulder and dropped with a thud onto the street.

  As I bent to pick it up, Lily stood over me. “Did you grow hair last night, Larry?” she demanded.

  “Huh?” I pretended not to hear her.

  “Did you grow hair on the back of your hand? Is that why you asked me?” Lily asked, leaning over me.

  “No way,” I muttered. I hoisted the backpack onto my shoulder and started walking again. “No way,” I repeated.

  Lily laughed. “Are you a werewolf?”

  I pretended to laugh, too. “No. I’m a vampire,” I replied.

  I wished I could tell Lily the truth. I really wanted to tell her about the patch of ugly hair.

  But I knew she could never keep it a secret. I knew she would spread the story over the whole school. And then everyone I knew would call me Hairy Larry for the rest of my life!

  I felt bad about lying to her. I mean, she is my best friend.

  But what could I do?

  We walked the rest of the way to school without saying much. I kept glancing over at Lily. She had the strangest smile on her face.

  “Are you ready to present your book reports?” Miss Shindling asked.

  The classroom erupted with sounds—chairs scraping, Trapper-Keepers being opened, papers being rustled, throats being cleared.

  Standing in front of the entire class and reciting a book report makes everyone nervous. It makes me very nervous! I just hate having everyone stare at me.

  And if I goof up a word or forget what I want to say next, I always turn bright red. And then everyone laughs and makes fun of me.

  The night before, I had practiced my book report standing in front of the mirror. And I had done pretty well. Only a few tiny mistakes.

  Of course, I hadn’t been nervous giving the report to myself in my room. Now, my knees were shaking—and I hadn’t even been called on yet!

  “Howie, would you give your report first?” Miss Shindling asked, motioning for Howie Hurwin to come to the front of the class.

  “It’s a shame to have the best go first!” Howie replied, grinning.

  A few kids laughed. Other kids groaned.

  I knew that Howie wasn’t joking. He really thought he was the best at everything.

  He stepped confidently to the front of the room. Howie is a big guy, sort of chubby, with thick, brown hair that he never brushes, and a big, round face with freckles on his cheeks.

  He always has a smirk on his face. A stuck-up look that says, “I’m the best—and you’re an insect.”

  He usually wears baggy faded denim jeans about five sizes too big, and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a shiny black vest opened over it.

  He held up the book he was reporting on. One of the Matt Christopher baseball books.

  I groaned to myself. I knew in advance exactly what Howie was going to say: “I recommend this book to anyone who likes baseball.”

  That’s how Howie always started his book reports. So boring!

  But Howie always got A’s anyway. I never understood why Miss Shindling thinks he’s so terrific.

  Howie cleared his throat and grinned at Miss Shindling. Then he turned to the class and started his report in a loud, steady voice. “I recommend this book to anyone who likes baseball,” he began.

  Told you.

  I yawned loudly. No one seemed to notice.

  Howie droned on. “This is a very exciting book with a very good plot,” he said. “If you like a lot of excitement, you’ll like this book. Especially if you’re a baseball fan.”

  I didn’t hear the rest of it. I kept silently going over and over my own book report.

  A few minutes later, when Miss Shindling announced, “Larry, you’re next!” I almost didn’t hear her.

  I took a deep breath and climbed to my feet. Stay cool, Larry, I told myself. You’ve practiced and practiced your report. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

  Clearing my throat loudly, I started up the aisle to the front of the room. I was halfway up the aisle when Howie stuck out his foot.

  I saw his big grin—but I didn’t see his foot.

  “Oh!” I cried out in surprise as I stumbled over it—and went sprawling on the floor.

  The classroom exploded with laughter.

  My heart pounding, I started to pull myself up.

  But I stopped when I saw my hands.

  Both of them were bristling with thick, black hair.

  10

  “Larry, are you okay?” I heard Miss Shindling call from her desk.

  “Uh…” I was too stunned to answer.

  “Larry, are you hurt?”

  “Uh… well…” I couldn’t speak at all. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

  Crouched on the floor, I stared in horror at my hairy hands.

  Above me, I could hear kids still laughing about how Howie had tripped me. I glanced up to see the kid next to Howie slapping him a high-five.

  Ha-ha. Very funny.

  Usually, I’d be totally embarrassed. But I didn’t have time to be embarrassed. I was too scared.

  Had anyone seen my hairy hands?

  Still down on the floor, I glanced quickly around the room.

  No one was pointing in horror or crying out.

  Maybe no one had caught a glimpse of them yet.

  Quickly, I jammed both hands deep into my jeans pockets.

  When I was sure that both hands were completely hidden, I climbed slowly to my feet.

  “Look! Larry is blushing!” someone called from the back row. The room exploded with more laughter.

  Of course, that made me blush even redder. But blushing wasn’t exactly my biggest problem.

  There was no way I could stand in front of the class with these two hairy hands. I’d rather die!

  Without even thinking about it, I started hurrying back up the aisle to the classroom door. With my hands jammed into my jeans, it wasn’t easy to walk fast.

  “Larry—what’s wrong?” Miss Shindling called from the
front of the room. “Where are you going?”

  “Uh… I’ll be right back,” I managed to choke out.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” the teacher asked.

  “Yeah. Fine,” I mumbled. “Be right back. Really.”

  I knew everyone was staring at me. But I didn’t care. I just had to get out of there. I had to figure out what to do about my hands.

  As I reached the door, I heard Miss Shindling scold Howie. “You could have hurt Larry. You shouldn’t trip people, Howie. I’ve warned you before.”

  “But, Miss Shindling—it was an accident,” Howie lied.

  I slipped out the door. Into the long, empty hall.

  I checked to make sure no one was around to see me. Then I pulled my hands from my pockets.

  I had a dim hope that maybe my hands would be back to normal. But that hope vanished as soon as I raised them to the light.

  Thick, black hair—nearly an inch high!—covered both hands. How could it grow so fast? I wondered.

  The backs of my hands were hairy. And my palms were hairy, too. Hair poked up from the knuckles of my fingers. And clumps of black hair grew in the space between my fingers.

  I rubbed my hands together, as if trying to rub the ugly hair away. But of course it didn’t come off.

  “Nooooooo. Please—noooooo!” I moaned out loud without realizing it.

  What could I do?

  I couldn’t go back to class with these hairy monster hands. They would make everyone sick!

  I would be embarrassed for the rest of my life. Whenever anyone would see me coming, they’d say, “Here comes Hairy Larry Boyd. Remember that day the black hair grew all over his hands?”

  I’ll run home, I decided. I’ll get away from here.

  No. How could I leave school in the middle of the morning? Miss Shindling was waiting for me to return and give my book report.

  I stood frozen, my back against the tile wall, gazing at the hideous hands.

  And I suddenly realized that I wasn’t alone in the hallway.

  I glanced up—and gasped when I saw Mr. Fosburg, the principal.

  He was carrying a stack of textbooks. But he had stopped a few feet away from me.

  And he was staring in shock at my hairy hands.

  11

  I swung my hands down and tucked them behind my back.

  But it was too late. Mr. Fosburg had already seen them. His blue eyes narrowed as he studied me.

  I shuddered.

  What was he going to say? What was he going to do now?

  “Is it too cold in the building?” the principal asked.

  “Huh?” I replied. What was he asking?

  I leaned back against my hands, pressing them against the wall. Even through my shirt, I could feel the prickly hair all over them.

  “Should I have the furnace turned up, Larry?” Mr. Fosburg asked. “Is it too cold? Is that why you’re wearing gloves to class?”

  “G-gloves?” I stammered.

  He thought I was wearing gloves!

  “Yes. I… uh… was a little cold,” I told him, starting to feel a little better. “That’s why I went to my locker. For gloves.”

  He stared at me thoughtfully. Then he turned and headed the other way, balancing the stack of textbooks in both hands. “I’ll talk to the custodian about it,” he called back.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared around the corner. That had been a close call.

  But he had given me a good idea. Gloves.

  I hurried to my locker. Turning the dial on the combination lock felt strange with my hairy fingers. But I opened the locker easily and pulled my black leather gloves from the pockets of my parka.

  A few seconds later, I stepped back into the classroom. Lily stood at the front of the class, giving her book report. She glanced at me curiously as I slid back into my seat.

  When Lily finished, Miss Shindling called me to the front of the room. “Are you okay now, Larry?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “My… uh… hands were cold.” I climbed out of my seat and stepped quickly to the front of the room.

  Some kids started to giggle and point at my gloves. But I didn’t care.

  At least no one could see my hands with the ugly black fur sprouting all over them.

  I took a deep breath and started my report. “The book I read is by Bruce Coville,” I began.

  “And I would recommend it to anyone who likes funny science fiction stories….”

  After school, I hurried to my locker. I kept my head down and tried to avoid everyone.

  I had worn the gloves all day. They were hot and uncomfortable. And they seemed to grow tighter and tighter.

  I wondered if the black hair on my hands was growing. But I was afraid to take off the gloves to check it out.

  I tugged on my parka and slung my backpack over one shoulder. I have to get out of here and think, I told myself.

  A few steps from the front exit, I heard Lily calling my name. I turned and saw her chasing after me. She was wearing an oversized yellow sweater pulled down over bright green tights.

  I kept walking. “Catch you later!” I called back to her. “I’m in a hurry.”

  But she came running up and stepped in front of me. “Aren’t you coming to band practice?” she asked.

  I was so upset about my hairy hands that I’d completely forgotten.

  “It’s at my house again this afternoon—remember?” Lily continued, walking backwards as I made my way to the doors.

  “I—I can’t,” I stammered. “I don’t feel very well.”

  That was the truth.

  She stared hard at me. “What’s your problem, Larry? How come you’ve been so weird all day?”

  “I just don’t feel well,” I insisted. “Sorry about the practice. Can we do it tomorrow?”

  “I guess,” she replied. She said something else, but I didn’t hear it. I pushed open the door and hurried out of the school.

  I ran all the way home. The sun beamed down on the snow, making it gleam like silver. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I was lost in my own troubled thoughts.

  Thinking about hair. Thick patches of black, spikey hair.

  I burst into the house and tossed my backpack onto the floor. I started up the stairs to my room—but stopped when I heard Mom call my name.

  I found her in the living room, on the chair by the front window. She had Jasper, our cat, in her lap and the cordless phone up to her ear. She said something into it, then lowered it as she raised her eyes to me.

  “Larry, you’re home early. Don’t you have band practice?”

  “Not today,” I lied. “I have a lot of homework, so I came straight home.” Another lie.

  I didn’t want to tell her the truth. I didn’t want to tell her that I had rubbed INSTA-TAN all over myself and now I was sprouting disgusting black hair.

  I didn’t want to tell her. But it suddenly burst out of me. The whole story. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Mom, you won’t believe this,” I started in a tiny, choked voice. “I’m growing hair, Mom. Really gross black hair. On my hands. You see, my friends and I—we found this old bottle of tanning lotion. And I know it was really stupid. But we all poured it on ourselves. I rubbed it all over my face, and hands, and neck. And now I’m growing hair, Mom. In school today, I looked down. And both of my hands were covered in black hair. I’m so embarrassed. And I’m scared, too. I’m really scared.”

  I was breathing hard as I finished the story. I had been staring down at the floor as I told it. But now I raised my eyes to see my mom’s reaction.

  What would she say? Could she help me?

  12

  I heard her mumble something. But I couldn’t understand the words.

  Then I realized that she wasn’t talking to me.

  She had the phone pressed to her ear, and she was talking into it.

  Mom had gone back to her telephone conversation. She was concentrating so har
d, she hadn’t heard a word I had said!

  I let out an annoyed groan. Then I spun around and hurried up the stairs to my room. I closed the door behind me and tore off the hot, uncomfortable gloves.

  Jasper had run upstairs and perched on the window seat. She spent most of the day on the window seat in my room, staring down at the front yard.

  As I tossed the gloves onto a chair, she turned to me. Her bright yellow eyes glowed happily.

  I crossed the room and picked her up. Then I sat down on the window seat and hugged her.

  “Jasper, you’re the only real friend I have,” I whispered, petting her back.

  To my surprise, the cat let out a squawk, arched her back, and jumped to the floor. She ran halfway across the room, then turned back, her yellow eyes glaring at me.

  It took me a few seconds to realize the problem. I held up my hands. “It’s these hairy paws, isn’t it, Jasper?” I said sadly. “They frightened you—didn’t they?”

  The cat tilted her head, as if trying to understand me.

  “Well, they frighten me, too,” I told her.

  I jumped up and hurried across the hall to the bathroom. Once again, I pulled my dad’s shaving equipment from the medicine cabinet.

  I set to work, shaving off the thick hair.

  It wasn’t easy. Especially trying to shave off the tufts of hair that had grown in the spaces between my fingers. That hair was really hard to reach.

  The hair was stiff and tough. Like the bristles on a hairbrush. I cut myself twice, on the palm and the back of my right hand.

  As I rinsed the shaving cream off, I glanced down and saw Jasper staring up at me from the bathroom doorway. “Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” I whispered.

  She blinked her yellow eyes and yawned.

  The next morning, I awoke before Mom and Dad. Most mornings, I lie in bed and wait for Mom to shout that it’s time to get up.

  But this morning I jumped out of bed, turned on all the lights, and stepped up to my dresser mirror.