Free Dread Locks by Neal Shusterman Page B

slope at the edge of the cliff just beyond Darwin’s Curve. A gentle breeze blew my hair in and out of my eyes as I looked out over the town below.
    I was alone.
    No, someone was with me—behind me. I could feel it. I wanted to turn around and see who it was, but I couldn’t. I was frozen. All I could do was stare down at the town. It seemed so tiny. So fragile.
    Whoever was behind me was closer now, inches from my back, and suddenly I was afraid—afraid that this person would push me over the edge of the cliff. I could sense hands about to touch my back and give me a shove.
    I saw a sudden movement on the ground beneath me—a shadow. The shadow of a headful of snakes. No—not snakes. Twirls of curly hair.
    It was Tara.
    I sighed with relief and felt my body relax. I was safe.
    Then I felt her hands connect with my back, hard—and I tumbled off the edge in a mad free fall, until ...
     
    ... I woke up in bed.
    I had known it was a dream from the very beginning—sometimes you just do ... but that didn’t change how powerful it had felt. Dreams can twist your emotions like no reality can.
    I got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. Dim light streamed in through the window, and I saw myself in the mirror. Something in my hair caught my eye.
    My twisted curl.
    It seemed to sparkle, catching the early morning light. I flicked on the bathroom light, leaned over the sink, and took a closer look.
    My own hair is light brown, but this twirl appeared to be made of many different colors, combining strands of black, red, different shades of brown from dark to light, blond, and even silver.
    And then I saw it twitch.
    It must have been a trick of the light, or maybe my head had moved. I put my chin in my hand and held my head as still as I could. The hanging curl didn’t move. I held my position there to make absolutely sure. A minute. Two minutes. Finally I relaxed and looked away only for an instant.
    And the curl twitched again. I caught it only out of the corner of my eye, like the ghosts you see late at night after you’ve spent too much time watching TV
    I yanked open the drawer and looked for scissors, but I couldn’t find any. I slammed the drawer in frustration, then threw on some clothes and headed downstairs.
    The rest of the family was already eating breakfast. Katrina noisily munched her cereal. My parents drank coffee and ate English muffins while sharing the paper. Garrett lifted his cereal bowl to his mouth, guzzling the rest of his milk.
    “Gross!” Katrina shouted, pointing at my head. “Parker has a worm in his hair.”
    “It’s not a worm,” I said, taking a seat and grabbing the box of cereal. “It’s just hair.”
    “It’s like Tara’s!” Katrina squealed.
    “Yeah, but I’m getting rid of it.”
    My dad now looked thoughtfully at my brother. “Got enough milk there, Garrett?”
    Garrett was pouring more milk into his empty bowl, nearly filling it.
    “Huh?” Garrett looked down at his bowl, as though seeing it for the first time. “Oh, right. Cereal.”
    He snatched the box from me, reached inside, and grabbed a handful of colorful loops. He dropped them into his bowl, and a thin layer of cereal spread out across the deep lake of milk. Garrett picked up his spoon, scooped up the few floating cerealbergs, then lifted the bowl and sucked down the rest of the milk. He didn’t seem to notice that we were all still staring at him, because when he was done, he poured himself yet another bowl of cereal-less milk.
    “Garrett,” said my dad, touching his arm. “Are you feeling okay?”
    Garrett pulled away. He never liked it when anyone touched him.
    “I’m getting the thermometer,” Mom said.
    As soon as she left the room, Garrett stood up.
    “I’m outta here,” he announced. His exit might have been more dramatic, but instead of storming out in his usual spring-legged stomp, he just kind of shuffled away, like every step was an effort.
    “What’s wrong with this family?”