“Brumby. On Wednesday Mrs. Coolidge had used a torture rod she called a curling iron to flip my hair into a rolled-newspaper look. This morning, while I’d eaten Frosted Flakes, she braided my hair in dozens of tiny braids, which I unbraided at the barn before I came to school. But it was too late. The braids left me looking like a Dutch Friesian—a stocky, European breed of horse with a wild, bushy mane. “Stick your finger in an electric socket?” Summer asked as I slid into English class under th...e bell. “You could be your own circus act! Electric girl!” Summer’s faithful followers chuckled. Hawk always sat by Summer in class, but I don’t think she joined in. I was just glad we didn’t have school on Friday. Maybe Mrs. Coolidge wouldn’t feel obligated to fix my hair. In Pat’s class Barker asked for volunteers for the Ashland circus. “We need butchers—I mean, concession people—to sell cotton candy and peanuts.” “Come on, class!” Pat urged. “You could be circus folk like Barker!”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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