The Airdrie Firefly

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The Truth about Coffee Cups

"Thank you, Miss Day, for demonstrating how recycled paper has one thousand times the number of bacteria of virgin paper," said Mr. Nessman, using a ruler to slide the box of tissues off his desk and directly into his pristine garbage bin. "I will be sure to say a prayer for the environment, which died a little today, and for the return of my appetite. Nevertheless, well done. You may take your seat. We have time for one more. Mr. Digs, you're next."

Cindii walked back to her desk, her lavender perfume arriving a split second before she did, and mouthed "good luck" to Steven, then turned to sit in her alphabetically assigned seat.

Steven felt warm as the scent of lavender washed over him. Normally, he hated perfume and had no ideas why girls wore it. At the start of the year, assigned seating had put him behind Cindii, instead of next to his best friend, Talyn Thorne. Talyn never wore perfume. If anything, she smelled a bit farmy from time to time due to living on a ranch. Cindii's perfume drove him crazy. Still, over the past couple of months, he had found himself not minding the lavender scent, and even looking forward to it.

"Mr. Digs?" said Mr. Nessman. "Your presentation on the immune system is next. Are you prepared?"

Steven's posture straightened sharply as he snapped back to reality. My presentation, he thought, mentally trying to settle the increasingly violent butterflies in his stomach. OK, I can do this. He grabbed the wrinkled brown lunch bag and the box of latex gloves off his desk and slowly shuffled his way to the front of his sixth-grade science class.

This was big. He needed to get an A in this class—in all his classes. It was the only way Principal Pincher would allow him to start a school newspaper. And this presentation was worth 40 percent of his final grade.

Mr. Nessman stiffened in his chair, eyeballing the bag and the box of gloves in Steven's hand as he approached his desk.

"Would you like a pair of gloves, Mr. Nessman?" Steven asked, extending the box toward his teacher. He could swear he saw a bead of sweat form on Mr. Nessman's forehead.

"No, thank you," Mr. Nessman said, his voice stiffening even more than his body. "I have my own." Without taking his eyes off the bag in Steven's hand, he swiftly pulled his box of gloves out of a desk drawer, slapped it on the desk, and snapped on a pair of gloves with impossible speed.

If there were a Hypochondria Olympics, Mr. Nessman would medal with ease.

"Now Mr. Digs, please stand way over there," said Mr. Nessman, motioning to the opposite side of the classroom, "and tell us what is in the bag and how it relates to the immune system."

Too nervous to hear everything Mr. Nessman had said, Steven didn't move to the opposite side of the classroom. Instead, he donned a pair of gloves and reached into the bag, pausing for dramatic effect.

"Mr. Digs, please move to the front of the—"

Steven looked at the class, and to his astonishment, all the students were on the edges of their seats, waiting to see what was so dangerous that it required gloves to handle. The time was right. He hoisted the object out of the bag and held it aloft in front of him. The reaction was instantaneous.

"Dear god!" cried Mr. Nessman, arching backward, his face aghast.

A chorus of "eeeewwww" and "gross" filled the air as the class recoiled in one collective mass. There was even one dry heave.