The Airdrie Firefly

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Birth of a Firefly

Steven woke up Sunday morning wondering if the past couple of days had been just a bad dream. He sat up with a groan and saw he was still in his clothes—his makeup covered clothes. So much for it being a dream, he thought, rolling out of bed like a log and feeling as stiff as one too.

It was early, and no one was up yet. Steven's stiff form shambled downstairs to the kitchen, realizing every ache from last night's events. A bowl of cereal and glass of chocolate milk later, he was slowly climbing back upstairs to his room. This was way easier going down.

Without thinking, he sat at his desk, turned on his computer, and stared blankly at the screen. Wasn't there something I had to do today? Steven wondered. "Oh well, it'll come to me eventually," he said, shaking his head to snap out of his stupor.

He quickly checked his IM screen—nothing. Talyn was the only one who IM'd him with any frequency, but that had also stopped two months ago. Still, he thought there might be a chance after seeing her yesterday, after last night, after the kiss.

He lingered on the kiss for a moment, and a surge of something he didn't understand jolted through him. Maybe it was embarrassment; he didn't know, and that was part of the problem. There was so much about this whole situation that boggled him.

It had been his first kiss, and quite surprising. Time had seemed to slow down. He could remember a combination of smells: Talyn's makeup, cinnamon gum, the tang of cougar slobber still clinging to his face. She closed her eyes. Are you supposed to close your eyes when you kiss someone?

He shook his head again, this time to help push thoughts of kissing into the back of his mind. I could swear I had something to do today.

Looking down at the white smears of body paint on his shirt, he thought of Bigfoot Barry. A few moments later he was online, signing up for a free plug-and-play website. A blog was something he'd always thought about, but he'd never had any idea what to write. Well, he wasn't thinking now: all his previous thoughts had crystalized into action—into words.

The Airdrie Firefly was the name of his news blog. "Shining a light in the darkness" was its tagline. Before he knew it, his first article, "Airdrie Bigfoot caught with his pants down," was finished, the video of last night's shooting embedded, and the whole thing saved and on the web.

"Ha! Who needs a school paper!" Steven said triumphantly. School paper. Uh-oh.

A quick look at the clock told him it was 11:00 a.m. He'd been so engrossed in his article he'd lost all track of time.

"Steven?" his mother called with a slightly aggressive knock on his door. A moment later, the door opened and she stepped in, controlled irritation on her face.

"Steven, dear, there is a Cindii downstairs saying you have a study date," Steven's mother said with uniquely Canadian terse politeness.

"Date?" Steven squawked. "Session, study session," Steven said, stumbling on his words. "She's just helping me with my project . . . which, I was supposed to call her about. To cancel."

A tiny wave of panic hit Steven.

"Oh geez, Mom, I'm so sorry," Steven said, seeing the tension on his mother's face. "I forgo—"

"Steven Digs!"

Uh-oh. She used my full name. This can't be good.

"Now you listen to me," Steven's mother continued, her voice lower but more intense. "Talyn and Mr. Thorne are coming over for lunch, and here you are, not even washed, and that Cindii girl downstairs. You were told you had to concentrate on your project today. Now sort this out."