Firefly Valley had a library.
Who knew?
I had never been studious enough to need it. The last time I had picked up a book without pictures had been during a power outage. I tightened the strap across my chest, redistributing the weight of the rucksack. I’d blame it on growth spurts. More than likely, the tightness came from my love of cupcakes and donuts.
I stared at the steps, replaying the conversation from yesterday. Seamus had invoked my father’s approval to con me into this agreement. By the time I reached the house, Tyler had already called and given Mum all the details. Her eyes lit up as she recited the conversation word for word. It ended with a pat on the cheek and a soft, “Your father would be proud.”
She meant it as a compliment, but as I internalized her words, the guilt squeezed and forced my heart to skip a beat. I didn’t say it aloud, but I couldn’t help but think of all the wasted opportunities to make him proud while he was alive. Coming to Firefly had reopened a wound that refused to heal.
And yet, here I was.
Wearing my old hiking boots with my rucksack strapped to my back, I prepared to do exactly what I wanted to avoid. On theother side of that door were gremlins that would crawl all over me, dragging me into the story of Firefly. I glanced down the sidewalk, debating whether it’d be better to keep walking. When I reached the tree line, I’d keep going and vanish into the Maine wilderness. The idea had its appeal.
Looking at the single cloud in the sky, I grumbled.
“This is your fault.”
If Pops watched, he’d die of laughter.
When I opened the door, I needed to take it all in. Firefly didn’t just have a building with a few books. Inside, it was like a treasure trove, with shelves waist-high all the way up to the librarian’s desk. I assumed the man clamoring to his feet must be Tyler, one of the conspirators who roped me into this situation. I tried not to stare, but Firefly had an unusually high ratio of burly bears.
To my left, there were two old leather chairs around a fireplace. I assumed the three tweens glued to their phones were my tiny survivalists. None of them looked up as I entered. I could almost hear their brains turning to goo.
“Charlie, it’s great to see you again.”
He lived in Firefly and didn’t have gray in his beard. By default, I assumed we had gone to school together. Nope. No recollection, which meant he was either above or below me. Since I returned, I realized people fell into two categories: tormentors and others. Tormentors I’d remember all the way to the grave. Others hung in the eaves of my memory, forgotten as I tried to get through the school day without anincident.
“Don’t worry.” He must have noticed the confusion. “I was a freshman when you graduated.”
“I take it these are our survivalists?”
He leaned close. “They couldn’t survive bad cell reception.”
“I see.”
“Jeff. Matt. Ronnie. I want you to meet Charlie. He’s going to be stepping in for your Scout leader.” None of them looked up. I resisted the urge to knock the phones out of their hands. “He’s a cannibal and plans on eating you alive.”
I nearly choked at the statement.
“See!” He gestured to the trio, who didn’t even bother to look up. “Don’t kill them. I don’t want to be on a True Crime Podcast.”
With that, our adult supervision wandered back to his desk. I unsnapped the strap across my chest and dropped my bag with a thud. Still nothing. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I snatched the phone out of the boys’ hands, sitting in the chairs. The one cross-legged on the floor watched the horror unfold, guarding his technological lifeline when I closed in.
“Now.” I didn’t open it for debate.
“This is against the law,” cried the one to my left.
“Good thing Firefly doesn’t have cops.” I extended my hand. “Now.”
He reluctantly handed it over. I half-expected him to shed a tear. Setting them on the mantle above the fireplace, I had their attention. With scowls, I hoped they were putting that survival training to use and thinking of ways of hog-tying me.
“We’re going camping.” It wasn’t a question.
“Do we have to?” The one on the right reminded me of myself at that age. Short blond hair, a little thick around the middle. The lack of interest in his tone sounded more than a little familiar.
“Yes.”
“Scott thought he could make us go camping.”
