“We got you the date,” Abraham said, picking up the dice. “We can’t go on it for you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Harvey said. “I’ve heard that man can cook.”
Were they right? Had Simon just asked me on a date in front of the guys? No, that didn’t make any sense. He wasbeing polite. It was no different from when Gladys invited me to her house for her legendary Sheppard’s pie.
Or was it?
“What the heck?”
A white van sat in front of the comic shop. I slowed my stroll along the sidewalk when I spotted the blue stripe and satellite dishes on the top. The bold red letters cut through the blue stripe. Maine News. I couldn’t fathom what they found newsworthy in Firefly. Unless they were hunting down jaywalkers or notorious gossips, we were the least interesting town in Northern Maine.
As I walked closer, I heard Amanda’s excited voice and then some laughter. She had vanished at Spectrum last night and apologized for ditching and making Jon drive me home. As payment, she offered to open the store. I think it was her way of justifying a speedy exit from her new friend’s bed in the morning.
I pressed my face against the glass of the store. A cameraman wandered around the store while — Gail Simmons. Everybody recognized Gail, the street reporter willing to get her hands dirty to get the story. Except this time, she stood next to a cardboard cutout of Mister Supreme leaping into the air.
“Amanda, what have you done?” My anxiety picked up, forcing my heart to pound against my ribcage. A thirty-second promotional video had almost done me in. Now Ihad to face a reporter? I couldn’t prove it, but Amanda had something to do with this. She’d cackle while I stewed in my discomfort.
She caught me snooping outside the store and waved me in. I had missed my opportunity to run away. Okay. Hi, I’m Jason Cowan. I’m only scared of snakes, clowns, and oysters. I could do this.
With a deep breath, I walked to the door, easing it open as I reconsidered running away. I stepped inside, and the cameraman spun about, focusing on me. The thumping in my chest moved to my throat. Add reporters to my list of fears.
“Gail, this is Jason. He’s the one you want to speak with.”
Amanda came out from behind the counter and threw her arm over my shoulders. It wasn’t for camaraderie. She tightened her grip, making it impossible to run away. There was no escaping. It was kindergarten all over again.
“Maine News saw your video,” she said. Leaning close to my ear, she added, “You’re welcome,” in a whisper.
Gail wore a blue blazer with a white blouse underneath. It would change depending on the weather. Her asymmetrical haircut, thick black glasses, and brilliant green eyes served as her signature look. Every person in the state of Maine had seen her on the news. She had exposed corruption in the capitol, uncovered shady practices in the Lewiston school system, and even launched a campaign to support local animal rescue. Gail had become Maine royalty.
“Hi,” I squeaked.
Gail strode forward with an unworldly confidence. “Gail Simmons with Maine News.” She needed no introduction. “We saw your video online and would love to interview you about Firefly Con.”
“You’re welcome.” Amanda leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “He’s all yours, Gail.” She retreated behind the counter, leaving me to defend myself.
“Thanks, Amanda.” Wait, did Amanda know Gail? Or did sheknowGail? It wouldn’t surprise me. There wasn’t a beautiful woman in the state that Amanda didn’t have saved in her phonebook. “As she said, your video popped up on my radar. I have to say, the blooper reel is what grabbed my attention.”
I didn’t need to look to know, Amanda muttered, “I told you so.”
“Kid, it sounds like you could use a hand getting the word out.”
Kid? She couldn’t be more than a year or two older than me. If Gail Simmons helped promote Firefly Con, I’d shelf my protests. I could be brave. No, Iwouldbe brave. The success of this event sat on my shoulders, and I wouldn’t let the town down.
“If you’re here to cover the convention, I can’t take all the credit.”
“You’re Jason Cowan, the organizer, you?—”
“You’re right. I’m the organizer behind Firefly Con, but it’s the town making it happen. Since we lost the paper mills, the town has been struggling to stay relevant. Youknow us northerners, we’re a durable folk. Harsh winters and brutal summers, we take it all in stride. But we need something to look forward to.”
“And that’s your convention?”
I didn’t realize the cameraman had turned in my direction. One of his eyes pressed against the camera, the red dot blinking on the front. The interview had already started.
“Comics aren’t the strips in the newspaper. They’re as diverse as any book. There are stories about superheroes, sure. But also mysteries about hard-boiled detectives and even a few beautiful romances. Comics take intricate stories and split them between the character’s dialogue and the artwork.”
“You mentioned this is a town affair…”
“Firefly Valley is going to give the big conventions a run for their money, and we’re going to do it like true Mainers. Twice-Told Tales has been collecting vintage comics to sell. One of our local artisans is creating chainsaw statues of well-known heroes. Everybody chips in here. Bistro on Maine has barely opened, and they’re going to be offering bite-sized treats for the convention.”
