#famous(14)

“Kyle,” a woman in a navy dress with some sort of twisty thing happening at the waist yelled. She was smiling triumphantly, like she’d just found the prize in the cereal. “Kyle, the Now News Five team would like to speak to you!”

She started jogging toward me. Her narrow skirt and high heels made her steps jerky and straight-legged, like a Barbie. She didn’t get far before more people started yelling and pressing forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ream marching toward me, mouth pinched tight.

Then it clicked. The reporter knew my name. She’d picked me out by sight.

I was the news. They were here about me. Dude.

“I’m not entirely clear on why these reporters are here to see you, Mr. Bonham. They mentioned Flit?” Ream said in an insistent undertone.

I nodded, my throat tightening.

“You don’t have to speak to them. This is clearly outside the bounds of the school-use image release your parents signed. Until we reach them, the school can act in loco parentis and—”

“They won’t know what you’re talking about.” I hadn’t told my parents about the flit. What was there to tell? Hey, Mom, a lot of internet randos like a picture of me. She’d just nod, tell me to be careful about what colleges might see, then go back to whatever she was reading on her iPad. Dad would be locked up in his office, on some call, like he was most nights he was in town.

“They’re really here to talk to me?” She nodded. I tried not to grin. Ream was taking this so seriously.

It felt like nerves were weaving through my chest, expanding it until it was too big for breaths to fill. Talking to reporters would be like public speaking times a thousand. But on the other hand, it was flipping cool. Even Carter had never been his own news story before. And both years he was captain, lacrosse won state. I tried to imagine Mom and Dad seeing me on television. They’d be so surprised.

“Can I talk to them?”

Ream raised a drawn-on eyebrow at me.

“As I said, I haven’t been able to reach either of your parents, so legally I’m not—”

“I’m eighteen. And they’ll leave faster if I give them what they want, right?”

Ream’s mouth, pinched so tight it looked like the sucker of the tapeworms we dissected in tenth-grade Bio, softened into a smile. She tried to act tough, but she was kind of a pushover.

“Oh, fine. Just keep it brief. And I’ll be informing your parents that I told you to wait, so figure out your story, buster.” She took a step away and nodded toward the reporters. Game on.

I smiled, but it didn’t feel like it was working right. At least I wasn’t frowning. I gave a two-fingered wave to the cameras. A super-blond reporter in black had squeezed up next to the first one. Both thrust their mikes in my face.

“Kyle, why do you think your picture struck such a—” Navy started.

“—taken by someone you know?” Blond finished.

I couldn’t tell where I was supposed to look, or which question to answer. The sun was still hidden behind the building, and I could feel goose bumps prickling my forearms. Repressing a shiver, I fake-smiled harder and looked between them.

“I’m as surprised by this as anyone,” I squeaked out. “Like my girl—” Foul. “My, um, friend told me last night, it’s not even that good a picture of me.”

“Hundreds of thousands of Flit users would disagree, Kyle,” Blond Reporter said. “What do you have to say to them?”

“I guess that they’re lucky no one’s invented scratch-and-sniff flits? After a shift, I’m best appreciated from a distance. Like, ten feet or greater.”

The reporters chuckled. I wasn’t doing so badly. Still, I felt like I had that time Ollie and I went cliff-jumping at his cabin. Stomach: lodged in my throat. I should get out before I said something seriously stupid.

“Anyway, I have to get going. A flit is not a good enough excuse for being late to Ms. Casey’s class.” I grinned. It felt less rubbery. “Though feel free to try and help me out. Maybe if the picture gets a million reflits she’ll let me off the hook.”

I waved, turned, winked at Ream, and jogged around the cluster into the school.

I made it to Ms. Casey’s room six minutes after the bell. One minute too late.

“Here’s my homework,” I said, panting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a couple girls pulling out phones to snap a picture while Ms. Casey was distracted. Me yesterday: just another kid they went to school with. They probably didn’t even think about me. Me today: worth posting pictures of to their feeds. I tried not to grin.

“You know the rule. Late is late.”

“I know, but I swear it wasn’t my fault.”

“Really.” Ms. Casey tilted her head to the side to make sure I got a better look at her smirk. Casey: champion smirker. Usually it meant she was about to be funny, which was impressive since she taught one of the most boring subjects ever. Today it clearly meant “I’m calling you on your crap, Kyle.”

“There were news vans waiting for me at the door.” She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, ask Rea—, uh, Dr. Rheim. I got by as fast as I could, but I didn’t build time for that into my commute, you know?”

A couple kids snickered.

“What did you do that’s so newsworthy, Mr. Bonham?”