Hot Cocoa Hearts Page 4
At that moment, Alex’s abuelo came into the kitchen. “Ahora, time to close up shop.” He smiled at me. “Buenas noches, señorita.”
“Good night, Señor Perez.” I picked up Nyssa’s pastry box, then waved to him before Alex walked me through the front of the shop. As the two of us stood under the shop’s awning, Alex studied me with that half-amused, half-baffled expression on his face that I was coming to realize he reserved especially for me.
“By the way. Not everyone who works at the mall is a sellout.” There was a defensiveness to his voice I’d never heard before, and I felt a stab of guilt.
“I didn’t mean you,” I said quietly.
“I know. But doesn’t hiding a part of yourself sort of make you one?” I frowned, wanting to argue, but before I could, he nudged me. “Let’s not end the night fighting, okay?” He held up a gold bow. “Here. The finishing touch.” He stuck the bow on top of the package for Nyssa, then smiled. “Wrapped and ready to go.”
I wanted to stay annoyed with him, in his cheery, know-it-all glory. But he sort of saved the day with Nyssa’s gift idea, even if he was clueless when it came to Sawyer.
“Thanks for your help,” I said, using every ounce of willpower to make my voice sound peacemaking. “I never thought I’d say this, but it was fun. Baking with you.”
“Of course it was,” he said. “You’re an elf. Baking’s in your blood.”
“Argh!” I elbowed him. “Would you quit calling me an elf?”
“Okay,” he said with a mischievous grin, “but how else do you explain the ears?”
“Wha—?” I reached up to my ears in confusion, then froze when I felt something plastic and pointy protruding from my hair. “Omigod. I forgot to take them off!” And Sawyer had seen me in them! So that’s why he’d been staring at my ears! “Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried.
“I just did.” Alex laughed. “Besides, they look good on you.”
I made a lunge for him, but just as I did, he pulled the gates closed over the storefront. “See you at school, Emery Elf,” he called from safety on the other side.
I yanked off the ears and stormed through the concourse. But by the time I reached the North Pole Wonderland, I was giggling in spite of myself. Boys, I thought with a shake of my head, when you’re not crushing on them, you want to strangle them.
Friday morning when I got to Mrs. Finnegan’s class, I saw a purple gift bag in the center of my desk. On nearly every desk in the room were gifts in various shapes and sizes, wrapped in bright paper or sitting in patterned gift bags.
Even though I warned it ahead of time not to do it, my heart sped up. Traitor, I thought. No matter how much I argued with myself that I didn’t need or want a present, the second it was in front of me, all I wanted to do was rip it open. I lifted the bag. A raven-shaped tag dangled from one of its handles, and when I flipped it over, I read: For a girl full of sweetness and bite. Like this candy. From, Guess who?
Intrigued, I reached through a mound of silver tissue paper into the bag. I pulled out a crinkly package and found myself smiling at the pink skull and crossbones on its front. It was a supersized pack of Venom candy—my favorite. I popped a piece into my mouth just as Nyssa walked into the class.
I held my breath as she approached her desk, where her red-and-gold present sat waiting. Before the bell rang, I’d enlisted Jez’s help, having her put the present on Nyssa’s desk for me so that no one would guess who it was really from.
Nyssa picked it up, weighing it in her hands. “Ooh, it’s heavy.”
“Watch out,” Vince, sitting in the desk beside her, snorted, “it could be a nasty fruitcake.”
“Shh.” Nyssa stifled a giggle as she started ripping off the cellophane. “Whoever gave it to me will hear you.”
I cringed as Nyssa lifted the lid of the pastry box. She pulled out the gingerbread version of herself and stared.
“Whoa. Definitely homemade.” I held my breath, trying to decipher her tone. It could go either way … offended or impressed. She tilted her head, holding up the cookie to the light. “Hey. I think it’s supposed to be … me!” I mentally prepared myself to hear a snarky critique. Then—shocker—she bit the gingerbread girl’s head clean off. “It’s delicious!” she said, cookie crumbs flying out of her mouth.
If my mouth hadn’t been puckered around my candy, it would’ve hit the floor.
“Mmmm,” Nyssa mumbled, relishing the cookie, her eyes closed in pleasure. “I haven’t had homemade cookies since my nanny quit.”
“You’re kidding,” Vince said. “Your mom never baked you cookies before?”
“Not even once,” she said. “We practically live on takeout. I get so sick of it.”
Wow. Two Nyssa revelations in less than two minutes. I wasn’t entirely sure how to process what I’d overheard, but there was definitely a question forming in my mind. Was there more to her than the aura of privileged aloofness she gave off?
By the time Mrs. Finnegan walked in to start class, I was relieved, and secretly pleased, to see Nyssa scarfing down her third cookie. Alex had been right. Giving Nyssa something she never expected had been a clever idea, and it felt good watching her enjoy the cookies we’d worked so hard to make.
Not everyone in our class fared so well with their gifts, though. Vince was the one who ended up with a fruitcake. The gourmet cheese and sausage gift basket that Sawyer had gotten loomed at least a foot above his head. It was absurdly big, and Sawyer was inspecting it with mild curiosity. He pulled a French-labeled container from the basket.
“This could be a great place to find song titles,” he said to his friend and bandmate Gabe. “Maybe ‘Rancid Cheese’ or ‘Look What the Rat Dragged In’?”
“Brilliant,” Gabe said appreciatively, scribbling the titles down in his notebook.
“They are, aren’t they?” Sawyer laughed at his own joke, and I did, too.
Sawyer glanced in my direction and nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I blushed like mad, then looked away. He was being a pretty good sport over a gift so obviously wrong for him, and I couldn’t help wishing (again) that I’d pulled his name out of the Santa hat. He needed a Secret Santa who knew him, like mine, it seemed, knew me.
Which brought me back to the mystery surrounding my gift. I spent most of class wondering who my Secret Santa was. Sure, I could usually be seen unwrapping a Venom in between classes or after lunch, but somebody who noticed and remembered such a small detail must be noticing me.
Then lightning struck. I might not know who my Secret Santa was yet, but I had a perfectly logical explanation for how they’d found me such a perfect gift. They’d had help from someone, and I knew who.
“Me?” Jez blinked blankly. “I didn’t help anyone with your gift.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you sure?”
She shook her head adamantly over her samosas as the cafeteria around us buzzed with lunchtime chat. None of us Undergrounds sat at the tables. Instead, we always sprawled across the stage at the far end of the cafeteria. It was less crowded there and gave us a great view of the other tables. I could see Nyssa chatting away with her glee club friends, and Alex munching on a sandwich and laughing with some kids I didn’t recognize.
“You know I’m a terrible liar,” Jez said now. “If your Secret Santa had come to me, I’d spill the beans to you in seconds.”
It was true. Jez had never been good at keeping secrets from me. “Weird,” I said as I munched my sandwich. “So, if you weren’t involved, then who?”
Jez shrugged. “Maybe Lyra? Or Rafael? They’re both in your class.”
Lyra and Rafael were part of the Undergrounds, but I didn’t know either of them that well. They were a couple and spent most of their time holding hands and whispering to each other in delirious adoration.
“Maybe,” I said. “But they never seem to take their eyes off each other for long enough to notice much of anything, least of all what kind of candy I like.”
“I wish. But as of last night, he didn’t even know my name. I’m not optimistic.” I sighed, looking at that intense, reflective expression on Sawyer’s face. Man, if only he’d look at me like that. Suddenly, as if by magic, he did. He lifted his head, his eyes met mine in this take-my-breath-away glance, and he waved me over to him. “Omigod.” I clutched Jez’s hand. “He wants to talk to me.”
“Then why are you still sitting here?” Jez hissed in my ear, nudging me with her shoulder. “Go! Go!”
I crossed the stage on shaky legs, hoping I wouldn’t botch this the way I’d botched last night’s confab.
“Um, you wanted to see me?” I stammered.
“Oh. Yeah.” Sawyer’s eyes drifted back to the music again. “Emery.” My name rolled off his tongue like it was the start of a song. So dreamy. “I heard you’re a photographer?”
Photographer. Wow. Nobody had ever made it sound so serious, so professional before.
When I found my voice, I said, “I like to take pictures. Yes.”
He nodded without looking up. “Gabe and I were talking, and we need a photo for the cover of the new CD we’re putting together. Something dark, wintry-looking but with a punk edge. Do you think maybe you could come up with something? We want to sell copies of the CD at our concert in a couple weeks.”
“Sure,” I blurted quickly, then cursed myself for sounding so eager. “I’d love to.”
“Great.” He smiled. “So … see you.”
“See you,” I said, backing up across the stage. I couldn’t stop grinning. Sawyer had gone from not knowing my name to asking me to help with his band’s CD. That was progress.
I spent the rest of the day brainstorming ideas for Sawyer’s CD cover. It took me twice as long as usual to walk home from school, because I was snapping pictures the whole way down Main Street. My plan was to take a picture of some ordinary wintry scene, like a wreath on someone’s door, or a pine tree covered in snow, and then I could play with it on the computer, darkening the exposure, creating more of a ghostly feel.
By the time I turned onto Willow Court, I’d taken a few dozen pictures, and I was anxious to upload them to see what I had to work with. But when I spotted our house, my high spirits sank with embarrassment.
The Holly Jolly House was fully operational, and already a throng of moms and their little kids were oohing and aahing at the prancing, singing animatronic animals. The thousands of lights Dad had strung didn’t have much of an effect in broad daylight, but that didn’t seem to dampen this group’s enthusiasm.
I tried to slip into the backyard unnoticed, but suddenly one of the little girls swiveled her head toward me.
“Look!” she cried, beaming and pointing. “It’s Emery Elf! I saw you at the mall!” At least five other kids turned to wave at me, but then the girl’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Wait a second. How come you’re not wearing your elf clothes? And …” She tilted her head. “Your ears aren’t pointy anymore!”
“That’s because I’m not an elf,” I said distractedly. I didn’t even think about what I was saying, or who I was saying it to. The only thought I had was that I wanted to get inside as quickly as possible and avoid this whole conversation. “I only pretend to be one at the mall. I’m not the real deal.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “But if you’re not a real elf, then the Santa at the mall isn’t …” Her voice died away as her face crumpled into tears. Her mom rushed over, giving me a mildly scolding glance.
“That’s not what I said,” I started to protest, but then suddenly Dad was at my side.
“Who wants a candy cane?” he said, and instantly, kids surrounded him, all smiles once again. Except for the one little girl, who was still crying.
“Sorry, Dad,” I mumbled. “I didn’t mean to—”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said in a tired, disappointed voice. “Go on inside.”
As I walked away, I could hear the mom saying, “It’s all right, Sophie. Sometimes elves have secret identities when they’re around humans. See, they have magical powers that make them look like humans …”
I shut the front door and heaved a sigh, convinced I was going to hear it from Dad as soon as he came inside. Sure enough, not ten minutes later, he tracked me down in Mom’s studio, where I’d started uploading my photos.
“Emery.” He shook his head, exasperation in his eyes. “How could you do that?”
“It just slipped out!” I cried. “I was thinking about something else.”
He frowned. “Look, I don’t know what sort of phase this is you’re going through, but no matter how you feel about Christmas, it’s not fair for you to ruin it for children!”
A pit formed in my stomach, and I turned back to the computer, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t think I really ruined it,” I reasoned softly. “I mean, I didn’t sign on to stay in elf mode all the time. Doing it at the mall is bad enough.”
“Emery,” Dad said quietly, “I didn’t force you to help out with the Holly Jolly House. But you still have to respect what it means. I don’t just decorate for us. I decorate for the families of Fairview so that everyone can enjoy some holiday spirit.”
I gaped at him. “No way am I dressing up as an elf in our own house!”
“I’m not asking you to. But I am asking you to keep your attitude in check when you’re around the families who stop by to enjoy the decorations.”
“Fine,” I muttered, “but I don’t see the point. Every kid realizes it’s a sham sooner or later anyway.”
Dad sucked in a breath, as if I’d physically wounded him. “I’m so sorry to hear you say something like that.” He turned toward the door, then paused to add, “Believing is never a sham.”
The door clicked shut, and I slumped over the keyboard. Then, even though I knew it would only seal the deal on my bad mood, I reached into my messenger bag and pulled out the picture that I’d carried with me everywhere for the last four years.
The technique in the photo wasn’t great. It was slightly out of focus and off center. But there we were—Grandma and nine-year-old me in front of our ginormous three-story Christmas tree, smiling like two slap-happy buffoons. I still remembered that day like it was yesterday—the caramelly roasted nuts that stuck to my teeth like taffy, Grandma singing “Silver Bells” at the top of her lungs while I giggled, the warmth of her wispy-thin hand as it held mine.
I brushed a finger lightly over her face, recognizing a flicker of myself in her eyes and mouth. Hanging around her neck was the Christmas locket. With a flash of shame, I realized I didn’t even know what had happened to it. I shook my head, getting a quivery, close-to-crying feeling. Biting my lip, I resolved not to give into it, then put the photo away.
If Grandma had been here, she probably would’ve given me a piece of her mind, too.
Because the truth was, if I hadn’t been so caught off guard by—what was her name again?—Sophie and her questions, I probably would’ve told her some spur-of-the-moment story about being an “Elf Undercover.” I didn’t want little kids disillusioned because of me, either.
I wanted to be furious at Dad. But it was hard to stay mad at him for long. Mom teasingly called him a “boy in man’s clothing,” and in a lot of ways, he was. He laughed hysterically at Looney Tunes, and could be caught dunking Oreos in milk for breakfast. The Holly Jolly House had been his and Grandma’s idea in the first place, not Mom’s, and although she helped him with it as much as she could, I’m not sure she loved it the way he did.
I hated him being disappointed in me, but sooner or later, he’d have to realize how different I was from him. I was getting older, and there were some childish things I didn’t need anymore. Christmas was one of them.
The Secret Santa mystery deepened on Wednesday afternoon, before my least favorite class: phy
s ed.
Jez and I walked into the locker room to change into the horrifyingly ugly gym pants and tees we were forced to wear each week. Then we both stopped short.
On the bench in front of my locker was a small box wrapped in cute zombie paper and tied with a hot-pink ribbon. The tag had my name on it.
“I’ll say this for your Secret Santa,” Jez said, admiring the package. “Whoever it is has your tastes down pat.”
My heart hammered as I opened the present. When I lifted the lid on the box, inside was a mug with an illustrated, sulking elf on the front. Her thick black bangs hung over one eye, and there was a broken black heart on her red turtleneck. A note taped to the mug read: An emo elf, just for you.
“It’s perfect.” I didn’t even try to hide the surprise in my voice.
Jez nodded. “That mopey face is so you.” She peered at my face, then dropped her mouth in mock shock. “Somebody call nine-one-one!” she hollered over the lockers. “Em’s smiling! From a Christmas present!”
“Yes, I like the gift,” I huffed, tucking the mug carefully into my messenger bag. “But it’s frustrating. There’s this person out there who knows so much about me, and I have no idea who she is.” I paused, blushing. “Or, he is.”
“Yeah. What will you do if it’s a boy?” Jez asked, tying her running shoes. “I mean, it’s like you two already have a connection. Your souls speak to each other.”
I was about to roll my eyes at her when my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text message. My heart somersaulted as I read:
Hey, Em. Got ur # from Lyra. Was late 2day so missed u in homeroom. R u around at lunch? Can we talk about pics for the CD?
“It’s from Sawyer!” I said, my voice rising in a jubilant swoop.
“That sounded dangerously close to a cheerleader-ish squeal.” Jez ribbed me.
I waved a dismissive hand in her face, ignoring her. “He wants to talk with me at lunch. About the CD cover.”
“This could be a banner day,” Jez said. “Think about it. A perfect Secret Santa gift, and Sawyer texting you … your relationship with him just reached a whole new level.”