Jayda’s Christmas Wish Page 2

  “Sounds good.” I move to the next table and get to cleaning. We work in silence, but I can feel Connor glancing at me every few minutes. At first I think I’m cleaning the tables wrong, or something, but I’m doing the same thing he is. Spray, wipe, move on to the next. Still, he keeps glancing at me.

  When we get to the final row of tables, I stop and set my spray bottle down. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

  His cheeks flush pink, and his eyes go wide. “I’m sorry.”

  “Is there something wrong with me?” I ask, glancing down at my clothes. Even though I know it’s impossible, I worry he knows about my family’s financial situation. I wonder that he somehow found out and he’s going to tell everyone and I’ll be the laughing stock of Mary Hart High School.

  “No, not at all. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “What’s none of your business?”

  His bottom lip tucks under his teeth and he looks at me from across the cafeteria table. “You just had this look in your eyes… when I asked what you did. I was just wondering if you were okay. But we’re not really friends, so I didn’t know how to ask.”

  My heart warms up at that. Then I bite back any emotion that might be showing on my face. I put on a smile. “I’m fine. I got in trouble for having my phone out in class.”

  “Oh,” he says, nodding. “That’s good. Well, it’s not good, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Connor grabs our cleaning supplies and puts them back on the table where we’re supposed to leave them after completing clean up duty. “See you later,” he says.

  “Wait,” I call out.

  He stops and turns back to me, this cute eager look on his face. Now I’m pretty sure my cheeks are turning pink this time. “Thanks,” I say. “For… for checking on me.”

  His smile is warm and it reaches all the way to his eyes. “Anytime.”

  Connor

  I totally missed my chance. I could have talked to her. I should have talked to her. Instead, I froze up and barely said anything. I was so nervous that I can barely remember what happened as I walk out to my truck after detention. I couldn’t stop looking into her kind eyes and seeing glimpses of the girl she used to be.

  The girl she was before Ricky broke her heart.

  I’ve had a crush on Jayda for longer than I care to admit. Ever since we were little kids playing on the monkey bars in fifth grade. Every time she walks into the room my heart skips a beat. It doesn’t even make any sense because we’ve barely talked to each other over the years. We only know each other at school and we don’t hang out with the same crowd of people. It completely crushed me when she started dating Ricky.

  I had been just moments away from asking her to be my date to the school Valentine’s Day dance. I’d spent all night working up the courage to ask her in chemistry class, and then when the day came, she didn’t walk into class alone. Ricky was with her, putting the stupid jock charm on her, flirting and smiling and winning her over. He stole her right away from me just moments before I was going to ask her out.

  I was crushed. I was bitter and angry.

  But then my mom got sick. Apparently she had been sick for a while, she just never went to the doctor for it. And once she finally did, it was too late. Stage four colon cancer. She passed away a couple months later and I stopped thinking about girls. I stopped thinking about everything.

  Dad started working more, going offshore for months at a time. I think it’s his way of coping with losing his wife. I cope by sleeping through class, then going home and sleeping some more.

  I didn’t think I was capable of still having a crush on a girl, but that all changed when Jayda walked into detention today. My heart lit up the way it used to. It started beating again. Even after all this time, and all the loss and pain I’ve felt, I guess I still have a crush on her.

  Chapter Three

  Despite my efforts, I still don’t have any job offers or gigs from my online post. I’ve posted on every local Facebook group I could find, offering babysitting, shopping, and even present wrapping. I read online that some people pay to have their Christmas presents wrapped. Apparently not anyone in this town. I tell myself there’s still time to make some money and save Christmas. I just have to figure out how.

  Mom is on the couch when I get home late from school. It’s a nice improvement to see her sitting there, reading an old paperback book, instead of being cooped up in her bedroom. “You’re home late,” she says, not looking up from her book.

  “I had detention.”

  She nods once and keeps reading. Normally Mom would have something to say about me getting detention—a lecture about responsibilities and stuff. Now it’s like she doesn’t care at all. I could probably tell her I decided to get a face tattoo and she’d just shrug.

  “I got caught on my phone in class,” I say, wondering if that will get some kind of reaction from her.

  “I’m thinking ramen noodles for dinner,” Mom says. “Can you cook some up?”

  I drop my backpack into a kitchen chair. “Sure thing.”

  It really bums me out that my mom is bummed out. I hate that she’s going through this. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it all better. That’s what I wanted to tell Connor today in the cafeteria. I was so close to just spilling out all my thoughts, worries, fears. It surprises me how much I want to get them out in the open, but of course I can’t do that. I can’t tell my friends and I certainly can’t tell Connor, who is just some guy at school.

  That doesn’t stop me from wishing I had someone to talk to, though. I make ramen noodles for the second time this week and spruce them up by adding an egg and some canned vegetables. It’s a pretty cheap dinner, and it’s not so bad.

  After dinner, I help Max get ready for bed and then I put a DVD on the television for him to watch until his bed time. This is all stuff Mom used to do, but ever since she lost her job, I’ve slowly taken it over myself, just to give her fewer things to stress about.

  While Max watches his movie and Mom keeps reading her book, I take a shower, careful not to use too much hot water because we have to pay for it, and I think about Connor. I don’t mean to, but he keeps popping into my mind. There was this look in his eyes today—concern? Maybe I just imagined it. We’re not even friends, but there was just something in the way he looked at me that made me wish we were. Connor seems like someone you could talk to.

  At 8:30 I go in search of my brother, who has abandoned the movie on the TV. I find him in his bedroom, intently working on something. He’s emptied his crayons on the bed and used several sheets of construction paper. There’s also a box of envelopes that he must have stolen from Mom’s desk.

  “What are you up to?” I ask, leaning on his door frame.

  “Writing my letter to Santa.”

  I lift an eyebrow. Max is in first grade, which means he can write simple words, but I can’t imagine him writing much of a letter yet.

  “Can I see it?”

  He nods and hands it to me, looking impressed with himself. I have to admit, he’s done a good job. He decorated the borders of the paper with little drawings of candy canes and Christmas trees. Only half the words are misspelled. My heart breaks as I read it out loud.

  “Dear Santa. I am a very good boy and I never get in trouble. I really want a dog please. I will take care of it and I will love it very much. Please bring me a dog. I don’t care what kind. Thank you, Max.”

  My eyes fill with tears and I struggle to hold them back. “You want a dog?”

  He nods enthusiastically. “Dogs are so cool and they’re so sweet and you can teach them things.”

  “Dogs are expensive,” I say, sitting on his bed.

  He shrugs off my words. “Not if Santa brings you one! Then it’s free!”

  Oh, my heart breaks. I hate this. Max’s little smile is so cute and he’s so excited and he has no idea that in real life Santa doesn’t exist. He won’t get a do
g this year. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to buy him a few toys, but definitely not a dog.

  Max takes the letter back from me and folds it up and shoves it in an envelope. On the front of the envelope, he’s written: To Santa, From Max

  “Can I have a stamp? I couldn’t find them in Mom’s purse.”

  “Did you ask Mom for one?” I say.

  He nods and makes a frowning face. “She said they cost too much money to waste.”

  I bite my lip and think quickly. “Well, Mom must have forgotten about Christmas magic.”

  Max’s eyes widen. “What’s Christmas magic?”

  “Well buddy, it’s really cool. Because Santa is magic, you don’t need a real stamp. You can draw your own stamp.”

  “Of course!” he says, grinning. “That makes sense.”

  He grabs a crayon and draws a little square stamp in the corner of the envelope. “Will you mail this for me?”

  I wish I could find a way to talk him out of this, but I can’t stand to make him sad. I nod and take the letter. “Sure thing, buddy.”

  Later, I’m still wide awake even though it’s midnight. I keep looking at Max’s letter to Santa that’s sitting on top of my backpack. Max had insisted I put it there so I wouldn’t forget to take it to the mail tomorrow. It’s useless, writing a letter to someone who will never read it. I would give anything for Santa to be real, for Christmas magic to be real. I just want Max to have a good holiday. I’m old enough to understand that times are tough for my mom right now, but Max isn’t. He’s still a kid, and he deserves to be happy.

  I sit up in bed and reach for a notebook. I know it’s stupid. I know it’s silly and pointless.

  But I decide to write my own letter to Santa. I draw a stamp on the envelope and I put it on top of Max’s. Tomorrow, I’ll drop it in the mailbox and I’m sure the people at the post office will throw it away because there’s no real stamp. But at least my wish will have gone out into the universe. Maybe somewhere, someone is listening.

  Dear Santa,

  This is Jayda. I’m seventeen years old, and I haven’t believed in you since I was a little kid. I hope that won’t influence your decision to grant my Christmas wish. I don’t want much for Christmas. I don’t need gifts. I don’t need things. What I need is a little out of the scope of what your elves can make in their factory. I want my mom to find a job. I want her to be happy again. I want my brother Max to get the gift he really wants this year.

  If it’s not too much to ask, I’d also like a boyfriend. A decent one. A nice one. Someone who won’t leave me for another girl.

  But if it is too much to ask, that’s okay. Just please get my mom a job.

  Yours,

  Jayda

  Chapter Four

  Connor

  Why are there so many Christmas decorations everywhere? The lights, the fake wrapped presents, the tacky six foot tall plastic snowmen. Why? Not to mention the stupid holiday songs that no one likes, playing at full volume from every store in town. All I’m trying to do is make a quick trip into the grocery store to get a frozen pizza for dinner, and yet I’m having Christmas thrown in my face at every turn.

  The overhead speakers play Jingle Bells, and every aisle of food is decorated on the ends with wreathes and fake snow and all kinds of stupid holiday crap. I’m so over the holidays. I can’t handle Christmas.

  It hasn’t always been like this. But I have a feeling it’ll now be like this for the rest of my life. I used to love Christmas because my mom loved Christmas. It was kind of her thing. Everyone in town knew her as the Christmas lady. She was second in line to Mrs. Harris, who owns a Christmas store at the Christmas Tree Farm in town.

  This was my mom’s favorite time of year. She’d start decorating a week before Thanksgiving, but she’d want to decorate even sooner than that. Dad and I would convince her to wait longer because celebrating in November is just silly. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through this holiday without her.

  It would have been her birthday in June, and that was hard. She missed my birthday in August, and that was pretty hard too. But Christmas might be the worst day I’ll have to deal with since her passing.

  It doesn’t help that my dad just hides from it all, staying offshore at work for weeks at a time.

  I straighten my shoulders and head toward the frozen food aisle, which is basically the only place I shop lately since I’m such a bad cook, and I tell myself to ignore all the Christmas stuff.

  I’m not going to celebrate the holiday this year. Dad won’t be here, my family won’t be here, and Mom certainly won’t be here. So why even bother?

  I’ll just ignore all of it until it’s over and then I’ll go back to my normal way of life.

  Well … maybe one thing will change. Maybe I’ll find the courage to ask Jayda out.

  I open the freezer door and grab a cheese pizza, thin crust—my favorite, and I realize I’m smiling at the idea of asking her out.

  She’s such a cool person. She doesn’t follow lame trends, and she’s crazy smart. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than curl up and watch a movie with her. Who am I kidding? I would do anything she wanted me to do.

  I make my way to the cash register, where all the employees are wearing Santa hats and necklaces that have little colorful lights on them that flicker on and off. I try not to roll my eyes. I try not to be rude to the woman who helps me check out. It’s not her fault she’s forced to celebrate the holiday.

  Once I’m back in my truck, I crank my music to help drown out the memories of the grocery store’s stupid songs. The bad thing about Christmas music is that it’s catchy, the ultimate earworm, and if you hear it once in passing you’ll be singing it in your head all day.

  That absolutely can not happen.

  I don’t need any more reminders of my mom. That’s why my house looks the same way it always does. Green grass, trimmed hedges, a front porch with a concrete statue of a turtle next to a potted plant, and a plain wooden front door.

  If Mom were here, she’d have filled the entire yard with all of her decorations, making it into a holiday wonderland like she’s always done.

  But she’s not here.

  And all her decorations are still in the attic.

  I park my truck and walk toward the garage, but then I notice a weird white box on my front porch. Actually, there’s three of them.

  United States Postal Service is printed in blue on the side, and suddenly I know exactly what this is. My blood runs colder than the winter air outside.

  My legs shake as I walk closer to the bins that are filled to the top with envelopes. Some are plain white, some are decorated or printed on fancy stationary. All of them are addressed to Santa Claus.

  I take a shuddering step backward. It feels like I’ve been punched in the face with the memory of my mom. I can’t believe I forgot about this. It’s been a Christmas tradition since before I was ever born.

  Our town is so small that years ago, my mom arranged to be the official Santa for all letters that get mailed to him in our town. She would spend hours every night handwriting replies to each and every kid. Our entire dining room would be filled with letters during this time of year. The local newspaper wrote an article about her once, calling her Mrs. Claus.

  I guess no one told the post office that my mom passed away. And now I’m stuck with this huge pile of pain that only makes me miss her more.

  I take a deep breath and grit my teeth. Sorry kids. There won’t be a reply this year. Maybe it’s better if they learn now that Santa isn’t real. It’ll help them prepare for the real world where everything sucks. Where moms die and dads disappear for months at a time.

  I’m doing them a favor, I tell myself as I grab one bin and start walking to the trash can in the garage.

  I’m about to dump them all, but then something catches my eye on an envelope. Jayda’s name is written on the corner on the return address. Frowning, I set the letters on the concrete floor and I reach for
hers, tearing it open quickly.

  My heart pounds. I’m not Santa. I’m not my mom. I probably shouldn’t be reading this, right? But I can’t help it. Curiosity takes over as I unfold the letter and read…

  Chapter Five

  “Ho ho ho!”

  Mr. Harris’ voice booms out over the crowd of excited little kids who are lined up to see him. Of course they think he’s the real Santa Claus, and he looks pretty convincing. Mr. Harris is a portly man in his sixties, with a long white beard and a kind smile that reminds me of my grandfather. He’s the owner of Harris Christmas Tree farm and he’s my Christmas angel right now.

  He replied to my job post online and said he needed someone to help him with Santa photos for this weekend and next weekend since there are two weeks left until Christmas.

  The pay is ten dollars an hour, four hours a day, and all I have to do is wear a green elf hat and help the parents pick out which photo package they’d like to buy while their kid gets a photo on Santa’s lap.

  I’m so grateful and happy to have landed this gig. I had a blast working yesterday and now today it’s even more fun—plus I will walk away with eighty dollars in cash tonight.

  The whole farm is filled with Christmas spirit, and it’s starting to rub off on me, too. Mr. Harris’ tree farm is a local tourist spot. People drive from hours away to pick out their Christmas tree every year, and then they stay a while for all the fun stuff Mr. Harris has on site. You can get a picture with Santa, take holiday photos next to the old red antique truck he has on the property, play in bounce houses, or get a hot chocolate from the food truck. There’s also his wife’s store on site, which is a year round Christmas store.

  The air is filled with the smells of the holiday: cinnamon, fresh pine, and warm apple pie. The pie is also available for sale. My mouth waters every time I walk past the food truck that sells it by the slice, but I know I can’t spend any of my hard earned cash on a pie, as much as I want to. All of this money will go to getting Max presents. After next weekend, I’ll have one hundred and sixty dollars. I haven’t decided if I’m going to tell Mom, or just surprise her with it. She’ll be so thrilled that I found a way to get my brother gifts this year.