Jayda’s Christmas Wish Read online

  He laughs, and I find myself laughing too. “I could have saved myself a lot of heartache if I had just listened to you.”

  Connor looks over at me, and for the first time in a long time I don’t see that lingering pain in his eyes. He looks happy. I finally made him smile.

  And then his entire face lights up red. We both turn our attention forward, where the car in front of him is sliding all over the road, the tires screeching on the asphalt. Connor slams on the brakes and I go flying forward since my seatbelt isn’t on the right way. His hand shoots out in front of me, pressing me back against the seat as the truck shudders to a halt, barely missing a collision.

  My whole life doesn’t flash before my eyes, but a distinct image of what could have happened does. My head would have gone right through the windshield.

  “You saved me,” I say, breathless. I look down at Connor’s arm that’s stretched across my chest.

  He quickly removes it. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he says quickly. “Are you okay? Did I touch your boob? I didn’t mean to.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “It’s okay.”

  The car in front of us starts driving again, and I see a startled deer standing on the side of the road. He must have been the reason for the sudden brake slam. Connor’s face is now Santa hat red, but this time it’s not from brake lights.

  “I’m really sorry,” he says again as he drives into the apartment complex parking lot. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I say, squeezing his arm. “You saved my head. Maybe even my life.”

  Connor puts the truck in park and his gaze flits downward. “Next time you need a ride, I promise not to grope you.”

  “You’re such a dork,” I say, throwing him a grin that’s all real emotion because my annoyance over the electric bill is completely gone now.

  Connor grins back at me. “See you at school.”

  Yep, I think as I get out and jog toward my apartment. Connor is not like Ricky at all.

  Chapter Eight

  There’s a big empty spot in the living room when I get home from school the next day. The whole room looks different—incomplete. I sit on the couch and stare at the empty spot and realize I’ve never seen our living room without this one very vital piece of equipment.

  The TV is gone.

  At any other time in my life, I might be calling the police right now to report a robbery. But I’m not concerned with a break in right now… things have been going missing for weeks. Mom has been selling everything she can, and there’s no doubt in my mind that our flat screen was the next thing to go. I hope she got enough money for it.

  I know what she spent the money on – there are a grocery bags on the countertop. Mom’s philosophy has always been to put the cold stuff up immediately and save the rest of the groceries for me to put away. I’m glad to see the food. As long as there’s food in the pantry and lights that turn on, we’ll be okay. I put it all away and then go outside to wait for Max’s school bus which arrives half an hour after mine does.

  Max jumps off the bus and rushes up to me, saying the same thing he’s done every day since we mailed that letter to Santa.

  “Can we check the mail?”

  He peers up at me with an eager smile on his face. I roll my eyes. I have already told him that Santa is too busy to reply to letters, but he is undeterred. Apparently some kids in his class told him that they got replies last year, so he’s expecting a reply this year.

  Max holds my hand as we make our way to the mailboxes at our apartment complex. On the way, we pass by the rec center, which is a shared space for all the tenants. There’s free wifi, a pool table, DVDs you can borrow, and a fitness center. Max sees mom through the windows, working on her laptop. He waves at her and she waves back. Even through the window, she looks exhausted.

  “Hurry up!” Max says as I reach for the mailbox key in my pocket. “My letter is probably here!”

  “I don’t think it is,” I say, unlocking box 232.

  “But Jason said his sister always gets a reply from Santa and she’s ten and she gets a letter every year!”

  I pull out the stack of envelopes and hand them over to Max for his daily inspection. It’s always just junk mail or late payment notices. Today, there’s something different. His eyes light up and then immediately his brow pulls together. “I don’t understand,” he says, holding up a cream colored envelope to me. “Why does it have your name on it?”

  My eyes widen. I take the envelope, which stands out from the rest of the mail because it’s thick and velvety with golden gilded edges. The return address simply says North Pole in red calligraphy. My name is handwritten on the front in a black pen.

  My heart pounds. Someone got my letter. Someone wrote back.

  Max stomps his foot and pulls me out of my thoughts. “That’s not fair! Where’s my letter?”

  “I don’t know, buddy. But I think this is something from the school, or something. It’s not from Santa.”

  “Yes it is!” he says, pointing to the back of the envelope. I turn it over, and there’s a decorative wax seal on the back that says: From Santa Claus.

  “Holy crap,” I breathe.

  Max is pouting, understandably. I pull myself together enough to try to make him feel better. “Listen, buddy. This is a really busy time of year, and sometimes mail gets lost and it takes longer to arrive. So I bet your letter will be here soon.”

  His bottom lip curls out, but he nods. “Okay.”

  I tuck all of the mail under my arm and reach for his hand. “I’ll save my letter for when you get yours, and then we can read them together, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says, smiling. “The post office better hurry up!”

  On the walk back, we stop in to see Mom. She gives Max a hug and then he runs off to play with the foosball table in the corner. I sit next to her. “Thanks for the groceries.”

  Mom heaves a sigh. “Honey, don’t think me for buying groceries. That is literally the smallest thing I’m supposed to do as your mother.” Her lips press into a line and she shakes her head. “I’m really sorry we’re all going through this. I’m sorry I put you through this.”

  “Mom, it’s okay.” I lean against her shoulder. “You’ve always been the best mom. You don’t have to apologize for anything. Times are tough but we’ll figure it out. I could try calling Dad and asking for some money?”

  “No way,” Mom snaps. “He already said he has nothing left to give.”

  I frown. She’s right, and I don’t want to call Dad anyhow. He doesn’t even bother to tell us happy birthday anymore. We could be homeless and he probably wouldn’t care. “What about Grandma?” I ask, knowing it’s also a pointless suggestion.

  Mom shakes her head, frowning. “She’s on a fixed income that barely pays her rent. I couldn’t ask her for money. Besides, I’m bound to get a job soon. We just have to make it through the holidays because no one hires in December.”

  “We’ll be okay,” I say.

  Mom’s eyes flood with tears and she shakes her head. “Jayda, I’m so sorry. This is the worst. I told myself I’d find a way to give you and Max a Christmas, and I can’t. I’ve got nothing. The bank won’t give me a loan, and my credit cards are all maxed out. I had to sell the TV to buy groceries today.” Tears fall down her cheeks and she dabs them away. “I have nothing left.”

  My heart breaks for my mom. She’s strong and amazing and I hate seeing her like this. I throw my arms around her. “It’ll be fine, Mom. I’m working at the Christmas tree farm again this weekend and I’ll get eighty dollars. We’ll buy Max presents with that.”

  “You are such a sweetheart,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I smile. “Don’t worry about us, Mom. We’re going to be okay.”

  “I sure hope so.” Mom heaves a sigh. “I spent all day down here filling out job applications and doing those surveys that pay you fifty cents each. I think I made ten dollars and it took foreve
r. But I’m going to have to find something for money because the next light bill is due after Christmas, and we still need to eat.”

  Max runs up to us. “I’m hungry,” he whines.

  I stand up and reach for his hand. “I’ll make you some food.”

  Mom touches my arm. “You’re an angel, Jayda. I’m going to stay down here and keep up the job search.”

  At home, I make Max dinner and then look for something to eat for myself. It’s great that Max never tires of cheap food like mac and cheese with hot dogs cut up in it, but I get tired of the same stuff. Rice and beans, cereal, ramen noodles. It’s all so boring after a while, but I make sure not to complain because I don’t want Mom to feel worse than she already does.

  I can’t stop thinking about that letter from “Santa.” There’s no real Santa, I know that. So where did it come from? Maybe it is from my school… some kind of thing that will end up inviting me to a high school holiday party or something. I promised Max I would wait until he got his letter, but I know that’s not coming. Santa isn’t replying to letters. Max didn’t even use a real stamp. The letter I got is probably some kind of junk mail. Maybe it’s a college recruiting letter, or maybe even a thank you card from Mr. Harris for working for him.

  Yeah, that’s probably it.

  Mom stays at the rec center all evening, and eventually I put Max to bed and read him a story, and then I’m alone in my room once more. I miss the nights where Mom and I would stay up late watching Netflix shows. Now she’s always on her computer, always desperately looking for work.

  Now there’s no TV to entertain me. My phone doesn’t get Wi-Fi signal in our apartment, and I am so bored and unable to stop thinking about that letter.

  I peek into Max’s bedroom and make sure he’s asleep. If I’m really careful with the wax seal, maybe he’ll never know. It’s just some junk mail, I am sure of it.

  I close my bedroom door and press my back against it, and then I carefully open the letter.

  The stationary is just as beautiful as the envelope, and I swear the whole thing smells a little like Christmas. There’s not some typed up pre-printed note inside here like I expected. It’s a letter, handwritten in black pen with handwriting that’s, well, kind of awful. Whoever wrote this doesn’t have the best penmanship.

  I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

  And then I read the letter again.

  Dear Jayda,

  I read your letter with interest. It’s not every day that I hear from teenagers, as most of them think they’re too cool to believe in me. I’m sure you know that my elves are not able to make all things in the world, but they do love to help me make wishes come true. I need a little more information in order to help you, as my magic powers are a little faulty this year.

  Can you please tell me about your mom’s job aspirations?

  What was your little brother’s Christmas wish?

  Please write back as soon as possible because I would love to help you have a wonderful Christmas this year.

  Yours,

  Santa Claus

  Chapter Nine

  I can’t believe I’m actually going to write back.

  After reading the letter three times and attempting to smudge the ink with my finger, I realized it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t junk mail. I stare at the piece of notebook paper at the back of my notebook for math class. I’ve written “Dear Santa” at the top, like I’m some kind of kid. Like I’m silly enough to actually believe in this. But what if it’s real?

  I mean… obviously not magic, magic. What if some big wig charity organization found my letter and wants to help out?

  Maybe writing back will be the thing that saves my family’s Christmas. We can’t exactly afford a dog right now but I’ll explain it all in my letter. Maybe “Santa”, or their charitable organization can find my mom a job.

  Thank you for writing back. My mom was an admin assistant for twenty years until she was laid off for no fault of her own. She’s extremely skilled and was always beloved by her coworkers. She’d like an admin assistant job, but would happily take any job right now. Money is tight… well no, money is nonexistent right now. She’s cleaning apartments just to keep our rent paid. She’s stressed, and sad, and I can’t stand to see her like this. Can you help her, Santa?

  For my brother Max, he desperately wants a dog. I know that’s too much to ask for because we can’t afford a dog until my mom gets a job. She always told us that we could get one as soon as Max turned six, and he’s six now and that’s all he thinks about. If you could give him a stuffed animal of a dog, I bet he’d like that.

  Thank you for listening. I hope you can help.

  Love,

  Jayda

  I draw another stamp on the envelope and address it to the North Pole. I wait until Max is at school to drop it off in the mailbox. He still hasn’t stopped talking about my reply and how he can’t wait to get his. Maybe the charity organization will send him a reply after all.

  If not, I hope he gets a gift from them.

  I really doubt they can help my mom because she’s already searched for every job available and has applied to all of them. There’s not much anyone can do at this point. Still, I guess it’s worth hoping for a little Christmas magic.

  At school I eat my lunch in the library so I can play on the internet. Food isn’t allowed in here but I only bring a bag of cereal to school, so I sneak it in and eat it secretly. On the school’s computers, I use the internet to search for cheap and easy meals in an effort to change things up. I’m so tired of beans and rice and surely there are better recipes out there.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  I jump. No one is ever in here during lunch except for the librarian and me. I turn around and see Connor standing there, hands in his pockets like always. His backpack is slung over his shoulder and he’s watching me with that same look I saw in his truck the other day. His gaze is something else. It’s cute and caring and it does things to my insides.

  I crack a grin. “Please do.”

  He pulls out the chair next to me and turns on the laptop in front of him. “My printer ran out of ink at home so I need to get my essay printed before Mrs. Juarez slaughters me.”

  I laugh because Mrs. Juarez is the AP History teacher and she’s known for being really tough. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  He leans over to get something out of his backpack and I can smell his cologne for just a second. It smells so good it makes me want to lean over and smell it again. Luckily, I hold myself back. Connor puts a flash drive into the laptop and then looks over at me.

  “Do you like cooking?”

  “Not really,” I say, glancing at the laptop I’m using, which has a recipe for crock pot chili on the screen. “I try to cook, but I’m not very good at it.”

  “I feel you,” he says as he logs into the laptop. “I am the worst cook in almost every way, except for pizza. I make the world’s best deep dish pizza from scratch.”

  “Yum,” I say as I eat a handful of dry Cheerios. “Pizza sounds really, really good right now.”

  “I’m making it tonight,” Connor says. “You should come over and eat some. Trust me, it’s amazing.”

  My mouth is practically watering at the thought of pizza. I haven’t had pizza in weeks because we can’t afford it. And hanging out with Connor at his house? That sounds almost better than the food.

  He looks so eager, and I can tell he wants me to say yes. I wonder if it’s because he’s just that proud of his pizza, or if he wants it to be a date? Does his stomach get the same fluttery feeling around me that I get around him?

  “That would be fun,” I say slowly, knowing I have to turn him down. “But I really can’t.”

  His face falls. Maybe I’m just seeing things but I suddenly have the feeling that maybe he does like me.

  “Maybe another night?” he asks.

  “I have to watch my little brother all afternoon,” I say, frowning. “Like, pretty much every day
because my mom is so busy.”

  “You should bring him too,” Connor says. “I make a jumbo sized deep dish pizza and it’s way more food than the two of us could eat.”

  Okay, so maybe it’s not a date.

  “That’s probably not a good idea,” I say. “My brother is only six and he can get super annoying.”

  “If he’s anything like I was at that age, all you have to do is let him play my Xbox and he’ll be golden.”

  I tilt my head. I can’t believe Connor is being so cool about this. He opens his essay and prints it. The printer to my left whirs to life and spits out a few pages. Connor walks over to it. “Sorry if I’m being too pushy,” he says, sliding the papers together. “I just think it would be cool to hang out with you outside of school.”

  Okay… so maybe it was a date?

  “I would like that too,” I say, glancing at the keyboard. “I’m just not sure I want my little brother around.”

  He smiles and sits back at the computer station next to mine. “I get it. I mean, I don’t really get it since I don’t have any siblings, but I can imagine. I’m fine with kids, though, so you can always bring him over.”

  “He does like Xbox,” I say, feeling myself relent. As much as I hate the idea of sharing Connor with my little brother, I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to hang out with him outside of school. “And pizza.”

  “So it’s set,” he says. “You and your brother are coming over for pizza.”

  My eyes widen. “No… uh.. it’s not set, set. I’m not sure when we can make it—”

  Connor reaches inside his backpack and pulls out a piece of math homework and a pen. “I’ll give you my number,” he says, writing it down. “Then you can call or text me or whatever and tell me when you’re free.”

  “I can’t just demand that you make pizza whenever I’m free,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me when you are making pizza and I’ll tell you if I can come over.”