Page 28 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“Nipples felt more dramatic.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you’re coming up there with me, whether you can feel your nipples or not.”
“You wound me, you know that?” he says.
“Jimmy Short, representing the Short family, please come up here.” The crowd cheers as Jimmy Short makes his way to the stage. “Ursula Kronk, representing our first responders and our incumbent Kringle from last year, please join us.” The crowd goes wild. She’s going to be stiff competition. How can you not root for a first responder? “Dr. Beatrice Pedigree, representing our furry animals, please join us.” I swear I hear a dog bark in the distance.
“And…” Bob Krampus pauses for a long moment. I know why…because he sees my name and he’s probably just as shocked as the rest of the town will be since we slipped my application in at the last minute. I have a good idea as to why I was probably selected: Martha and Mae. They, along with the other proprietors, select the applicants, and they’ve always been advocates for me. Gripping the mic tightly, Bob says, “A new entry this year, Cole Black.” The crowd’s enthusiasm dies down, confusion written all over their faces.I could really do without the dramatics.“Representing Santa’s reindeer. Please…please come join us.”
I turn to Max, who turned in the application. “Representing Santa’s reindeer?”
Max smirks. “I thought it was a nice touch.”
I tug on his arm, and as we head up toward the stage—reluctantly—Bob Krampus says, “I promise I won’t show favoritism just because Cole will be representing my reindeer.”
The crowd laughs while I roll my eyes.
When we reach the stage, Max and I stand shoulder to shoulder, and I attempt to look as happy and pleased as can be, because that’s part of the competition, embodying the spirit of Christmas, despite the urge I feel to kick over the plastic candy cane that’s a few feet away.
“And lastly,” Bob Krampus says, just as I see movement off to the left.Cindy Louis, and two women pushing her in a wheelchair across the lawn. From the red hair peeking out from under a winter hat, I spot Storee heading right toward us. “We have Storee Taylor, representing Cindy Louis.” Bob Krampus looks up from his notes. With a jolly grin, he says, “Now, Imightbe playing favorites when it comes to our beloved Cindy Louis. Storee, please join us up on the stage. Don’t worry, no one is near the river for you to knock them in.”
I nearly snort out loud but keep it together as Storee climbs the steps and stops…unfortunately right next to me.
Immediately I’m hit with her perfume, which smells more like an ocean breeze than the familiar scent of gingerbread and pine that I associate with living here.
Next, I feel her warmth as she sidles up close, her arm brushing against mine, sending a shiver all the way up my spine and then back down to my toes.
“Freezing,” she says. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t think the contestants are allowed to talk to each other,” I mumble.
“Really?” Max says, leaning forward to look at me. “Where did it say that in the rule book?”
“It didn’t,” Storee says, leaning forward as well. “He just tends to not want to hear my voice whenever we’re around each other.”
“Ah, well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t like hearing his voice when he’s around me,” Max says.
Storee laughs as I scowl at my best friend.
He reaches his hand out and says, “I’m Atlas, but this big lug calls me Max. I’m his best friend and his holly jolly sidekick. Don’t think we ever officially met.”
“Atlas, it’s so nice to meet you.” Storee shakes his hand. “I’m Storee Taylor, and apparently a thorn in the big lug’s side. Not sure how that happened, but it seems over time he developed a strong distaste for little ol’ me.”
“A strong distaste?” Max asks as Bob Krampus drones on about the tradition of the Christmas Kringle, acting as though it dates back to the 1800s for the people who have gathered around, when in reality we haven’t even reached a decade yet. “How could he have developed a strong distaste? I didn’t even know he tasted you, unless… Dude, did you forget to tell me something?”
“I never once tasted her,” I say, the words feeling really stupid as they fly out of my mouth.
“What a loss,” Storee says. “He could have had a real feast.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “We are in public.”
“And if you were in private, would this conversation be different?” Max asks with a little waggle of his brows.
This was a bad idea. I knew it might backfire on me, having Max by my side, but I didn’t think it would be this quickly.
“Can you please be quiet? I’m trying to listen to Bob Krampus,” I say, gesturing to the town Santa who has built his life around becoming the epitome of a ho-ho-hoing head elf.
“Oh, I forgot,” Max says and then whispers to Storee, though I’m between them and can hear everything. “He was always a Goody Two-shoes in school.”
