Page 35 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“You really want to know?” I say, since she seems to be so insistent.
“Yeah, I really want to know.”
“Okay, fine. You don’t deserve to be in the Kringle competition,” I say.
Her brow creases, her shock clear at my statement. Not sure why. It’s clear as day—anyone would be able to understand my reasoning.
“I don’t deserve to be in it?” Now her face morphs into humor as she mimics my stance, arms crossed over her chest, her puffy coat nearlyswallowing her whole. “And who are you to decide who deserves to be in the Kringle competition?”
“Uh, someone who has lived here their entire life.”
“Eh, barely a qualification.”
“Well, I’m more qualified than you.”
She slowly nods. “Uh-huh. You know, Aunt Cindy was telling me that she was very surprised to see that you were even at the event, let alone that you were called up on stage as a Kringle-ee. One might say it’s very unlike you.”
“It is,” I say, not denying it.
“So this unexpected entrance, does it have anything to do with me?”
“Yup,” I say, spitting out the truth, which seems to surprise her.
“Really?” she asks, standing taller.
“Yes,” I reply. “You don’t deserve to win. You aren’t a part of this town, and with all the buzz you’re getting by taking part in the competition, I decided that I will do everything I can to make sure you lose.”
Her jaw falls open for a moment before she closes it.
“Well, I’m doing this for Aunt Cindy,” she says.
“And I’m doing this for everyone in town who believes in the spirit of Christmas.”
“I believe in the spirit of Christmas,” she says.
“Says the girl who hasn’t been here in years.”
“Uh, it’s called going to college and getting a job.”
“Still could have visited.”
“What I did on my vacation time is none of your business,” she snaps.
“Clearly it wasn’t spending time with your aunt Cindy.”
Her brows form a V on her forehead while her eyes grow angrier by the second. “How dare you.”
“How dare I?” I say, pointing to my chest. “How dareyou!”
“Oh, great comeback.” She rolls her eyes.
“It wasn’t a comeback—it was a statement. How dare you.”
“No…how dareyou.” She pokes my chest.
Flustered, I poke her shoulder. “How dareyou.”
“Stop repeating what I’m saying or else this will go nowhere.”
