Page 82 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cole
It was a quarter past dawn; the lights were all dimmed.
The stockings were hung; the trees were all trimmed.
And along Whistler Lane, past the house lit in green,
sat Cole Black on the corner, a planning machine.
His mission: to ruin her, to make sure she loses,
to play dirty, to embarrass, in any way he chooses.
“Fourth fucking place! And ona fucking technicality,” I say as I pace the barn, my stupid Kringle sash thrown on the bench next to me. “We got fourth place when we should have easily gotten second.”
Max chews on a piece of beef jerky, slowly nodding. “Yup, that was a blow, especially to me. I worked hard on that design.”
“And yet you were ready to shake hands with the enemy and act like everything was fine.”
“Uh, no,” he says. “I was trying to act like we were friends so they’d cool it with their sabotage. We were going topretendto be friendly but then upend them.”
“What?” I say, blinking a few times. “That’s not what you said before we went over there.”
“Because I thought about it when we were walking to their house. I was going to tell you, but then you barged in there, freaking guns blazing, ready to take down the female population in that house, including the decrepit Cindy.”
“She was anything but decrepit. She was walking, Max. Fucking walking. And yeah, I went in there ready to throw down because I was pissed. You saw Storee—she was wrapped up in blankets and icing her head. Clearly, she was the one who made the commotion outside and messed with our lights.”
“Yes, I think we’ve established that.”
“Which means she’s the reason we got fourth place.”
“Very true,” he says with a nod. “But I’d like to point out, after doing the calculations, we’re still in first place with thirty total points, and since they took last place…overall they’re in third.”
I pause my pacing and turn toward my friend. “Who’s in front of them?” I’ve been too angry to check out how the other competitors have done.
“Ursula,” he says with a smile. “She beat out Jimmy and took first last night with her display. Going ugly Christmas sweater on her house was genius. And since she got third in the last two competitions, that puts her in second with twenty-nine points and Storee in third with twenty-eight points.”
“That’s not much of a difference,” I say as I push my hand through my hair. “What’s the next competition, and how can we sabotage Storee?”
“It’s a tough one.” He cringes. “It’s the Fruitcake Festivus.”
“Fuck,” I say as I lean against a support pole. “I don’t know how to bake.”
“Neither do I,” he says. “But I was speaking to my mom about it, and she said she could get us ready for the bake-off this Saturday.”
“She would?” I ask. “Does she know how to make fruitcake?”
“She said she has a recipe that could help highlight her jam. A fruity fruitcake with cherry jam, nuts, and some other things.”
“That could be cool,” I say. “And who’s judging this round?”
“Tanya down at Warm Your Spirits,” Max answers.
“Hmm,” I say, twisting my lips to the side, an idea coming to mind. “I think I’m thirsty, are you?”
He smiles. “As a matter of fact…I am.”
