Page 1 of Light Up My Life

Chapter 1

I was carefully pulling the green bean casserole out of the oven when I heard a knock on the front door.

“Are we expecting someone?” Mom asked from the kitchen table. She was sorting through a red storage bin full of Christmas stockings and other decorations. My little brother, Harris, was “helping” her. Mom was still in the flowy floral robe she’d thrown over her pajamas that morning even though it was now approaching two p.m. Her long honey-colored hair, same as mine, was piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

“I invited a dozen friends to eat with us. Is that cool?” asked Marcus, my older brother, with a smirk. He stood at the counter on sweet potato duty, though his concoction seemed more marshmallow than sweet potato at the moment.

“Funny,” Momma responded, lifting the lid on the roaster to check on the turkey. Steam billowed into the air, and when it cleared away, a deep-brown bird surrounded by blackened onions and lemons and apples was revealed.

My mouth watered just looking at it.

Momma unplugged the roaster. She had gone on a run—even though it was Thanksgiving—and she still wore her running shorts and long-sleeved workout top. Her bob-length hair was pulled into a micro ponytail at the nape of her neck.

“Jasmine, if you’re all done with the casserole, could you go see who is at the door?” she asked me.

“Sure.” I took off my oven mitts, wiped my hands on my jeans, and ran into the living room, curious myself. I peered through the peephole but couldn’t see anyone. When I opened the door, a bright red flyer fluttered to the ground from where it must’ve been tucked into the weather stripping. I leaned over to pick it up.

Announcing the first annual competition for the best decorated holiday house in Cherry Ridge, Colorado! Details to come at the Season Kickoff party at the O’Leary residence tomorrow night at six p.m. Don’t miss it!—Mandy O’Leary

I felt my heart rate kick up a notch. “There’s a competition this year!” I called to my family as I returned to the kitchen with the flyer. Everyone crowded around to see what it said.

We live in a town that goes all out for Christmas. No, all out isn’t even a big enough expression. Cherry Ridge is a tiny blip of a town on the edge of Colorado, but our Christmas lights extravaganza—started thirty years ago by Mandy O’Leary—has made us a landmark. A destination. A national Christmas treasure. Okay, maybe I was a little biased with that last one, but the news reporters and tour buses full of people that filled our streets every holiday season kept my delusions high. One news reporter said last year that there were millions of lights on display across all the houses. I wondered who had counted.

But there’d never been a contest before.

“We have to win!” Harris yelled. He was seven and easily excitable.

“Wait, who’s judging this thing? How do we win? What do we win?” I squinted at the flyer to see if I had missed something.

“Details to come at Mrs. O’Leary’s house, I guess,” Momma said. She put a lid on the mashed potatoes.

“You know who’s going to win?” Marcus said, rapping on the flyer a couple times with his finger, then pointing out the window at our neighbors’ house. “The Morenos.”

“Absolutely not. They won’t,” I said, feeling my competitive spirit rise. “Their house is all intense lights and high-tech gadgets every Christmas. Our house is cozy and nostalgic. Their house might as well flash dollar signs.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of dollar signs,” Mom grumbled.

Our family didn’t get along with the Morenos. At all. And it was more than just typical next-door neighbor tension. We had history.

I looked at the five homemade Christmas stockings Mom had taken out of the storage bin. We always start decorating the day after Thanksgiving. In fact, we aren’t allowed to start decorating the outside of our house and our yard until tomorrow. The attention our town received got so big that the city council had to issue an ordinance about when we could put up the lights and when we had to take them down.

“We should do something extra-special with our decorations this time,” I said. “It’s Marcus’s last year.”

“You make it sound like I’m dying,” Marcus said.

“Going to college? Dying? Is there a difference?” I asked. I was joking, of course, but sometimes the grief that hit me at the thought of Marcus moving away was nearly unbearable. Marcus was seventeen and I was sixteen; being that close in age, we’d always done everything together. And now he might be moving away in nine months, and I’d have to do my last year of high school, my senior year, without him.

I attached the flyer to our fridge with a magnet. Contest or no contest, I was determined to make this Christmas season one Marcus wouldn’t forget. One that would make him want to come home next year when he’d have a choice about how much of his winter break he’d spend with us. I didn’t want him to slip into town a couple days before Christmas and then leave a couple days after.

“Eating in fifteen,” Momma announced, adding butter to the mashed potatoes.

Mom hurried upstairs to change while Harris started clearing the table. We all had our tasks.

“Jasmine,” Momma started. “Will you—”

“Yes, I’ll make a plate for Mr. Lenny.” Mr. Lenny was our across-the-road neighbor. He’d lost his wife about eight years ago, and my moms had been sending a plate of food over to him every major holiday since.

I retrieved a paper plate from the pantry and scooped an offering from the dishes that were already done onto it—green beans, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes. I started to crack the oven to check on the sweet potatoes, but Marcus swatted my hand away.