Page 7 of Light Up My Life

Marcus was looking out the window at the Morenos’ house. “How much do you think we’d have to pay the crew next door to do our house next?” Marcus asked.

I gasped. “We would never! Decorating is half of the fun. And it’s our last year to do it together as a family,” I reminded him.

“Okay, Tiny Tim,” he said.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“I know you are—that’s what makes it funny.”

I rolled my eyes and headed to the kitchen to find clear tape. What I’d told Harris was true—I could fix the snow globe easily. Fixing things was what I did best.

By the time the sun was setting, we’d put up most of our decorations. I studied everything from the sidewalk, standing there with my arms crossed while Mom gathered up extra supplies from our lawn.

The life-sized snow globe looked great; you couldn’t even see the rip. On our porch stood a little group of chickens, dressed like humans holding hymnbooks. A row of Santa’s elves, holding little hammers, lined our driveway. White lights blanketed our hedges, and the lights along the roof were up and ready to be plugged in. It was a pretty solid showing for day one. We’d finish tomorrow for sure.

Suddenly the lights on the Moreno house flipped on, and we were bathed in a bright glow. I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten.

Mom, holding a hammer and a balled-up string of dead Christmas lights, lifted up one hand to shield her eyes.

I squinted as I looked over to see the spectacle next door. It was … pretty amazing. And I hated it. It felt like a light show. Like we should be sitting in expensive seats with sunglasses on and eating popcorn, waiting for fireworks to explode and some world-famous rock star to appear onstage and start scream-singing “We Will Rock You.”

“Thought you could use some light!” Ryan called out from where he now stood on his porch. I could barely make out his smug face since he was backlit by his hideous house. “To see better!”

I flinched. Was he referencing me seeing him in the window last night? He wasn’t, right? Although that seemed like something he would absolutely do.

“We’re good!” Mom called back, her voice tight.

“Oh, okay.” A minute later we were plunged back into darkness.

“Like he really wanted to help,” Mom muttered to me as we walked back inside.

Seriously. He’d just wanted to rub it in our faces that their house was basically done. I was sure they had more décor to add, but the hard part, the lighting, was up and available to help land a plane if needed.

I went upstairs to change for the party. A big empty canvas sat on an easel in the corner of my room, waiting for me to start on my inspiration project. Too bad I had no idea what to paint yet. Maybe something at the party would inspire me.

The annual Season Kickoff party was an open-house-style, holiday-themed event at Mrs. O’Leary’s. People walked in, grabbed the calendar of events for the season, ate some decorated cookies, chatted about how much traffic there was going to be over the next month, and then left.

But this year people were lingering, clearly because of the competition. Everyone wanted to hear about the rules and the details. The house was way more crowded than usual. In fact, Mrs. O’Leary had set up folding chairs and a podium in her backyard so she could make her big announcement there.

Marcus and I were standing in the packed kitchen, looking at the calendar of events together.

“We’re doing all of these,” I said to my brother.

In addition to the famous holiday lights, Cherry Ridge hosted holiday-themed activities in the town square each Saturday in the run-up to Christmas. Local businesses loved the extra foot traffic. The first activity this year was a gingerbread-house-making competition.

“All of them?” Marcus asked. Usually we did at least one, or volunteered to help at some, but never all. They were mostly for the tourists.

“Come on, the movie in the square is actually fun.” That was the final activity this year. I tugged on his arm.

He let out a laugh. “Fine. We’ll do them all.” He sounded annoyed, but I saw the amusement in his eyes. Maybe he wanted to make his last season as memorable as I did.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out. It was a text from Fiona.

Are you already here? There are too many people. I can’t find you.

“I’ll be right back,” I said just as my moms and little brother rejoined us, Harris holding a cookie in each hand.

“We’re going to find seats outside for the competition announcement,” Momma said.