The Holiday Switch(5)

“I don’t mind.” I release a breath.

Please, go, before I ask him to sign the guest book.

“See you, I guess?” Teddy says, his eyes blank. The guy is obviously not happy to be here. Drama, indeed.

“Yeah, see you.”

The two make their way to the back, leaving me in the office with the sound of Bing Crosby piping through the speakers, Teddy’s arrival weighing heavily on my mind.

I just gave up my hours to my boss’s cute nephew. What the heck am I supposed to do about that?





SUNDAY, DECEMBER 12

“Whenever you click the refresh button, another angel gets its wings, I swear,” my best friend, Carmela Ferreira, gripes behind me. “What are you even waiting on? You’re stressing me out.”

Sitting at my desk in my bedroom, my eyes trained on my laptop screen, I click the refresh button once more. “Syracuse with my financial aid package. One of my dog-walking clients. A babysitting gig. A note informing me that I’m being left an inheritance by a long-lost grandparent.”

“Someone’s been reading too many romance novels. But seriously, you’re way too aggressive with that pointer finger. Spill it. You’re still upset about the Inn.”

“No, I’m not upset.” Although the thought of Teddy Rivera and his cocked eyebrow in a Bookworm Inn sweater irks the living nutcracker out of me. What had been empathy for Ms. Velasco and initial acceptance of Teddy has turned, a full twenty-four hours later, into annoyance that I have to replace those hours I expected to work. “Ugh. Yes, okay, I’m upset.”

    I spin in my chair and face Carm. Despite her earlier declaration, she looks far from stressed. Carm lazily swipes on her iPad while leaning back against my headboard—she’s most likely on social media. She’s of Portuguese descent, her black hair fluffed around her like a halo, and her legs are crossed in front of her, showing off her mismatched socks. If I turned on a white noise machine, she’d probably fall asleep. I, on the other hand…“Things don’t feel like they’re coming together.”

“It’s limbo,” Carm says, setting the iPad on her lap. “You remember what Mrs. Emerson said. This last semester is supposed to be a lot about the unknowns. At least you’re in with Syracuse.”

“Getting accepted isn’t the same as going.” Again, nervousness rises in my esophagus. Syracuse is my dream school, but it doesn’t come with a dream tuition. And there’s more to contend with: room and board, and fees, and books.

I also got into my second-choice (and less expensive) school; more schools are pending. I have options. But to be this close, to have worked so hard for something and then lose it because of money?

I hate it.

This time, to calm myself, I spin around and click on a folder on my desktop, then open a file labeled Books. An intricate spreadsheet opens, revealing a list of titles labeled as either Read or To be read, and a sentence or two for each book that will eventually become a review for TnT. Books that I’ve read are highlighted in yellow, and all that Day-Glo lights me up like the star of Holly’s enormous Christmas tree.

Because books. Books are an escape. Books are a reminder that opposites can exist at the same time, both good and bad, positive and negative.

    My laptop screen closes, and I jump.

The culprit—Carm.

“Hey!” I say.

She crosses her arms, bangles jangling, and leans back against my desk. We’re dressed the same, in long T-shirts over leggings topped by a soft cardi. Looking now, I realize she’s wearing my cardigan. In our years of spending nights at each other’s houses, our closets have become fair game. She probably has about half of my wardrobe at her house, and vice versa.

“You can’t click this convo away.” She peers at me. “You’re doing your best. Have you seen our yearbook? You’re in it at least ten times.”

“Fourteen.” I grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Fourteen. So, whatever happens is going to happen.”

“Fine.” I heave a breath, hoping to avoid a pity party. I’m not going to discuss dollars and cents with my best friend. Besides, money might not be her worry, but getting into RISD, Pratt, or VCUarts is.

We all have something to deal with.

It works, because Carm grins. “Good. Because it’s our last holiday break together.” She points to a list she hand-lettered and tacked onto the corkboard hanging on my wall, titled Mission: Holly. “And you’ve used work as an excuse twice now to get out of completing anything on our list.”

Growing up in a holiday-crazed town didn’t mean that we partook in the touristy things. In general, locals avoid downtown as much as possible. Some even leave for the holidays. Holly’s like a beach town, except we’re on opposite seasons. But last Christmas, while Carm and I were high on candy and good cheer, we decided to complete the Top Ten Things to Do in Holly, New York list from our tourism website by the end of winter break senior year:

              Kiss on the Bookworm Inn pier



     Sled down Wonderhill



     Eat deep-fried marshmallows at Scrooge’s Shack



     Go ice-skating at Prancer’s Ice Rink