Santa Claus
Chapter Nine
I can’t believe I’m actually going to write back.
After reading the letter three times and attempting to smudge the ink with my finger, I realized it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t junk mail. I stare at the piece of notebook paper at the back of my notebook for math class. I’ve written “Dear Santa” at the top, like I’m some kind of kid. Like I’m silly enough to actually believe in this. But what if it’s real?
I mean… obviously notmagic, magic. What if some big wig charity organization found my letter and wants to help out?
Maybe writing back will be the thing that saves my family’s Christmas. We can’t exactly afford a dog right now but I’ll explain it all in my letter. Maybe “Santa”, or their charitable organization can find my mom a job.
Thank you for writing back. My mom was an admin assistant for twenty years until she was laid off for no fault of her own. She’s extremely skilled and was always beloved by her coworkers. She’d like an admin assistant job, but would happily take any job right now. Money is tight… well no, money is nonexistent right now. She’s cleaning apartments just to keep our rent paid. She’s stressed, and sad, and I can’t stand to see her like this. Can you help her, Santa?
For my brother Max, he desperately wants a dog. I know that’s too much to ask for because we can’t afford a dog until my mom gets a job. She always told us that we could get one as soon as Max turned six, and he’s six now and that’s all he thinks about. If you could give him a stuffed animal of a dog, I bet he’d like that.
Thank you for listening. I hope you can help.
Love,
Jayda
I draw another stamp on the envelope and address it to the North Pole. I wait until Max is at school to drop it off in the mailbox. He still hasn’t stopped talking about my reply and how he can’t wait to get his. Maybe the charity organization will send him a reply after all.
If not, I hope he gets a gift from them.
I really doubt they can help my mom because she’s already searched for every job available and has applied to all of them. There’s not much anyone can do at this point. Still, I guess it’s worth hoping for a little Christmas magic.
At school I eat my lunch in the library so I can play on the internet. Food isn’t allowed in here but I only bring a bag of cereal to school, so I sneak it in and eat it secretly. On the school’s computers, I use the internet to search for cheap and easy meals in an effort to change things up. I’m so tired of beans and rice and surely there are better recipes out there.
“Mind if I sit here?”
I jump. No one is ever in here during lunch except for the librarian and me. I turn around and see Connor standing there, hands in his pockets like always. His backpack is slung over his shoulder and he’s watching me with that same look I saw in his truck the other day. His gaze is something else. It’s cute and caring and it does things to my insides.
I crack a grin. “Please do.”
He pulls out the chair next to me and turns on the laptop in front of him. “My printer ran out of ink at home so I need to get my essay printed before Mrs. Juarez slaughters me.”
I laugh because Mrs. Juarez is the AP History teacher and she’s known for being really tough. “That’s probably a good idea.”
He leans over to get something out of his backpack and I can smell his cologne for just a second. It smells so good it makes me want to lean over and smell it again. Luckily, I hold myself back. Connor puts a flash drive into the laptop and then looks over at me.
“Do you like cooking?”
“Not really,” I say, glancing at the laptop I’m using, which has a recipe for crock pot chili on the screen. “I try to cook, but I’m not very good at it.”
“I feel you,” he says as he logs into the laptop. “I am the worst cook in almost every way, except for pizza. I make the world’s best deep dish pizza from scratch.”
“Yum,” I say as I eat a handful of dry Cheerios. “Pizza sounds really, really good right now.”
“I’m making it tonight,” Connor says. “You should come over and eat some. Trust me, it’s amazing.”
My mouth is practically watering at the thought of pizza. I haven’t had pizza in weeks because we can’t afford it. And hanging out with Connor at his house? That sounds almost better than the food.
He looks so eager, and I can tell he wants me to say yes. I wonder if it’s because he’s just that proud of his pizza, or if he wants it to be a date? Does his stomach get the same fluttery feeling around me that I get around him?
“That would be fun,” I say slowly, knowing I have to turn him down. “But I really can’t.”
His face falls. Maybe I’m just seeing things but I suddenly have the feeling that maybe he does like me.
