Feeling way less self-conscious, I found Mrs. Fletcher and asked her where I needed to be.
My English teacher called Clara over. “My head elf, please tell Santa what he needs to do for the finale. I have a sugarplum fairy stuck in the restroom with a broken zipper and a gingerbread man threatening to quit.”
“I’ve got this,” Clara said without hesitation, seeming much older than I had ever seen her before.
Mrs. Fletcher thanked her and headed to the next crisis that needed to be dealt with. Clara grabbed my arm and pulled me over to where I needed to be; past cutouts of five-foot tall gingerbread houses, artificial Christmas trees strung withhaphazard lights, and two other sugarplum fairies sitting back on their hands and chewing bubblegum.
“I feel useless,” I said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“That’s why we have rehearsals,” she said flatly. Clara and I had never been friends, only seeing each other occasionally because of Nic or passing in the hallway outside of class. We didn’t share classes because I was one year older than her. How could her brother be so opposite of her no-nonsense personality?
“I was a last minute replacement. The other Santa got bronchitis.”
“My role also got changed at the last minute.”
“Your brother just told me.” I shook my head. “Sorry about Dixie. I had no idea she stole that part from you. I don’t even know why I’m still with her.”
I also don’t know why I felt compelled to tell her that last part.
Clara sighed. “Because you’re the quarterback and she’s the prom queen. Two peas in a pod.” She entwined her fingers and held them up while smiling in a way that didn’t touch her eyes.
I cleared my throat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It was a mean thing to do and she and I are going to have a conversation about it later.”
Clara seemed to thaw a little at that. “Your job as Santa is easy. We took out all the speaking lines once Leo got sick. Just wait here until they start playing ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.’ Then walk out, wave to the crowd, and go sit in Santa’s chair.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Yup. You sit. Dixie will sing a song about a kid asking Santa for gifts, and that will be that.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
It was. I came out right on cue twenty-five minutes later when the song started, did a little walk, and sat in the big gold chair. My brothers and Nic were right near the front, and they were all holding up candy canes, grinning like idiots. Nic had clearly told them about my earlier wardrobe issues.
It didn’t matter. I could sit and do nothing for the next few minutes. Dixie started came out and started singing. Then Clara sat on my knee.
“What are you doing?” I whispered to her, hoping no one could hear me but her.
“It’s for the song. I’m the kid asking Santa for toys. Just smile and don’t make it weird.”
I managed a smile for the crowd, but things were definitely weird. Clara was so damn close I could smell her shampoo, and despite my best efforts, she had me feelings things I had no business feeling. My Christmas spirit was rising and there was nothing I could do about it.
Lucky for us, Clara was perched on my knee, nowhere close to the traitorous bulge. She would never have to know what kind of effect she had on me.
As Dixie sang, she noticed Clara on my lap, and my girlfriend shot Clara a venomous look of jealousy. Clara noticed, too, because she flinched back and lost her balance. Acting on instinct, I grabbed her and pulled her securely on my lap.
Right onto me. The cotton padding did nothing to hide the tempered steel in my pants. She hopped to her feet, surprised, cheeks red, and she shot me a shocked look. Panicking, I quickly pulled out the candy cane and showed it to her. She relaxed and sat back on my knee, well away from the danger zone.
The crowd didn’t seem to notice it, focused on Dixie, but Dixie had noticed and she looked pissed, and even worse, my brothers were doubled over with laughter in their seats. They knew exactly what had happened.
And so did Nic, sitting next to them. He glared at me and dragged his thumb across his throat like he was going to kill me. It made my brothers laugh even harder.
And thus began the worst Whitaker family Christmas joke of all time. A decade later, I would still be hearing about it.
CHAPTER 2
CLARA
Present Day…
