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So very avant-garde of you, he’d said, referring to Fiona’s stunt in the assembly.

No, not me, I’d responded. Fiona.

It was cool. Took me by surprise, but cool. It’s going viral. Hopefully it will only help with donations.

Thanks for covering for her with Mr. Argyle, I wrote back.

I’m not a snitch, Jasmine, you should know this by now.

He was referring to us talking, how we were keeping it a secret. Maybe that’s why I was feeling protective of Ryan now. Whatever the case, as I passed his fancy house that night, instead of feeling frustration like I normally did while looking at it, I felt a little smile play on my lips. I felt happy. Giddy, even.

We walked another half block, sipping our cocoas.

“I love this house,” Mom said, stopping in front of the Garfields’ place.

A set of train tracks circled their yard. Tonight, sitting in the first car, was Mrs. Garfield. She was waving as her little train chugged her around their lawn. On top of the smokestack was one of the neighborhood mice. I wondered if Ryan had found that one, counted it in his total. Was he higher than three yet?

“Me too!” Harris said. “We need a train!”

“Yes, will you build one of those next year, Jaz?” Marcus asked, flinging his arm around my shoulder. “Maybe then I’ll come home.”

“Ha ha,” I said, but his joke pulled at my chest, reminding me of everything we might lose after this year, and the one thing I knew we were losing—this much time together. I leaned into him, his arm still around me.

A persistent beeping rang through the crisp night air. I turned to see what the commotion was when a golf cart parted the crowd. Bright red Christmas lights framed its roof and silver tinsel hung from the sides. Technically golf carts were allowed on walking nights, but most people chose car nights to ride their golf carts. Or rather, most people didn’t have golf carts.

As this golf cart passed, I could see Ryan Moreno sitting in the front. His friend Phillip was driving the cart. Two other guys were in the back, only one of whom I recognized from school. Mountain Glen boys, no doubt.

The guys in the back were hanging out the open sides and shouting obnoxious greetings at the crowd, like they thought they were celebrities. They were also throwing mini candy canes in the air, which were dropping on people’s heads or landing in the hoods of coats. Ryan was sitting there, arms crossed, foot up on the dash, smiling.

I didn’t think he’d see me in the crowd, but as usual, our eyes met. His face lit up, and he gave me a slight nod. I felt the scowl on my face, and I tried to smooth it to neutral, but I couldn’t before he was out of eyeshot.

Then the chaos was gone. The golf cart rounded the corner ahead, and the soft music of a group walking next to us, who had a speaker in their wagon, reclaimed the airspace. The people, after a few minutes of annoyed commentary, went back to pointing at the decorations.

Not my family, though.

The happy reverie from before was gone, and my moms were now complaining to each other. Wondering aloud if they should suggest to Mrs. O’Leary that electric-powered modes of transportation be banned as well.

Maybe it was good Ryan came by tonight with those friends to remind me who he was, what he was all about. I needed the reminder.

We turned the corner, and the house that greeted us was one of the dark houses. It stood out like a sore thumb, a blank space in the middle of brightness. It made my stomach tighten.

“I didn’t bring a scarf,” Harris announced. “And my neck is cold.”

“You can use mine,” Momma said. She wore a plain black beanie and a black scarf, which she unwound from her neck and coiled around Harris’s. We started to walk again.

“I’m still cold,” Harris complained. “And my feet hurt.”

Momma looked at Mom and said, “I’ll take him back.”

“I have to stop at home before my sock party,” Marcus said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Sock party?” I asked. “Huh?”

“Yes, we’re exchanging socks.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Missy said to bring socks, so I’m bringing them.”