Page 55

At Quantico, I was the fastest trainee in my group to take apart and put together a standard-issue Glock 17M. Faster than Nathan, even, which is a fun fact I get to live with for the rest of my life. Whenever I’m feeling sad, I think about that.

So give me a LEGO set of Santa’s sleigh, his workshop, the entire North Pole, or stacks of toy blocks, and I’ll demolish the competition. But that’s not what we’re at a toy store to do. Instead of building toys or doing something physical like organizing a maximized load for Santa’s bag we’re… wrapping presents.

This is my literal nightmare.

On the floor beside our table is a mountain of toys in varying sizes that we need to wrap by the end of the competition—those with the most unwrapped gifts are out.

Is this the moment Sadistic Santa has been waiting for? I’m here, I’m playing. Now would be his chance to act. For some reason, though, my instincts say no. It’s only the second competition, and I get the sense he wants to draw this out. Still, I take it with a snowball-size grain of salt—I’ve been wrong before—and stay frosty.

“Well, this is just great. Everyone’s got weapons on them now,” I mutter to Nathan, eyeing the scissors and ribbon. Nelly and Todd are saying their last words to the cameras and live audience before making a big show of starting the competition clock. “Also, what does this have to do with physical ability? How good are you at gift wrapping?”

Nathan’s stretching his arms out. “Oh, my sweet winter elf, what we’re about to do, it’s physical. Have you seen some of the toys that come through here? I’m talking ice cream carts, miniature kitchens, and puppet theaters taller than the kids themselves.” He motions with his hands as though he’s pulling out wrapping paper. “It’s about fluid movements, quick cuts, clean folds. Even with the small ones, there’s more leaning, more stability required. That requires core strength.”

“In that case, thanks for the tutorial,” I say, patting his stomach. “Guess I’m taking over from here.”

“Toy wrapping is serious business,” Nathan continues, ignoring me as he wiggles his gloved fingers. “If you measure wrong, you could lose minutes. Ribbon tying? It can’t be flopping all over the place. I hope you’re ready.”

I truly thought Nathan in a Santa suit is what would do it for me, but who knew his passion for gift wrapping could be so attractive?

“I know enough to be dangerous,” I warn, thankful we have the full hour and a half.

Well, eighty-eight minutes now.

“We’re being graded on speed, quality, and pizazz,” I remind him.

Nathan makes a face. “Doesn’t have the same ring as Joy, Jolliness, and Jubilation.”

He prioritizes the largest presents first, explaining that we need to make sure we have enough wrapping paper for those. We can use the scraps for the smaller ones. His intensity for gift-wrapping strategy?

Yep. Hot.

We start with a truck set. It’s a box, which makes the wrapping straightforward. Nathan measures and cuts silver paper while I prepare the tape. He works his magic, holding out a finger when he needs a strip. I help keep the ribbon in place when Nathan ties bows and snips off the excess at a sharp angle like he’s a jeweler at Tiffany. Which makes sense. He did train there.

We’re clearly too focused because we hardly notice Sean Monroe, a twenty-five-year-old physical education teacher from Reno dressed as Football Santa, make a wide circle around his table to grab a toy. He trips into our designated space and makes a show of getting up, ripping a roll of our paper into shreds.

“Seriously, man?” Nathan says. “What the fu—” He cuts himself off when a cameraman swings around to our table. “Fa-la-la.”

Football Santa half smiles. “Sorry,” he says slyly.

“Are you kidding me? Sabotage? In front of us?” I say, shocked. “Watch your back, Lambros. All these Santas are dangerous.”

He nods to the pile. “Grab another. We need to double-time this.”

I reach for a Monopoly game, which is shockingly heavy. “What’s in here? Gold tokens?” I get a cut sliding the scissors through the paper. I push past the sting as I fold the edges and tape them into place. I do this over and over and over alongside Nathan until we make an impressive dent in the toy pile. To push through it, I hum along to “Here Comes Santa Claus” that’s playing throughout the store. The fact that this song is on right now feels like a sick joke. Or a purposeful one.

Out of the blue, Nathan says, “We got this.”

I look up at him in confusion.

“You’re humming,” he clarifies.

It reminds me to breathe. And sharpen my focus, which is currently directed on both Freddie and Arjun, who’s dressed like Fisherman Santa. He’s got on red rubber boots and an angler fishing vest, his suit made of plaid. Everyone’s got their gimmick to stand out.

“How’s your rib? Need a second to rest?” Nathan asks. “I can handle this.”

“While the clock is ticking? Wrap now, rest later!”

“I know you hate this, but you’re doing well,” he says, his vocal cords coated with enthusiasm. “You’re even smiling a little.”