All I Want for Christmas (Underlined Paperbacks)

by Wendy Loggia

  I wrinkle my nose, self-conscious. “I do?”

  “Mmm-hmm. A lot of them. They’re gone now.”

  I instinctively reach up and touch my own cheek. “Uh, okay.”

  “You sound like you don’t believe me,” he says. “Why would I make it up?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t say that you did.”

  “I mean, it’s not like I needed an excuse to reach over and touch your cheek, you know.”

  “Uh, okay,” I say again. Suddenly my vocabulary has shrunk to a handful of words.

  We’ve had a lot of fun together today. Jacob likes to joke around a lot and he is pretty funny. Spending time with him is easy to do. But now I suddenly feel shy. Maybe it’s because we’re talking about first dates and kissing and doughnut crumbs.

  “If someone is watching the two of us, what do you think they’d say?” Jacob asks, crossing his arms.

  “Hmmmm,” I say, taking the question seriously. I’ve never put myself into the “voyeuree” role. “Um, I think they’d think we were friends from school, by the way we’re laughing and looking comfortable together.”

  “True that,” Jacob says, prodding me along. “Go on.”

  “And they’d guess that I’m the more serious one, while you’re a bit of a jokester.”

  Jacob gives me a grin. “Speak the truth, you do. So you think we’re that easy to read, huh?”

  “Yes,” I say with a sigh. “I wish I could say we were more mysterious, but…it is what it is.”

  “Interesting,” he replies, moving closer to me. “But what I really want to know,” he says softly, “is if we’re so easy to read, did anyone see this coming?” And before I know what’s happening, his maple-glazed, truffle-coated, salty lips are on mine.

  And I never saw it coming.

  Kissing Jacob Marley isn’t anything like I expected it to be.

  It’s better. His full lips are soft, and his breath is a mixture of maple and cinnamon. I reach up and put my hands on his chest and he wraps his arms around my lower back.

  I haven’t kissed anyone since Oliver and I broke up, and now I wonder if what Oliver and I did could even be called kissing. Making out with Oliver was more like a mashing-up of lips and Oliver opening his mouth way too wide and once actually covering my nose, which is as disgusting as it sounds.

  Jacob kisses like he really cares about kissing and wants to do a good job of it. And he is.

  When we pull apart, I don’t know what to do or what to say. My lips are tingling, and my hands feel all fluttery, so I stuff them in my jacket pocket.

  Jacob clears his throat. “Was that okay?”

  I give a rapid nod. “Totally okay.”

  He breaks into a grin. “Okay. Good. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

  “You have?” I say, swallowing. I can’t believe we just kissed!

  “You’re a great kisser,” Jacob tells me.

  I can feel my cheeks warm up. “You are too,” I blurt out. I feel kind of self-conscious but Jacob seems totally at ease. He looks down at the ground and then his eyes shoot up to meet mine. “I mean, you know I like you, Bailey. I think it’s been pretty obvious.”

  At this point I know the right thing to do would be to nod or smile, to maybe even lean back in and kiss him. And I feel like doing all of those things at this very moment. But I can’t stop reliving the moment in the mall from the other night, when he was with two of the meanest girls at my school, one of them his former girlfriend. And that’s when I do the absolute worst thing I could do.

  “So I’ve been wondering…what were you doing with Kaylee and Jessica the other night?”

  Jacob blinks at me, his expression unreadable. “What?”

  I’m already regretting bringing this up but there’s no turning back now. “At the mall? Kaylee Zimmer and Jessica Dolecki?” I clarify, just in case he’s confused over which Kaylee and Jessica I’m referring to.

  “Yeah, I know who you mean.” Now he sounds a little annoyed. “Were you spying on me or something?”

  “What? No!” I rush out, shaking my head. “I was at the mall with my mom and I saw you.” I fold my arms across my chest, my nails digging into my coat. “It just surprised me, is all. I didn’t realize you, uh, were still, um, friends with Jessica.”

  Jacob’s body language has totally changed now. He looks stiff and uncomfortable, and all the laughs we’d shared tonight at the carnival seem to have evaporated.

  The silence is so awkward. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it….“So did you guys go there together?” I ask in a small voice, biting my bottom lip. It still tastes like maple. Like Jacob.

  “Honestly, Bailey, why does that even matter?” He frowns. “The only way I could see it remotely being something you’d even want to know would be if we were dating each other exclusively. Is that what we’re doing?”

  “I…I haven’t really thought about it,” I mumble-lie, wishing that the ice rink could suddenly morph into a giant hole that I could throw myself into.

  “Well, I guess if we’re being open with each other, I’d like to know where things stand,” he says, sounding all businesslike about it.

  “Are you…are you trying to DTR our relationship?” I ask him, incredulous. Here I’ve been afraid to push the idea of us dating on him—is he actually asking me where things stand? Unreal. And after the past few days, I’m not honestly sure.

  He sighs. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “I guess it means that I’m confused,” I say. “You might like me, but maybe…maybe you like someone else too.” The thing that I couldn’t stop thinking about is this: if Jacob could be attracted to an awful person like Jessica, it’s hard to reconcile how he’d be attracted to someone like me. We are completely different people (one nice, one not so nice).

  Jacob frowns hard. “Are you talking about me or you? I just told you that I like you. Now I’m thinking maybe you’re the one who likes someone else.”

  “That’s not it,” I protest, though his words hit a nerve. Jacob doesn’t know about Charlie—and I want to keep it that way.

  “Maybe I should have been following you around,” he says coldly. “Maybe I’d have learned a few things about you.”

  Okay, so he definitely doesn’t know about Charlie. His words sting a bit, though. I know I don’t really have a right to give him a hard time about being at the mall with a couple of girls when I’ve actually been on bona fide dates with another guy.

  A sharp wind whips across the ice rink and straight into my bones. Above us, the strands of twinkling lights tremble.

  I shiver, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck. “Look, I don’t know why I said anything. I shouldn’t have. You can be at the mall with whoever you want. I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I mean it. Can we forget this conversation ever happened?”

  Jacob doesn’t say anything for a minute. But then his frown turns more into a smirk. He shrugs, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, sure. We can forget it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He reaches over and takes hold of either end of my scarf. It’s a repeat of what Charlie did the other day at the bookstore, except Jacob is undeniably pulling me close to him. “You gotta admit, it’s pretty bizarre when you consider we just had our first kiss and our first fight all in the span of five minutes.”

  “I liked the kissing part better.”

  “Me too.” And he leans over and kisses me again.

  “Oh, you guys. I love them!” Mellie trills, holding up two pairs of underpants: one in a camo print, one with unicorns and rainbows. “Seriously, so cute.” She studies each of our faces, trying to guess who gifted them. “Hmmmm. I think it was…you!” she says, shaking the panties in my direction.

  “Stop,” I say, laughing. I take a bite of my toasted sesame bagel. We met
at the Sunshine Diner for our friend group’s traditional preholiday brunch and exchange of gifts. We all dropped them in a tote bag Phoebe brought when we were outside the diner. That way no one knows who brought which gift. “The point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret, Mel,” I remind her after I swallow.

  Caitlin is cutting her buttermilk pancakes into tiny bite-sized pieces. “Yeah, but you know we always end up telling each other.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Mellie tells her. It’s common knowledge that Caitlin is the worst at keeping a secret. The first year we exchanged gifts, we had to do it two weeks before Christmas because Caitlin couldn’t stand the wait any longer. She opened her Secret Santa first today. It was a bright green day planner for the new year that came with sticker sheets—a perfect gift for her.

  “Shhhh, not yet,” Phoebe admonished. She’s already unwrapped her fairy lights, and she squealed with joy. If we had an outlet at our table, I wouldn’t be surprised if she unboxed them, plugged them in, and put them around her neck like a lei. “Bailey still needs to open hers.”

  I pull a few crumpled sheets of tissue paper from the gift bag. Inside is a bottle of Essie nail polish in a pretty blue color called Bikini So Teeny…and a self-help dating advice book that I’ve seen at the bookstore: So, What Are We?: A Girl’s Guide to Getting the Love You Deserve.

  “Wow. Thanks, Santa,” I say, rolling my eyes at Mellie. She gives me an innocent What, me? look and suddenly is fascinated with her omelet.

  Caitlin’s eyes bop from me to Mellie. “Wait, how do you know Mellie’s your Santa?”

  I shake my head. “Trust me, I know.”

  Phoebe picks up the book and examines it. “Is this…a relationship book? Who’s Bailey in a relationship with?” she asks Mellie and Caitlin, as if I’m not sitting right beside her.

  “See, that’s the question we need answered,” Mellie says thoughtfully, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her closed fists. She bats her eyelashes at me.

  I shoot her a warning look. She is the only one I’ve told about kissing Jacob last night, but I swore her to secrecy. I don’t want to talk about it at our brunch. Today is supposed to be about us four—I don’t want me and Jacob to be the topic of conversation. My friends always come first. Fries before guys.

  “Okay, so you are Bailey’s Santa,” Caitlin says, oblivious to the daggers coming out of my eyes. “So that means…Phoebe? Are you mine?”

  Phoebe hesitates, then nods, doing a little dance in her seat. “I know you’re always so organized. It just looked like you when I saw it at the store.”

  “I’m your Santa,” Caitlin tells Mellie.

  “At this point I kind of assumed that,” Mellie says, giving her a hug.

  Now that we’ve all come clean, everyone is relaxed, talking and eating. Caitlin is going to her relatives in Georgia until New Year’s, so we won’t be seeing much of her over the break. Phoebe is going away, too, but just to Long Island for a few days. Mellie and I are staying local.

  I pick up the last crispy strip of bacon on my plate and take a tiny bite. My friends are all laughing and talking, but I feel on the outside of their conversation. I don’t want to talk about Jacob. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to think about him. It’s hard not to. I can’t stop reliving our kiss last night…or imagining the prospect of kissing him again in the future.

  “Are you okay, Bailey?” Phoebe asks, sipping her water. “You seem kind of, I don’t know, out of it today.”

  “I think I know what it is,” Mellie says knowingly.

  Everyone’s eyes zero in on her, including mine. “I think Bailey is struggling to decide what she wants when it comes to a guy,” Mellie says slowly. “It’s like, she met someone she really likes, but now she’s wondering if maybe she could find someone else she likes.”

  I think about this for a minute. There is a teeny kernel of truth to it. But mostly it’s that I’ve found two people to like. “Okay, Mel. Yep, you got it,” I say, trying to end this conversation.

  But she isn’t about to be shushed that easily. “It’s the paradox of choice,” she jabbers on. “People always think that the perfect person is waiting for them out there.” She throws out her hands expansively. “It’s like when you find a perfect match on a dating site. It messes with your head and makes you think that if you found one person, a lot more people are out there who might be right for you.”

  “Love’s just a swipe away,” Phoebe agrees.

  “I think you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Caitlin says. “This guy Charlie seems cool and all, but it sounded pretty friend-zoney. And he doesn’t seem that available.” Mellie and Phoebe are nodding as she continues. “You told us how much fun you had with Jacob at the Christmas tree farm—the farm his family owns.” She laughs as if it’s so obvious what I should do, and Mellie and Phoebe join in. “It doesn’t get any more perfect for a Christmas maniac like you, Bailey. Can you say ‘destiny’?”

  “And he’s seriously hot,” Mellie adds. “He is!” she says at Phoebe’s and Caitlin’s looks. “Have you seen his butt?”

  “I haven’t looked,” I tell her, folding my arms, but the blush in my cheeks says otherwise. Pretty soon we’re all laughing, and Mellie has started a poll of who has the best butt in the junior class.

  I look around the table at their smiling faces. My friends just want what’s best for me. But for whatever reason, I just can’t make myself open up and tell them how conflicted I am because of Charlie. They’d dissect everything I’d tell them, and I guess maybe I’m afraid there’ll be nothing left when they’re through.

  In my heart, I know what the right choice is. The right choice is the boy who was out there, trying to get to know me—the boy I’d known from afar for years. The boy I wanted to kiss more than anything again.

  But saying yes to Jacob means that I’ll have to say goodbye to Charlie for good.

  And I’m just not ready to do that.

  * * *

  • • •

  One year at my sleepaway summer camp, my entire cabin sat in a circle after breakfast and went around identifying our best and worst traits. My counselor, Bri, urged us to be as self-aware as possible. It was a pretty easy activity for me—I’ve always considered myself to be very self-aware. This means that I also easily knew what my worst trait was—or, at least, a trait I was willing to bring up in front of a group of eleven-year-old girls.

  My worst trait is that I often have big ideas but underestimate how long it will take to pull them off. That leads to me putting things off. And that leads to disaster.

  The Christmas tree tags is a classic example. My heart was in the right place that day at the senior center…but I’ve procrastinated on doing the shopping, in large part because I’m not sure how I’m going to pay for everything.

  The list of things I have to do—have to buy—is weighing on me now as I cross the street, my head down. My friends are all going to hang out together at Phoebe’s house after brunch, but I told them I have a headache and want to go home and take a nap.

  I wasn’t lying about the nap part. But I can’t just go home and sleep. I have to shop.

  “What am I going to do?” I mutter to myself as I head to my car. All the street meters are covered with red holiday shopping bags that say ENJOY THE GIFT OF FREE HOLIDAY SHOPPING. At least I don’t have to worry about getting a parking ticket I won’t be able to pay for. I shake my head, annoyed with myself. Holiday shopping is supposed to be fun. Enjoyable. Instead, I feel a little sick to my stomach. Everyone whose name is on one of those tags is counting on a gift for Christmas. If they don’t receive one, it will be only one person’s fault.

  Mine.

  I start making a mental list of everything I have to buy.

  Reya: fabric softener and laundry detergent pods

  Jade: blue sweat
shirt and sneakers (girls size 4)

  Richard: Green queen-sized comforter

  Chiara: Yoga mat and leggings size M

  Javante: Anything Nike

  Sydney: Clothes, size 14

  Lost in my thoughts, I’m not paying attention to the sidewalk and I trip over a folded newspaper that was tossed on the pavement. We’re always getting circulars in our driveway, stuffed into flimsy plastic bags. This newspaper isn’t in a bag, and when my foot kicks it, papers start fluttering out, blowing every which way.

  “Shoot,” I mumble, chasing after a flyer for a pharmacy and an insert for a window replacement company. Grabbing the papers, I jog back to the newspaper. “You’re such a Girl Scout,” I mutter, bending down to stick the papers back in the folds of the paper.

  And that’s when I see it. A plain white envelope—the kind a birthday card comes in—is tucked inside the newspaper. The envelope contents are thick. On the front it says For You.

  I open the envelope. Inside is a thick wad of twenty- and fifty-dollar bills. “Wait, what?” I gasp, thumbing through the money. There has to be over five hundred dollars here, maybe more. I glance around, wondering if this is some kind of holiday prank. But I’m all alone. “ ‘For you’?” I say, reading aloud the words on the envelope. Does that mean…for me?

  I know the right thing to do is turn the money in to the police department. If someone had lost this much, they’d definitely report it.

  Wouldn’t they?

  I look at the envelope again. This doesn’t seem like someone lost it. It feels almost like someone has left it here, tucked inside a newspaper, hoping someone will find it. My heart starts to race.

  Maybe this is my destiny.

  Maybe fate or elves or…or, okay, I’m not ashamed to consider it, Santa, is behind this. It’s as if someone knew that I’d be walking by at this very moment, that a gust of wind would send the newspaper pages flying, that I’d stop…and that I’d find the envelope.