The Holiday Switch

by Tif Marcelo

  “Let’s make it a twofer,” Carm says. “Number five on the top ten list is apple cider doughnuts at Comet’s Cider.”

  “Ooooh.” KC rests a hand on his belly. “My tummy just growled. I’m in.”

  Which makes me regret what I have to say next. “I can’t.”

  Carm frowns. “Are you working again?”

  “No, but I’ve got homework. And I’ve got to meet Teddy for breakfast first thing tomorrow morning.”

  The table falls into silence. KC’s jaw drops.

  “Excuuuuse me?” Carm stretches the word. “This is all levels confusing. This is Teddy, right? As in the one who took your hours?”

  I wince. “It’s a whole thing. He asked me to meet at Scrooge’s.”

  Her eyes widen. “So, wait. You’re going to ditch us tonight so you can meet Teddy tomorrow at Scrooge’s Shack, which is number three on our Mission: Holly list?”

  A part of me wishes I hadn’t mentioned it. “I’ve got no choice,” I insist. “We accidentally switched phones.”

  KC’s eyes brighten. “Mmm. You switched phones? And that’s all this is?”

  I eye both my friends. “I swear it’s nothing!”

  “Ooooh, you’re freakin’ out. That just confirms there’s something going on,” KC says. Carm nods emphatically. “I see those shifty eyes. Tell us everything.”

  Double-teamed, I give in. I catch them up on the phone switch, Teddy’s quirks, and the texts that popped up in his notifications. About his secret, and me, his nemesis.

  “I can’t imagine you being anyone’s nemesis,” KC says as he cleans up his workspace. Across the room, Mrs. Delaney announces that she’ll be passing around velvet boxes for the Christmas ornaments.

  “You haven’t seen her with her sister,” Carm retorts. “So why aren’t you switching phones tonight?”

  “He says he’s busy until midnight, and there’s no way I’m meeting him then.”

  I can see Carm’s next comment coming like December twenty-five on the calendar.

  “We should go find him!” she exclaims.

  “No. No way.”

  “Way,” KC agrees. He all but shoves his phone to me. “Find your phone.”

  “I…No. It’s no big deal.”

  “Here, let me.” Carm gets on her phone. “I know her login and password.”

  “I gave that to you just in case.” I try to snatch her phone away. We’re making such a ruckus that Mrs. Delaney clears her throat. I revert to my Goody Two-Shoes self and back down.

  “This is one of those ‘just in case’ moments. Don’t worry. We’re going to be stealthy. Don’t you want to know what Teddy is up to?”

  I sigh, but after a beat, nod. There’s no point in lying. As if I could get homework done knowing my phone’s with Teddy. And while I’m not great at making ornaments, I can definitely snoop.

  Twenty minutes after Carm successfully logs in to my Find My Phone app, I kill the engine of my car behind KC’s, who is parked behind Carm. If we were trying to be stealthy, we failed miserably, with our three cars traveling in close caravan to Mistletoe Lane at the northeasternmost part of town and then parking inches from each other on a road that butts up against the open expanse of fields.

  This is a bad, bad idea. So I sit in my car with my hands on the steering wheel and mull over potential escape plans. I could simply restart the car, make a U-turn, and speed out of there. Or maybe I could feign sickness?

  I look out into the darkness, beyond the sparse wire fence, to the building beyond. There are several cars parked next to it.

  Something niggles at the back of my brain, a spark of a story. Maybe Teddy’s part of a secret organization building a nuclear reactor that’s supposed to intercept the next meteor headed straight to earth à la Armageddon. Or maybe it’s a secret lab creating mold spores that turn the population into zombies, like The Girl with All the Gifts.

  Whatever it is, it has everything to do with those messages I read earlier today.

  Not sure how you’re going to manage a new job and the thing we’re not supposed to talk about.

  A sudden pounding on my window makes me yelp, and I look to the passenger side, where both Carm’s and KC’s faces are plastered against the glass. “Oh my God! Don’t do that!”

  They burst into laughter and gesture for me to exit.

  I shake my head; they both nod.

  “Dang it.” I open my door and step out into the cold night. From the building, there’s a faint sound of music. “What even is that place?”

  “My map shows it as an open field,” KC says.

  “Let’s go find out,” Carm adds.

  I don’t get a chance to object. My friends march toward the building, huffing and puffing determinedly in the cold air. “I feel like this is an invasion of privacy.”

  “And yet, he has your phone. If you’re reading his notifications, then he’s doing the exact same thing, so it’s a mutual privacy invasion. Besides, I want to see this Teddy.” Carm’s profile gleams with mischief.

  “Oh, he’s cute,” KC adds.

  “Even better.”

  Feet away from the entrance, my friends stop, and I run into their backs. “Ooomph,” KC says as he trips forward.

  Nope, not stealthy.

  “You lead the way, Lila.” Carm pushes me toward the closed metal door.

  “What? This isn’t even my idea!” I protest.

  Just then, the door opens with a wild screech. I jump back, barely missing being hit.

  “Whoa. Watch out!” a guy yells. He’s wearing short shorts, a tank top, winter boots, and a long coat. Not quite the norm for winter in the Finger Lakes. He marches straight to his car, passing KC and Carm without acknowledging them.

  The echoes of voices inside draw me closer; I pull the door open and a stuffy smell wafts out. When I hesitate, Carm and KC nudge me forward into the bright light of a barn.

  My gaze rises higher and higher, and then all around the room, where it takes me one, two, three seconds to orient myself.

  There are bodies everywhere. Half clothed, climbing walls, hanging from structures, strapped in by ropes, some contorted into weird positions. I stumble forward as my friends pile in, gasping and giggling.

  I tear my eyes away, barely able to watch in case someone falls. As I turn, I see a vinyl sign that says CLIMB HOLLY.

  A climbing gym. In Holly. When did this happen?

  “Whoa,” Carm says.

  “This is rad,” KC adds.

  A woman in a yellow long-sleeve Climb Holly shirt saunters in our direction. Her face is familiar, though with all the noise and sights of the gym, my brain can’t place her. “Hi there, welcome to Climb Holly.” She gives me a little wave, then pauses. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you from the Bookworm Inn? I was there the other day, in the free library.”

  After a beat of concerted focus, I remember. “You were talking to Teddy that day.”

  “That’s me! Amaya Reddy, owner of Climb Holly.” Her smile is bright and inquisitive. “How can I help you all?”

  “We…I…” A flash of red grabs my attention and I look up to a wall, where a person is hanging on for dear life. “I didn’t know that we had a climbing gym in Holly.”

  “Oh yeah! We haven’t done much advertising, but we’ve been open for a couple of months now.”

  “You have a lot of customers.” At the sound of a sharp snap, my head jerks to a person on the ground adjusting a rope tied to his waist.

  “Glad to say that the hard-core folks found us. The fall and winter seasons bring in even those who prefer to climb outside.”

  “Ah.” I swallow back my nerves, imagining these people climbing actual mountains without the large pads to soften their landing, just in case they…

  The thought brings about the sour beginnings
of nausea.

  “Do you want to take a look around?”

  “Not really,” I whisper.

  But she doesn’t hear me, because both my friends chime in and say, “Yes, we’ll take a look around.”

  Amaya excuses herself after pointing out the highlights of the gym; Carm slinks an arm through mine and pulls KC by the hand. “Let’s go.”

  I should pull back, but I, too, am drawn forward, watching the climbers move up the walls without fear and effort.

  Even if I prefer my feet on the ground.

  When I turn the corner, oddly shaped boulders with marked footholds and handholds take up real estate on the ground. The people climbing here don’t have harnesses or ropes. Though they’re only about ten feet from the ground, a couple of the climbers are all but perpendicular and totally unsupported.

  My attention is drawn to one person on a boulder. His dark hair is held back by a red headband. He’s wearing a tank top…and his arms. They’re corded and sinewy as he navigates himself under a ridge and while holding on with his left hand, dips his fingers of his right hand into the chalk bag strapped around his waist. He rubs the chalk between his thumb and fingers in an effortless and delicate motion, in contrast to his legs and left arm, which are flexed and tense.

  Muscles.

  “That is…,” Carm starts.

  “Wow. It definitely is…,” KC continues.

  The person hefts himself to reach the next hold with his right hand, before he lets go and drops onto the padded floor. His shoulders gleam with sweat, and when he turns, it’s punctuated by a wide smile.

  A wide smile on a familiar face that usually looks grumpy in my presence.

  “Teddy,” I gasp. “It’s Teddy!”

  Everything begins to make sense: the white chalky powder on his pants, the carabiners. His lock screen photo. How he can’t pass a doorway without hooking his fingers onto the frame.

  Teddy Rivera, who is slowly turning in my direction.

  Jumping Jack Frost!

  He can’t see me here. He’ll know I tracked him down.

  My body has a split second to move, and I drag my friends behind a group of climbers who happen to be passing by, then speed to the front entrance, where Amaya is watching us with a grin. She shoves a flyer into our hands when we pass her. “Fun, right? We have a free trial period.”

  “Thank you!” And in my most natural and unhurried way, I run out the door, Carm and KC behind me, heaving in laughter.

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 20

  Scrooge’s Shack is a corner restaurant on South Main and Sleigh, and when I round the block just shy of 7:00 a.m., dragging from my late night of sleuthing, my insides spark like too many lights plugged into a socket.

  Teddy is sitting at a window-side booth in full view, head bent down over an open book, with a finger on the page. My heart flutters; it catches me off guard. I read that a quarter of the American population hasn’t read one book in the last year. And it’s rare I see someone my age reading a book in public. This is…compelling.

  Then he raises his eyes and lifts a hand in a wave when he spots me on the sidewalk. And I swear that his face lights up. Again—weird.

  But despite my best efforts, I tingle in this heart-stopping way and wave back. Hopefully that means that he didn’t see that spectacle of failed debauchery last night. I, on the other hand, cannot unsee Teddy’s display of strength and ability.

  A car whooshes by, and the sound of its wheels on the cobblestone makes me jump.

  Krampus! I need to get a hold of myself.

  The restaurant’s bell rings when I enter, and it’s followed by Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” piping through the speakers. A jukebox sparkles from the corner, and the waitstaff, dressed in vintage uniforms with pointed hats, brush past, carrying platters of hot cakes and other breakfast items to the tables.

  I pump myself up mentally. This is going to be a simple and straightforward transaction. No dillydallying, no wayward thoughts of muscles, no banter that could lead to one of our disagreements. We’ll switch phones and I’ll be on my merry way.

  I inform the hostess at the podium that my party is already here and walk toward the booth and Teddy, whose gaze has turned back to the page. He looks so peaceful, so absorbed in his book that he barely notices all the commotion of the restaurant around him.

  When I near, Teddy slides out of the booth and stands. The gesture is subtle, done without fanfare, and something in my belly stirs. He smells fresh from the shower, like shampoo and body wash, though I can’t detect what brand. Out of the Inn’s green sweater, Teddy exudes a different vibe, all loose and languid.

  Stop thinking of him like that!

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.” There’s a frosted glass of ice water at my place setting, and my phone lies faceup next to the rolled-up utensils. I sit down, and he does the same. I peek at the page header of the book he’s reading, curiosity nipping at my heels. Whatever it is, does he like it so far? How much does he read?

  He closes the book. From a quick glance of the cover, which has a realistic photo of a person climbing a mountain, it looks to be a nonfiction.

  Interesting. A book for school? “Whatcha reading?”

  “It’s about climbing El Capitan. That’s a rock formation in Yosemite. But mostly it’s about going for a dream, even if it seems far-fetched. I got a great recommendation, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

  My interest sparks. “A recommendation?”

  “Yup.” He doesn’t look up at me. “Blogger recommendation. Book blogs are how I find my next read.”

  He reads blogs.

  Teddy is truly an onion. With every layer, there’s more to discover. Now if only he didn’t irritate like one.

  Another thought occurs: Why would he even need to tell me that he takes blogger recommendations? Did he snoop into my notifications? Did he read my blog?

  “Did you see?”

  “See what?” I ask, snapping back to focus, now skeptical. Blogger recommendation, his seemingly relaxed attitude, and this second place setting for me. This is too cordial of an interaction thus far. Did he see me and my friends last night? What’s he up to??

  He points to a flyer, taped face out against the windowpane he’s sitting next to.

  I frown and shake my head.

  He peels back the paper with nimble fingers and flips it over. On top is the Bookworm Inn logo and, below it, information about New Year’s Eve by the Lake.

  My suspicions fall back a step with this change of topic. “Oh wow, the news is out.”

  He points around the restaurant, where the red flyer is taped up in strategic places: on every booth windowpane, the host’s podium, and next to the jukebox. In my anticipation, I hadn’t even noticed.

  “Do you think people will come?” he asks.

  “Are you kidding? We’re talking about Holiday by the Lake.” At the thought of work, I take out his phone from my backpack and hand it to him. Enough small talk. “Anyway…here.”

  He peers at me. “You didn’t read my texts, did you?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “Then where are my notifications?” He thumbs the screen.

  “I dunno.” Exasperation fills me, and I take back all my positive thoughts about this guy. Serenity doesn’t exist here. “Maybe when I answered the phone they went away? Why would I be interested in your texts?”

  His expression is both dubious and amused. After a beat of silence, he says, “Hmm.”

  Hmm? My gut’s screaming He knows something even if he’s not saying so. “Did you check my notifications?” My iPhone flashes, and sure enough there are a slew waiting for me. Relief floods me for a beat, but I remember—my notifications only quit showing on the lock screen after I click on them. He could have read them.

  “
I mean, I couldn’t help it,” he says.

  “So you did!” I yell, then take my volume down when heads turn my way and the waitress sends me a warning look.

  “I thought it was my phone at first. Can you blame me? But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that your dad can’t figure out what to get your mom for Christmas, or that your sister’s mad you took the last bagel. What a mean Ate Lila you are.”

  If that’s all he read, then I’m in the clear. And with no mention of last night, I relax a smidge. Still, the remnants of my flighty, flirty thoughts about Teddy go whoosh. “All right, thanks for my phone. I’m out.”

  “Wanna join me for breakfast? Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  This conversation is like being on a sled on a bumpy hill on an icy, slick day. I have no idea when the next bump and turn will be. “Is this a trick?”

  He barks out a laugh. “No. Why would I want to trick you?”

  Because you’re being too nice right now. “Because you have been a sparkler in my behind since you got here.”

  His mouth rounds in an O.

  I still. Did I just say that? And to the boss’s nephew? “I mean—”

  “Wow.”

  “I need to get to school.” I slide out of the booth, my cheeks aflame.

  “That’s too bad.” His voice is teasing. “Because I ordered a ton of food.”

  “Excuse me,” says a woman behind me, and I sidestep. The server sets down a large platter of pancakes, sausage, and bacon. “Here’s the family-style breakfast and a side of fried marshmallows.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he says to her oh so sweetly. “Oooh, and the fried marshmallows. Didn’t you want to try them, Lila? It’s on your calendar.”

  I narrow my eyes. The sneak. What else does he know?

  The server smiles at him and pats me on the shoulder. “Aren’t you staying, hon? I brought out another plate for you.”

  “Thank you,” I answer, though my appetite is nowhere to be found. I slip back into the seat, fully intending to ignore the food. Even as my mouth begins to water, the traitor.