David’s mouth dropped open.
Chloe moved closer to David and pointed upward. “And how about a kiss? Did you know you’re standing under the mistletoe?”
Before David could answer, Chloe threw her arms around him in a hug and gave him a big fat kiss.
∗ ∗ ∗
“So can I ask you a question?” Celia asked Freddy.
“Shoot.”
“How’d you get your nickname?”
Froggy blushed. “When I was in kindergarten I wore a frog costume for Halloween and I didn’t want to take it off for weeks. Whenever my mom tried to take it off, I threw a tantrum. Finally she just gave up and let me wear it everywhere. Because of that, the kids started calling me Froggy and the name stuck.”
“Is it okay if I keep calling you Freddy?” Celia asked. “Or do you like Froggy better?”
“You can call me anything you want,” Froggy said.
“Merry Christmas, Freddy,” Celia said, giving him a kiss.
∗ ∗ ∗
“So are you and Amber officially broken up?” Lily asked Simon as they danced.
Simon thought about the question. “Well, let’s see. Amber was using the Secret Santa game to find a new boyfriend to replace me. In case you hadn’t heard, she wanted a hot senior.”
“You’re pretty hot yourself,” Lily said.
“It’s nice to know someone thinks so. Unofficially, Amber and I broke up weeks ago, but we never told each other. I was waiting until the new year and she was waiting until tonight. I think it’s safe to say we’re now officially broken up. Why? Know anyone who’s interested in a boyfriend?”
“Why don’t we start with a date first?” Lily suggested. “Make sure you know what you’re getting. It wasn’t that long ago that you were interested in my best friend.”
“I was interested in you first,” Simon said. “Then I got confused and thought Noelle was Connor’s Secret Santa and so I transferred my feelings for you over to Noelle.”
“A likely story.”
“It’s true.” Simon pressed his forehead against Lily’s, gazing into her eyes. “I know Jason hurt you, Lily, but I’m not the kind of guy who cheats.”
“What kind of guy are you?”
Simon leaned closer to Lily and whispered into her ear. “I’m the kind of guy who wants to have one special girl in his life. Think I might get that this Christmas?”
“Maybe you will,” Lily whispered into his ear, deciding that it was time to take another chance on love. “Maybe you will.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“So you’re my Secret Santa, huh?” Noelle said to Ryan as they were dancing. “Well guess what?”
“What?”
“You’re dancing with your Secret Santa.”
“So where’s my present?”
“How about dinner and a movie?”
“You mean like a date?”
Noelle thought about it and then nodded. “Like a date.”
Ryan pulled her closer. “How did you figure it out?” he asked.
“Never mind how I figured it out. Are you willing to give me another chance or have you given up on me?” Noelle held up the gold key Ryan had sent her that morning. “Does this still work?”
“It still works, Noelle. But only if you want it to.”
“I do.”
“If I’d given up on you, I wouldn’t have sent you all those gifts. Besides, it’s Christmas. The time of year when anything is possible.”
“Even a Christmas kiss?” Noelle shyly asked as she gazed into Ryan’s eyes and saw the way he was looking at her. He was into her. So into her. And she had been too blind to notice.
But not anymore.
“Even a Christmas kiss,” Ryan said as his lips met Noelle’s and he gave her exactly what she wanted for Christmas.
Here’s a sneak peek at another cozy winter read:
Kissing Snowflakes
by Abby Sher
Beep beep!
“Hey, kid, you want a lift?” Dad pulled up to the curb in a bright blue rental Explorer, and stuck his head out the window like an eager puppy. My brother, Jeremy, was in the back, staring out the opposite window. Kathy was in the passenger seat, a wide smile plastered across her face.
“Sure,” I said, throwing my duffel in the trunk. I was the last one out from the baggage carousel because they had thought my bag was missing. That’s kind of how I felt today, like a lost, limp bag, on my way to who knows where. I climbed in next to Jeremy.
“The fun starts now, kids!” said Dad. His eyes went back and forth between the two of us in the rearview mirror. They were so wide and hopeful, and I could see how important it was for him that this be true.
“Yippee!” said Kathy, clapping her hands.
Dad wound his way out of the Burlington, Vermont, airport and onto the open road. The mountains rose up around us, great snowy peaks etched against a lilac sky. It was already afternoon. The sun hung low, slowly sifting into fiery reds and oranges, spreading its warm glow over everything. It really was beautiful. Dad navigated us through the roads swiftly and smoothly. He was an excellent driver. So steady and calm. I always felt safe with him at the wheel.
“Ah, isn’t that breathtaking?” he sighed, reaching for Kathy’s hand out over the console.
“This is gonna be a total blast!” she said, leaning on his arm.
I wanted to tell her that nobody said “total blast” anymore. I think that went out soon after “gag me with a spoon.” But I kept my mouth shut and just sighed to myself.
I knew I was being a snot. I knew I should’ve been enjoying the view, feeling the rush of the clear Vermont air, losing myself in the majestic trees towering above us, draped in their dresses of snow. But I felt miserable, watching Dad and Kathy all snuggly in the front seat. Her shiny dark hair fell over her shoulders and she was oohing and aahing as Dad steered us through patches of trees, winding past sleepy villages with tall church steeples, lopsided wooden fences, and an old-fashioned pharmacy called Canfield Corners.
Dad and Kathy. Kathy and Dad.
How had we come here?
Well, we had just flown in from Florida, where Dad and Kathy got married.
Wait. Back up.
It started that night when Mom and Dad announced they were taking some time to “find themselves.” Dad was pacing around the dinner table with his hands in his back pockets. He wouldn’t sit still. Mom was pushing her lamb chop back and forth across the plate. Jeremy was chewing his Tater Tots — with his mouth open, of course. He always chewed with his mouth open even though he was two years older than me. Mom usually asked him to please close his mouth while he was eating. Dad did, too. But that night, nobody said anything about it.
“So, Mom and I have been talking and let me start this by saying that this came after some long and hard thought. We have really tried to make this work and we don’t know what to do right now except this. And I mean, it doesn’t feel right, but really nothing has felt right for a long time. For a long, long time. And so … well, we’ve decided to separate for a while. So, this is just for now. Or for — jeesh, I’m doing a lot of talking. Sarah, do you want to add anything?”
Mom shook her head. Her gray hair swished and then fell back into place and she tucked it behind her ears, but she wouldn’t look up from her plate.
“Do you have any questions for us? Jeremy? Samantha?” That’s me. Samantha. Samantha Iris Levy. Usually everybody calls me Sam, though. And when I’m talking to myself, I call myself Levy. I know, it’s kinda weird. But there you have it.
That was so long ago now. Four years ago, to be exact. Even though it felt like it was yesterday. Even though I could taste it in the back of my throat and feel it pulling my stomach into a tight knot. My hands were sweating and I felt like an overgrown marshmallow in my ski jacket.
It had all happened so fast after that.
Mom stayed in our house (in a little suburb in Westchester, New York), Dad moved about ten minutes away into Chat
sworth Towers. His apartment was so small that he made us eggs for dinner and we had to eat them standing up. About a year later, Grandpa got sick, and Dad said he needed to go down to Florida to take care of him. It was supposed to be just for a little while. But the next thing we knew he was moving into his own place down in Orlando, and it had a screened-in porch and a bird feeder where he could see blue jays every morning. Jeremy and I went to visit for a weekend and the whole time Dad had his binoculars out, showing us the difference between the crested flycatcher and the purple martin.
Then he started working at Simmons & Cray as one of the chief financial officers. He said the work was very challenging, an easy commute, and did he mention that he rescued a tree swallow that had fallen out of a branch and that he had started seeing a wonderful woman named Kathy? She was a travel agent, and we would definitely like her because she was a Yankees fan and really into the outdoors and she had a cat named Annette. I tried to tell him that he didn’t like cats, but Dad just said, “I thought I didn’t. But this is different. Things are different now.”
I asked him when he was moving back, and he said the weather was always sunny, even in October, and then November, and then December.
December 27.
Dad and Kathy set the wedding date so that Jeremy and I could come down for winter break. We flew out on Christmas because Dad found a cheap flight, and besides it’s not like we were missing anything, because we’re Jewish. Kathy came with Dad to pick us up from the airport in her little red hatchback. Everything about Kathy was petite and perky. She had warm, caramel-colored skin and dark, sparkling eyes above her perfect, tiny nose. When we got out of the car at the condo, she came up to my shoulder.
The wedding was in a little Mexican restaurant in Orlando, because Kathy’s family is Mexican. They were married by a justice of the peace, and Dad had this big drooly grin on his face the whole time and then we had really bad Mexican food.
So, that was the story, more or less. And here we were. This was going to be winter break. The four of us were headed to an inn in West Lake, Vermont, for a week of skiing and sitting by the fire, and “getting to know each other.” Ugh. I didn’t even know how to ski. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to come naturally either. I liked running in gym, and I had gone to ballet classes when I was little, but most of the time I was trying not to trip over my own feet. To me, downhill skiing sounded like an invitation to a face dive. Jeremy was psyched, though. He had been skiing a few times with friends and said this time he was going to try snow-boarding, too. Dad and Kathy were going to do cross-country, because they heard that was easier to break into. So that left me all alone.
I did have a plan, though. Phoebe and I had talked about it for weeks before. Phoebe was my best friend and we told each other everything. She said West Lake was the capital for hot snow studs, and she was sure I was going to find one at the inn. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about Kathy or Dad or anybody. I had visions of myself flying down the mountain, my scarf whipping behind me, a tall, dark-haired Adonis holding me firmly by the waist. Or he could be blond. And he didn’t have to have muscles. Big muscles kind of ook me out anyway. Just tall. He had to be taller than me. Which meant six feet at least.
Everybody in my family is tall. Dad is 6'2". Jeremy is 6'1". Mom is 5'9" and so am I. It really sucks because most of the guys in my grade are barely my height. Everything about me is kind of long and stringy. My arms, my legs, my hair — which is the color of mud and somewhere between flat and flatter. And I got these long, droopy ears from my dad. That’s why I keep my hair long, and I never wear ponytails. It’s too embarrassing. Jeremy has the same ears, but he’s a boy so he doesn’t care. We also both have a bunch of freckles on our faces. The one thing I actually like about myself is my gray eyes. I’m the only one in my family who has them. My mom says they’re exotic. But I think she says that mostly because she’s my mom. Anyway, I have a thing for eyes. It’s the first thing I notice about people. And I dream about the day when someone will stare all gaga into mine.
It had been so long since I had been with someone. It had been since like — okay, ever. Unless you counted the school play, The Grapes of Wrath, where I got to kiss Leo Strumm. He was playing Al, and I was Al’s Girl and there was this scene where I said, “I thought you said I was purty,” and then he had to kiss me. It was my first real kiss. I mean, I know I’m almost sixteen years old and most people have kissed by then, but I guess I’m a late bloomer and nobody knew it except for Phoebe and my mom but … yeah, there it is.
I had practiced long and hard for that kiss. I made Phoebe sit up with me on my bed and we had smothered my pillows with slobbery smooches. It was a good thing that Phoebe was patient. She’s definitely more experienced than me. She’s just more comfortable around guys than I am. She has red curly hair and cobalt-blue eyes and really pale skin that gets splotches of color whenever she laughs too hard. And she’s good at making conversation, cracking jokes, even walking up to complete strangers at parties and introducing herself.
But not me. I don’t know what it is. I usually have something to say about everything. Seriously. Mom says it’s good that I have opinions. And I do make Phoebe and my other friend Rachel laugh. I know how to say Please take me to your home. I will be a good wife, in Russian. But around guys I feel like my mouth is full of fuzzy marbles. Sometimes Phoebe has to pinch me in the arm just so I’ll say hello. Lately, I’ve been thinking I should just wear a sign that says Really, I’m interesting. Give me a chance. P.S. If I pass out, I’m type O-positive.
Phoebe has kissed a bunch of guys, even dated a few. But a lot of kids in our grade are way ahead of both of us. Like having sex and stuff. Sara Spencer and Kevin Mallon have done it. So have Alissa Paulson and Andy Trotts. And almost everyone on the girls’ lacrosse team lost their virginity on the tournament weekend down in Alexandria, Virginia. Meanwhile, I still have Cookie Monster slippers and I like to sleep with my favorite little pillow — but I hope I’ll catch up one day soon. At this rate, I’ll probably start having sex when I turn forty.
Phoebe said not to give up. That I had to change my attitude. Maybe I was trying too hard. Or not hard enough. I just had to act like myself and act like I liked myself and then guys would see that I was fun to be around. And so we had made a pact. This winter break, something was going to happen. We were going to make it happen. We were going to wear our shiniest lip gloss and put on our brightest smiles. And we were going to find ourselves some men. Some real men.
“Ooh, look at that!” cried Kathy. Two deer leaped across a field after each other, circling playfully around a clump of trees. Hmmrgh. Even deer could find love out here in the woods. There had to be someone for me, too, right?
“Did you see that?” Kathy asked, turning around in her seat. Jeremy was asleep, so she looked at me, her eyelashes batting wildly.
“Yeah, we have deer where I grew up, too,” I said. I knew it was mean, but I was not in the mood.
Kathy seemed unfazed. “It’s just so magical,” she sighed, turning around again. “You know what my favorite thing to do is when it’s snowing really hard?” she continued.
“What?” asked Dad.
“I love to go outside and spend the afternoon kissing snowflakes.”
Dad gave a soft chuckle. “Kissing snowflakes?”
“Yeah! You know, you tilt your head up to the sky and you just let them fall on you. And a lot of them land on your nose or maybe in your eyes and melt. But when you get one, when you really catch the right one on your lips, you know.”
I could see in the mirror Dad had one of those dumb smiles on his face like at the wedding. Ugh.
“I guess it’s kinda silly when I say it out loud,” Kathy said, softer now.
“Yup,” I mouthed, even though nobody was looking at me.
About the Author
Sabrina James lives with her family in New York City and admits to being a TV addict. Some of her favorite shows are: Project Runway, America’s Next To
p Model, Ugly Betty, Grey’s Anatomy, and any daytime soap opera! Readers can reach Sabrina via email at: [email protected].
Copyright © 2007 by John Scognamiglio
SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First Scholastic printing, October 2007
Cover art by Michelle Grant
Cover design by Steve Scott
e-ISBN 978-0-545-60025-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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