Carols and Crushes

by Natalie Blitt

  Really, really good.

  Anna’s group and Phoebe’s follow, and I have to admit that Matthew wasn’t kidding when he said they’d done some incredible work. I even have tears in my eyes as I glance out into the audience and see Renee’s grandfather singing along to a Hanukkah song in Ladino. I nudge Renee only to find that she has tears in her eyes, too.

  We regroup as a chorus for “Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” and the song reminds me of skating around the rink (before the accident), of sledding with Matthew, of our hot chocolate date. I see Dad filming and I’m going to be too embarrassed ever to watch this video, because I’m sure I’m grinning like a fool.

  Then it’s Evan’s group, and they use little flags as props for each song, and they have the audience eating out of their hands.

  “Ready?” Renee asks as they take their bows.

  “It’s now or never,” I whisper, and the two of us walk out onstage to meet Matthew and Eric.

  While our scarves aren’t homemade, I’m sure we make cute carolers in our coats with matching hats. We even stand as I’d asked them to, hands clasped in front. There’s a brief second before we start, and I glance over at Matthew. “Thank you,” I whisper, and then we’re off.

  If we’d made any mistakes during our audition with Mrs. Hamilton, they were our last ones. Because our performance is flawless. And when it comes to “The Little Drummer Boy,” it’s exactly as it was my dream. Even if it isn’t onstage at the school.

  And it isn’t Eric who holds my hand unexpectedly. It’s Matthew. I wasn’t prepared for the zing when he takes my hand, and it almost breaks my concentration. Then, if anything, it only strengthens it.

  When the applause rains down, I don’t think I’m fooling myself that we receive the most of any group. But truthfully, I don’t really care. My parents are beaming from the front row, and I’ve just sung my heart out.

  It’s an amazing night. And it ends perfectly with Mrs. Hamilton’s special song. Even though it’s new and unfamiliar to everyone in the audience, they are completely into it, clapping and snapping along. And for some reason, whether it’s the tune or rhythm or lyrics or something else, there’s a difference in us when we sing it. We’re still not anything like PTX, but … we’re getting closer.

  And when it’s over, I want to cry. But not from sadness. Not at all.

  We did it.

  When the knock comes on Friday afternoon, I’m finishing up my hot chocolate display. I had to wait until Mom and Dad left so that I could commandeer the counter space. Technically, I probably should have asked, but it was just piles of old mail, bowls that didn’t fit anywhere else, and Dad’s virtually unused Mixmaster. Not that I had anywhere to put all that stuff. But that was a problem for later.

  Grandma and I had carefully cleaned all the giant jars we’d bought, and I set up the mini signs describing all the hot chocolate fixings: marshmallows, candy canes, caramel sauce, sprinkles, whipped cream, sea salt, coffee, and more.

  I might have gone a little overboard. But the fake chalkboard was so pretty and the whole thing looked … kind of fabulous.

  Which is why I was smiling when I opened the door.

  Not because I knew it was Matthew.

  “Hey.” His smile is more tentative, and I can’t believe I ever thought he was full of himself. The truth is, he has a lot of friends because he’s a good guy. And he works hard on the basketball court and in school, which is why he’s the captain and gets good grades.

  I’d been silly, thinking that just because he was popular, he must be shallow.

  “Can I come in?” he asks, and I choke out a laugh.

  “Sorry! Of course.” He slips off his shoes at the door, revealing multicolored socks with reindeer on them. I might be in love. They’re so adorable. He’s so adorable. “Nice socks,” I eke out.

  He chuckles as he hangs his dark blue peacoat on the hook and follows me into the kitchen.

  In an ironic turn of fate, school was canceled today. Early this morning, a pipe burst from the cold, flooding the auditorium and some of the classrooms in the science wing. If it had been earlier in the semester, they probably would have found some solution for us to be able to attend school. But since it was the last day before break, they just gave the entire middle school an extra day of winter vacation. I’m sure the Space Station could hear our cheers, particularly given how late we all got home from the concert last night.

  But the part that I couldn’t stop thinking about was how, if we hadn’t changed the concert date and location, there wouldn’t have been a concert. The flooded auditorium would have ruined everything.

  All that hard work would have gone for nothing.

  So Auburn ended up being our little miracle.

  “You must be Matthew,” my grandmother says from the kitchen table. As I’d been finishing the hot chocolate display, she’d been creating shopping lists based on our extensive pile of cookie recipes. “You did a beautiful job at the holiday concert yesterday.”

  Matthew blushes and stutters out a thank you. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you last night,” he says. “Charlie talks about you a lot.”

  “You are so sweet,” Grandma says, and sends me a wink.

  Now it’s my turn to blush, hoping against hope that Matthew didn’t see that little sign.

  “Charlie, why don’t you offer Matthew some hot chocolate?” Grandma says, standing up. “I’m going to go check on the yarn I brought for your knitting project and see how your grandfather is doing reading with Sadie.”

  Ever since the conversation with Matthew that night when he stayed for dinner, Sadie has been a little calmer about the work she’s doing with the reading specialist. While she used to frown on anything involving books, thanks to Matthew’s suggestion, she’s now agreed to give audiobooks a chance. Which is awesome. The fact that she’s getting interested in stories has been motivating her to do whatever it takes to learn to read. Even if that means testing and working with a tutor. For Christmas, my grandparents ordered her a whole load of audiobooks, but since they haven’t come in the mail yet, my grandfather has spent the morning reading out loud to her, which she’s loved.

  And which has given me uninterrupted time with Grandma.

  “Love you,” I whisper to my grandmother as she gives me a hug.

  “He seems like a nice boy,” she whispers back, and then she quickly leaves the kitchen.

  Please let Matthew not have heard any of that! “Oh, wow,” Matthew says when he sees my little display. Or maybe it’s because it looks like Pinterest just exploded all over my kitchen.

  I may have gone a little overboard.

  “Hot chocolate?” I offer, and he nods in rapt attention.

  “Wow,” he says again when I hand him the sugary confection. “This is delicious. Between you and Francine, you could open a café.”

  “You don’t think the hot chocolate at the Daily Grind is better?” I tease, and he flushes.

  “Definitely not.” We sit in silence in the kitchen, enjoying our drinks (third hot chocolate of the day for me—this time with the caramel and sea salt. YUM!).

  “So I brought you a Christmas present,” Matthew says, his words spoken practically directly into his hot chocolate.

  I squeal before I can stop myself. “You didn’t need to.” I glance around him and it must be small, because otherwise I can’t see it.

  “I wanted to.” He shrugs.

  “Okay, then let me get yours.” I dash upstairs before he has a chance to say anything and race into my room.

  This morning, in addition to decorating with my grandmother and making the hot chocolate bar, I made presents for Eric, Renee, and Matthew. I still have to work on my family ones, but I have until Christmas for those.

  I grab Matthew’s gift, a little nervous about how he’ll take it.

  When I’d initially had the idea for the hot chocolate bar, I’d gone out to find some plain white mugs from the dollar store. I figured I’d put little chal
kboard labels on them and use them for our special Christmas mugs. But this morning, I realized that we didn’t need special mugs for our hot chocolate bar. Instead, I wanted to bring the hot chocolate bar to others.

  And so in each mug, I put a couple of servings of hot cocoa, a few marshmallows, some crushed-up candy canes for mint, and a little packet of caramel and sea salt. The whipped cream they’d have to take care of themselves.

  The only one I’d been unsure of was Matthew’s mug. Because while I could say that his gift was like everyone else’s, there was something special about giving him hot chocolate, because it reminded me of our date/not-date at the Daily Grind. And because this morning I’d been feeling brave, I’d taken out my special markers and carefully drew THE DAILY GRIND logo on it, decorating it to look as authentic as possible.

  And then at the last minute, I made one for myself also. I told myself it was so I could give the better version to Matthew, but it was really because I wanted my own. He’d never know it, but I wanted a matching one.

  But now I feel like maybe the whole thing is too much. Like maybe it will embarrass him and then he’ll feel awkward around me and …

  Standing outside the kitchen, I debate going back and grabbing one of the plain ones, when I glance inside and see Matthew pacing back and forth.

  And suddenly it feels okay to be nervous, because this boy just came to my house to deliver a Christmas present and he was most definitely nervous as well.

  I place the wrapped mug on the kitchen island and the sound stops his pacing. His eyes are sheepish, and I try to tell him with mine that I’m also nervous. And also scared. And also …

  “Can I go first?” I ask, and he nods.

  I slide the mug over to him, and my heart warms as he picks it up, cradling it in his hand. “You need to make sure not to put it in the dishwasher,” I say, “because the marker might start to fade. And if you don’t like it, I have a plain mug. Or—”

  I’m babbling. Full-on babbling.

  “It’s awesome.” His grin is wide, and I wonder how anyone can stand near him and not smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There’s a long pause, and I swallow. Maybe my gift is too much and now he feels bad or maybe it’s not enough, like he bought me something and is now rethinking it or—

  “So, um …” He turns toward the window, and my gaze follows his to the snow falling outside. “For the past few weeks, you’ve said a bunch of times that you didn’t know why I was doing all this chorus stuff, because I’m not a singer.”

  “No, that’s—” I begin, but he shakes his head. I want to hide my face, I’m so embarrassed. I want to tell him that I didn’t know then. That I don’t think that anymore. That it’s not a contest of who likes it best.

  “And I think that’s my fault. Because I didn’t tell you. I know that I’m not the most talented singer, but singing is important to me. Or, rather—”

  “You don’t have to—” I begin again, but he frowns.

  “Do you want your present?” he asks, and I’m relieved to hear the slight teasing back in his voice.

  “Sorry,” I murmur.

  “I joined chorus not because of the singing, but because I love songs. I love listening to music and hearing how voices come together. And more than that, I love writing songs.”

  He stops there and those last four words hang in the air between us.

  “The song we sang last night? The finale? That was my song.” He gulps and I want to say something, but all my words are lost. “I asked Mrs. Hamilton not to tell anyone because I was too embarrassed and too nervous that people would hate it. And then when everyone loved it, I … I wanted it to be my secret. I liked it that way.”

  He takes a deep breath, and then meets my eyes. “Except, I did want you to know. Because I thought of you a lot when I was writing it. And there was one verse that I didn’t want us to sing last night because it was too personal. And because you’d know it was me who’d written it as soon as you heard it.”

  Oh. Oh. Oh. I can’t breathe. I can’t—

  “Can I sing it to you?”

  My head bobs, a much smaller movement than I really want to make. I want to jump up and down screaming but my limbs don’t really work right now.

  Matthew Yee wrote last night’s song. And he thought of me. And …

  He coughs once and takes a deep breath and exhales. He turns back to the window, and it’s perfect because now I see us reflected in the windowpanes against the snow falling in the dark backyard, the twinkling of Christmas lights behind us.

  In every tale of winter cheer,

  There’s holiday joy, and friends so near.

  There’s snow-covered hills, sleds flying fast,

  Skating hand in hand on days that last.

  But every so often, over hot chocolate and a glance,

  Something changes and there’s a chance

  Of a very special Christmas.

  I want to say something.

  I want to breathe or smile or shout or cry or …

  Matthew wrote that song. Matthew wrote that song, and he said he’d been thinking of me and there’s a verse that …

  “The song is so beautiful.” Even to my own ears, I can hear the astonishment in my voice, the pride. “You wrote that?”

  Matthew’s chin dips a little, and I can’t help it. I should just stay still, but I can’t. My hand finds itself on his arm and I don’t know how it got there, but there was no place else it could go.

  “I’ve been writing songs for a while,” he admits.

  “You’re really talented.”

  Slowly, I feel the world come back around us. The snow falling. The twinkling lights. The smell of the hot chocolate.

  “Was that song my gift?” At first I’m worried that it sounds like I don’t think it’s enough, but the way his lips curl up, I know he hears the awe in my question.

  “It’s the best gift I could imagine,” I say. I think about gifts that fit under the tree, and what my parents mean when they talk about experience gifts. They’re right. The things I remember aren’t the things in boxes that came from others, but things like this.

  Something that is given from the heart.

  “I’m a little embarrassed by my gift,” I mutter. “It’s not as special as—”

  “I love it,” he says quickly. “You know how I feel about hot chocolate. And I’ll always remember that day at the Daily Grind.”

  “Me too.”

  There’s so much filling the room right now. So much emotion, so much happiness spilling out of me. I’m overheating, but it feels okay this time. It feels nice. And I don’t want it to stop.

  “Remember how you said that I should try the chocolate brownies at the Daily Grind?” I don’t pause long enough for him to answer. “Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go back to the Daily Grind with me one day again.”

  The realization of what I’ve just said hits me with full force and I’m about to turn four shades of bright red.

  “I would like that,” he whispers.

  “Me too,” I agree. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

  There’s a long pause and we’re inching closer and closer, and his eyes are on mine. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.” His words are so quiet, I almost think they’re just my thoughts, but then he adds: “If it would be okay with you?”

  I nod, very emphatically. And then he leans forward and there’s a faint brush of his lips against mine. And I think this is something I’m going to want to do again.

  Hot chocolate bars really should be a year-round project, because there’s never a bad time for a nice cup of hot cocoa. There are many ways to create your own, but here’s Charlie’s technique.

  Equipment:

  Hot chocolate powder. You can use a store bought variety or mix your own. There are many great recipes online.

  Hot chocolate extras: Mini marshmallows, candy canes (mini or big), sea salt, Mexican spice mix,
cinnamon, instant coffee, pretzels, maraschino cherries, coconut flakes, etc.

  Squeeze bottles/canisters of whipped cream, caramel sauce, butterscotch sauce, chocolate sauce (there’s never too much chocolate)

  Jars with lids—as many as you have toppings (mason/canning jars are a great inexpensive option)

  Spoons and scoops

  Labels (chalkboard stickers are great, but regular labels are also good in a pinch)

  Paper for decorating squeeze bottles and canisters

  Directions:

  Once you have all your equipment, it’s just a matter of finding a nice spot and creating your labels. You can put down pretty cloth napkins to really frame your spot, or a nice tray. Get creative and lay down a few springs of holly or a small vase of flowers.

  For the labels: If you are already using chalkboard labels, then just practice your best handwriting to create signs for what’s in each jar. If you are using regular labels or taping paper, you can turn to one of the many free online picture-creating tools and create “fake” chalkboard labels. With this option, you can use pretty handwriting fonts so you don’t need to worry about smudges or mistakes.

  Enjoy! Don’t forget to refrigerate your perishable supplies (like the whipped cream!) and ask for help making the hot chocolate on the stove.

  While the display is pretty, this can also become a cute gift for Christmas or any time.

  Pick up some plain mugs at the dollar store, and add a chalkboard label. For these gifts, having real chalkboard labels is important so that the label will stick on the mug even after it’s been washed.

  Fill a little bag with cocoa mix (the amount needed for one serving), and add in a few extras (like a candy cane and a piece of caramel), and then a cute list of doctored-up hot chocolate recipes (peppermint mocha is always a good one!).

  Write your friend’s name or a cute quote on the label, and add a small piece of chalk so they can also create their own messages.