Colton slowed his pace and smiled. "You're done Bryant bashing?"
"Absolutely." I took a step closer to him, not even caring that I was getting all sorts of stares from the shoppers who passed by. "In fact, I just talked with him, and we were very nice to each other."
"You just talked to him?"
"Yeah. Back at the water fountain."
"The water fountain at school?"
"No, the water fountain here. I talked to him right before you came out of the restroom."
The smile dropped from his lips. "Bryant is here at the mall?"
"Yeah," I said. "That's how I knew you hadn't told him about the Santa project. He had no idea why I was dressed as an elf."
Colton looked back down the mall hallway and the surrounding shops. "What's he doing here? He's supposed to be at a dentist appointment."
I shrugged, but Colton wasn't paying attention to me anymore. His eyes scanned the mall. "Brianna asked him to come over to her house and study for the English final, and he told her he couldn't because he had a dentist appointment."
"Oh." In a supreme effort not to be suspicious, I added, "Something must have come up."
"Yeah." Colton walked a few more steps in silence. "Which way did he go?"
I looked around and shrugged again. "This way, I think. He said he had errands in the opposite direction from Bloomingdale's."
"Errands," Colton repeated, then pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and speed dialed a number. A moment later he said, "Hey, Bryant, I just wondered if you want to go hang out or something." A pause, and then, "Oh, that's right. You're at the dentist. Well, happy drilling then. Bye." Colton snapped the phone shut and thrust it back into his pocket. "He's right outside." I looked out the door but was too far away to see anything except the shoppers coming inside. "How can you tell?"
"I could hear the Salvation Army bell ringer coming through his phone." I took another step toward the door, but didn't want to get too close, as conspicuously dressed as I was. "Why would he lie about it?"
Colton looked past me, his lips pressed together in a flat line, and didn't answer. And then I saw someone I recognized. Not Bryant, but Shelby. She came from the parking lot and went across the sidewalk. As we watched, Bryant walked up to her, gave her a quick hug, then bent over and kissed her cheek. The two held hands, turned their backs toward us, and started off toward the movie theaters.
Colton stared after them. "I can't believe this." I could, even though I didn't want to. I'd been right all along. Which is not to say it made sense to me. I mean, how could anybody be so stupid as to trade a girl who genuinely cared about him for . . . what? A flirt from another school who'd most likely forget about Bryant when the next wave of football players came through. I wanted to call him every swear word I knew, along with a few of the ones I'd learned from Olivia as she was fleeing the dance. Instead, I mutely watched the two walk by.
Colton took the phone from his pants pocket, opened it, and put on the camera function. Then he stepped out of the mall long enough to point it in Bryant and Shelby's direction.
When he came back inside, he looked at his phone and not at me.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Sending it to Brianna. What's her cell number?"
I told him and watched him punch the number in. After a moment he said, "There. Now Brianna knows what she's dealing with." He shut his phone and slid it back into his pocket. I could tell he was gritting his teeth. "I can't believe he lied to both his girlfriend and his best friend," he said.
I wondered which betrayal bothered Colton the most. For someone who was supposed to be jolly in a few minutes, he looked far too pale.
I'll admit right now that the phrase "I told you so" crossed my mind. About a hundred times. But I didn't say it. Maybe I'd finally learned to pick friendship over justice after all. Instead, I put my hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, Colton." He shook his head. "I'm the one that didn't believe you. I should be apologizing."
"Yeah, I guess, but I've gotten so used to apologizing, it's become a habit." He gave me a half smile for my attempt at a joke, then stared out at the parking lot. Like if he looked at it long enough, he could find a way to undo what had already been done and Bryant would come back and tell us he didn't really mean any of it.
Finally Colton glanced at his watch and said tonelessly, "I'd better go get the rest of my Santa suit. Why don't you check on everyone else and make sure the presents are set up."
I nodded, and without a word of good-bye, he walked out of the mall doors. For a moment the Salvation Army bells grew louder, then softer again when the door shut. I walked across the mall to the Bloomingdale's courtyard, jingling. I'm sure most shoppers who pass Christmas elves expect a certain level of cheerfulness, and I probably should have at least tried to smile for the benefit of the little kids I passed. But I couldn't. I kept wondering what Brianna would do when she saw the picture. Would she need a shoulder to cry on immediately, or would she be too busy destroying everything Bryant had ever given her to need me for a while?
And what would Bryant do next? What would Colton do? Another question tapped away in my mind even more incessantly than the jingle bells. I heard it with every step I took: Where would Colton and I stand with each other after the fallout?
thirteen
When I got to the Santa station, I checked over the piles of presents, even though the other NHS members had already arranged them in orderly stacks. Each child would receive two boxes, one with an outfit and another with a toy. Everyone but Reese, that was. He had an extra shoe box for his mother and a note explaining that Bloomingdale's would happily exchange them if they didn't fit.
I ripped open the packages of candy canes and took out the first dozen so they would be ready to hand out. Had Brianna already seen the picture? Had she called Bryant to yell at him yet? Probably not. Bryant and Shelby had headed toward the theaters, which meant they were most likely going to a movie—although there was an ice-cream place next to the theaters, so they might have gone there. If Bryant went to the movies, he'd turn his cell phone off, and Brianna wouldn't be able to reach him until later.
I heard the kids before I turned around and saw them. A chorus of "There it is!" and "Look at all of those presents!" and "Are they for us?" filled the air. Then a small herd of children and the two teachers who tried to control them poured into the courtyard. "Where's Santa!" several of them called as they swarmed around me.
"He'll be here in a minute." I glanced around the mall looking for Colton. "He's checking on the reindeer in the parking lot."
"I didn't see a sleigh in the parking lot," one girl said.
"I did," another chimed in.
"You did not," the first girl said.
"Did too," the second insisted. "It was red." She looked up at me for confirmation. "Wasn't it?"
Actually, it was a dark blue convertible. "Right," I said.
Both of the teachers kept telling the children to sit down, but the children ignored the teachers and hovered around the Santa chair, throwing glances at the packages.
"Santa will be here in a minute," I yelled over the noise, and wondered how long it took to put the costume back on. I couldn't hold off an elementary school mob forever.
At last the teachers got the majority of the kids to sit down—although some kept popping up to switch places. Then one of the teachers, a woman who looked so old she could have been a childhood friend of St. Nick, started the group singing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town."
A real elf would have known the words to this song, but I didn't and had to fake my way through by singing things like, "He knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you're awake. Because he works for the FBI and has all your phone lines bugged." I didn't sing the last part loudly.
Right before we started in on "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas," which I only knew the first line of, Reese noticed me, jumped up, and gave me a hug. I took him a few steps away from the group so I could talk t
o him without disturbing the singing. "Hey, Reese, good to see you."
"Perfume Lady," he said, "did Santa bring my stuff?" I bent down to be closer to Reese's eye level while simultaneously trying not to bend at the waist, so my skirt would stay put. "Well, I'm not sure about all the candy you asked for, but I noticed one of your packages is the shape of a shoe box."
Reese let out a slow breath. "Santa brought the shoes." And then as though he doubted his own statement, he added, "Where are they?"
"Over with the other presents. Santa will give them to you when it's your turn."
He looked around me at the stacks of packages, his eyes scanning for a shoe box. "Santa is giving them to us now, right?"
I nodded. "It's an early Christmas stop."
Reese turned slightly and called over his shoulder to the rest of the group, "See, T.J., I told you we didn't have to go to sleep first. He's giving them to us now!"
I smiled at the image this provoked—thirty elementary kids sacked out in the Bloomingdale's courtyard in an attempt to help Santa with his routine. Reese turned back to me. "Can I be the first one to see Santa? I want to give the shoes to my mom right away."
"Your mom isn't here. You'll have to wait until you get home to give them to her."
"She is too here. She works over there." Reese pointed to Ruby Tuesday, which was a few stores down from Bloomingdale's, then cocked his head at me. "I thought you were supposed to know everything."
"That's only Santa, not the elves."
I hadn't noticed Colton walk up behind me until I heard his voice—deep and booming in a Santa imitation. "Yes, Reese," he said, "Santa knows everything, but most of the time my elf friend here is frighteningly clueless."
"Thanks, Santa," I said.
Colton clapped his hands together and addressed the audience, "All right, I'm ready to see some good boys and girls. Who's ready to see me?" Every child immediately yelled, "Me!"
The noise and pleadings from the audience drowned out Reese's "Can I be first?"
Colton—probably because he didn't want to admit he didn't know the children's names individually—reached down to the stack of presents, picked up two, and called, "Marissa Pond, meet me at the Christmas chair!" A girl shot up from the audience and nearly leaped all the way to the chair. I squeezed Reese's arm. "Don't worry. You'll get to talk with Mr. Know-it-all in just a few minutes." Colton cast me a glance over his shoulder. " Elf-girl, why don't you come pass out the candy canes?"
I gave Reese a wave good-bye, then followed Colton over to the chair. Marissa jumped up on Colton's lap the second he sat down. They exchanged a few words about whether she'd been good, then he gave her the gifts. I handed her a candy cane, and she ran happily back to the audience.
I picked up another set of gifts and handed them to Colton. He ho-ho-hoed a bit, then called the next child up.
It was sweet to watch Colton—his voice a forced baritone—talking with the children. They were all so excited, clutching their gifts to their chests as though they held something precious. One girl wrapped her arms around Colton's neck as she left, gave him a hug, and solemnly declared, "I love you Santa. You're my favorite holiday." The next boy whispered into his ear, "Say hello to Rudolph for me."
I wished I had a recorder with me. I wished we'd brought them more gifts.
Finally Colton called Reese's name. For a moment no one answered. I scanned the audience but still didn't see him. Then he ran from the back. I hadn't seen him before, because he'd been standing behind the group with a woman. She must have been his mother because she had the same dark hair and large brown eyes. She wore a white shirt, black pants, name tag, and—I noticed—a pair of flimsy black dress shoes.
I wondered if she knew what Santa was bringing her son or whether she'd just come out to see him receive his gifts.
Reese hopped up onto Santa's lap and, without being asked, said, "I've been real good this year, Santa. Didn't tease my little sister or nothing."
"Is that so?" Colton asked.
"I did my homework too, even when I didn't know the answers."
Colton shifted in his seat. "It's good that you're trying, although perhaps you should ask for help when you don't know the answers."
Reese nodded in agreement. "That's what my teacher keeps saying."
"And while we're on the subject of behavior, it's very naughty to throw soda on people."
Reese hung his head, and I kicked Colton's chair. "Santa knows you're not going to do that anymore, right Reese?"
Reese nodded quickly. "Right."
Colton held his hand out to me, and I handed him the stack of Reese's presents. After handing the first two to Reese, Colton held up the shoe box. "It seems I brought a present for your mother to the mall. Do you think you could give this to her?"
Reese let out a yelp of a yes, then grabbed all the boxes and was off of Santa's lap and running toward the back. Another child climbed onto Colton's lap, but I barely paid attention to what they talked about. My gaze followed Reese across the courtyard. He held out the shoe box to his mother. She laughed, shook her head, and pushed the box toward him. These are your presents, she seemed to say.
So she didn't know about the shoes.
I watched as Reese held them out to her again, and again she shook her head. After another minute of this, Reese finally set his other boxes down, ripped the wrapping paper off the shoe box, and handed it to her.
The smile dropped from her face. She stared down at the shoes, picked up the note, then took one shoe out, holding it up in disbelief.
I couldn't hear their conversation, but it ended with Reese's mom bending down to hug him.
I felt the tickle of tears rolling down the corner of my eyes. I tried to wipe them away before anyone noticed, but wasn't fast enough. The boy on Colton's lap looked up at me and cocked his head. "Santa, how come your elf is crying?"
"Hormones," Colton answered. "The elves get very emotional around this time of year." Colton leaned closer to the child and lowered his voice. "That's what Santa needs all the chocolate chip cookies for."
The boy nodded at me as though watching a Discovery Channel documentary. "Ohhhh."
I kicked Colton's chair again, but laughed as I did. I was even able to watch Reese's mom slip off her old shoes and put on the new ones without starting up again. She took a few steps in them, smiled, and tousled Reese's hair. After a moment she put the shoes back in the box, gave Reese another hug, and walked into Bloomingdale's. I suppose because I'd gotten her size wrong and she wanted to exchange them.
At least I hoped that's what she was doing. If she returned those shoes again, and I had to keep re-buying them for her, I would be a seriously disgruntled elf.
I kept one eye on the store while T.J. climbed onto Colton's lap. "Are you the real Santa?" T.J. asked.
Colton ho-hoed a bit and answered back with a vague, "What do you think?"
"I don't believe in Santa, 'cause I didn't get nothing but some ratty old stuffed animals last year. If you're the real Santa, how come you only brought me ratty old stuffed animals?" Colton shot me a desperate look, and I could already see him adding this moment to my other service project disasters. The homeless lady who'd chased after his car, the flaming refreshment table, and now having to look a little boy in the eyes and take responsibility for ratty stuffed animals.
"You always give the most stuff to the rich kids," T.J. went on. "And they don't even need it. How come that is?"
"Well,... T.J." Colton drew out the words, and I could tell he was stalling while he tried to come up with an answer. "You see . . . there are many complicated things about Christmas that are hard for me to explain . . ."
"The gift isn't what's important," I said. "What's important is the love behind the gift. You're just as loved as the rich kids."
For a moment T.J. said nothing; his face remained emotionless. "Does that mean I get stuffed animals again?"
"No," Colton said with relief. "I think my elves made you Lego this y
ear."
"Lego?" T.J. sat up straighter. "The Star Wars kind I asked for?"
Colton took the boxes from my hand and placed them in T.J.'s. "You'll find out when you open it."
I didn't hear what T.J. said next. My attention swung to my side, specifically to Bryant striding up to the chair. He scowled at me, his eyes narrow and his face a blotchy red. In a low voice he said, "You just can't mind your own business, can you? You're some kind of freaking stalker who follows me around and sends pictures to my girlfriend. I bet you think you're real smart, don't you?"
I smiled back at him, refusing to be rattled. "Smarter than someone who doesn't notice a stalker dressed in a bright red and green elf outfit."
"You think you've taken Brianna away from me? This isn't over."
Colton turned to Bryant and still using his Santa voice—although not quite so jolly at the moment—said, "This is over for right now. My elf is busy. Why don't you go home, cool down, and we'll talk about it later." Bryant threw a disgusted sneer at Colton. "Don't tell me what to do, fat boy. This doesn't concern you."
Then without another look at Colton, he turned back to me. "What did you say to Brianna when you sent her that picture? What have you told her?"
I heard his question, and yet it almost didn't register. My mind was still back on the fact that Bryant had just told off his best friend without even recognizing him.
Colton prodded T.J. off of his lap, stood up, and faced Bryant. He lowered his chin to let Bryant get a better look at his face. "Stop yelling at the elves," he said with forced humor. "Or Santa will put you on the naughty list."
Bryant took a step toward Colton, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, I'll tell you what list you can put it on. You can put it on the list that you shove—"
"Bryant," I said, "will you please just go away. You're upsetting the children."
Out in the audience every single eye was riveted on us. The kids had completely lost interest in their presents, and all stared at the guy who was yelling at Santa. Harris and Preeth took off in a fast pace for—I'm not sure where. They hurried into Bloomingdale's and away from us. Maybe to call for mall security, or maybe just to avoid the ensuing bloodshed.
It's a Mall World After All Page 15