The Holiday Switch(11)

It was published five years ago, and yet it’s the first I’m hearing of it. I scan the first paragraph, consuming words like the Inn’s snowplow after a storm.

In the background—in my real life—I hear the faint jingle bells of the back door, but I mentally bat away the distraction.

A shadow darkens the page, and I raise my head. It’s Ms. Velasco.

The sounds of the gift shop rush back, and suddenly it’s so bright. “Oh, hi.” I straighten, embarrassment and heat rushing through me, an explanation at the tip of my tongue. I feel like my twin brothers after I find wrappers of chocolate-covered marshmallows on their bed. “Um…I was just putting things away.”

“Oh, what? Of course.” Ms. Velasco’s expression is harried. Her gaze darts around the room, as if taking in the status of the gift shop in one swoop. “Lila, thank you for stepping in here like you did.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You did a great job training Teddy. It looks like he’s getting the hang of it.”

Behind her, Teddy is building the bobblehead display on the windowsill—not where it’s supposed to be.

I press my lips together to keep the objection from flowing from my lips. This is Teddy learning? It’s more like him objecting and resisting. “Thank you…yeah…though I’m not sure he did the same kind of retail? He could use a few more days of training.”

    “You’re right. And this is our busiest season, which means that we need our best on the floor.”

“Exactly.” I nod.

“Like you.”

My words fly out before I can stop them. “Yes, like me! Any shift. Any day.”

This is my in. And Teddy is out.

A grin blossoms on her face. “I’m glad you agree, because while I was in the middle of the plumbing emergency, I was thinking…since you were looking for more hours, how do you feel about training Teddy? You’d simply jump into three of his shifts and guide him through my checklists. He starts next weekend, in fact—just in time for your winter break. That would free me up for other duties, which I desperately need to tend to.”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. While the hours would be great, it’s not worth the headache if all Teddy does is fight me.

Ms. Velasco seems to clock my hesitation. “Just…think about it, okay? You can let me know at our staff meeting next week. I think it’s a good fit. You’re a natural leader.”

“I’ll…” My voice croaks, so I try again. “I’ll think about it.”

The last of the customers in the gift shop shuffle toward the register, the sound capturing our attention. At fifteen minutes to nine, closing time, only a handful are left in the shop.

“Why don’t I take registers with Teddy and you take the floor,” Ms. Velasco says quickly. “Start the cleanup for closing?”

I nod, eager for space. Starting from one end of the store, which is the worse for wear, I fold T-shirts and set them back on tabletops, clean display cases, and return products to their rightful places. At the register, Ms. Velasco assists Teddy. For her, he smiles and feigns interest. He nods without a question when she corrects him.

    So it’s just to me that he’s such a jerk.

I end my shift in the library area. As I clock out, Ms. Velasco hands me the book with the purple cover with a pensive smile.

It’s a small extra reward for the night with Teddy, but I’ll take it.





My sister, Irene, is starfished on my bed, my comforter bunched around her, when I arrive home. She’s got one of my graphic novels held above her, so engrossed that she doesn’t notice when I pad inside.

Not until I swipe it from up top.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself.” I raise an eyebrow, which gets her moving.

She scrambles to sit up and crosses her legs under her. She has a sheepish look on her face, so I toss back the graphic novel. Enabler, I am.

“I’ll remake your bed, promise.” Under her breath, she adds, “Even if it makes no sense, since you’re going to sleep soon.”

I toss my keys onto my desk; I notice that my laptop, though closed, is not where I left it earlier today. “Irene. You know my rule…”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t mess with your things.”

I spin and lean on the desk. “Like my laptop.”

“I was just looking stuff up.”

“Does Mom know?” I narrow my eyes. My parents are still sticklers for internet rules: school research only, no social media, and supervision while watching YouTube. In Mom’s words, I trust you, but not the Internet. And she means it with a capital I, as if it were a specific being. Though years have passed since the tree branch incident, the HelpFund, and the harassment, they are far from forgetting it, even if the rest of the world has moved on.

    As the ate, I’m beholden to remind Irene of these rules. Mom’s fears aren’t superficial—I, of all my siblings, remember what they went through the most.

Even if I carry the simmering guilt that I’ve been breaking their rules for a couple of years now.

“Yes,” she hisses. “I have a project for school due.”

“All right. But next time, ask me.” I gesture at my sister’s phone, facedown on my bed. “There is such a thing as texting.”