The Holiday Switch(27)

Whoa. I quickly text my mom: Don’t forget to buy two tickets to New Year’s Eve by the Lake. Filling up quick!

Mom: Got it!

Below the flyer is a sign-up list for the employee lottery to determine who’s going to work the event. A pencil hangs on a string next to it, and, no surprise, most of the staff has written their names. I add mine, too, just in case tickets sell out before Mom can snag a couple.

As I walk out onto the gift shop floor, I imagine myself working the New Year’s Eve event. The shop will be packed like wet snow, with Michael Bublé on full throttle. Then the music will cut out and the iconic Holiday by the Lake theme song will play, and Jonah and Remy will walk in. Remy will recognize me as her all-time fan and sign my program, and I’ll have the thrill of meeting someone who looks like me and who has made it.

In real life, at the moment, the gift shop has barely a dozen people in it—slower than usual. To my right, Teddy is wiping down the windows with a rag, a sign that he’s following Ms. Velasco’s maintenance checklist. Which is good, because the less I have to speak to him, the better. My goal for today: keep shoving lists and tasks in front of him until our shift is over. The more things to do, the faster time will pass where I have to be in close proximity to Teddy and his threats.

    “Hi, Lila.” Cliff, another part-timer passes me. Against his chest, he’s carrying replica oars for the canoe. He juggles it with precision as he says, “The library looks great. So many people have picked up books.”

“Um, thanks.” Except, I haven’t done anything to it since the last time I was here.

Then I remember Teddy, the other day, shelving my books.

I hustle around the corner. To the spines now arranged by color.

“Oh. My. God.” My mouth drops open at the sight of the rainbow spines. On my shelves. Of my library.

Even more: there are six people in front of these shelves, enamored, taking books out to read the back covers. Several have a book or two under their arms.

My heart leaps. I have never seen this many people in front of my shelves at any given time. At most, one, maybe two people are drawn to this corner space.

Right now, it really does look so pretty.

This was the library’s goal. This is Tinsel and Tropes’s goal. To bring people together with books.

But I spot the spine of a travel book next to a novel. A mystery next to a romance. All of the books are mixed together. Classics with travel, fiction with nonfiction, children’s with adults.

KC’s words echo in my mind: Just breathe.

“Surprise!” Teddy appears at my side, both hands on his hips and a satisfied, proud smile on his face.

I, on the other hand, am frozen in place. “You did this?”

“Yep. It was slow this morning, and so I thought why not? It’s such a good look.”

“That is definitely a look. But.” Slowly, my reaction forms under my skin—it’s frustration. Anger. But customers and staff are milling about; I can’t blow up. With the steadiest voice I can muster, I say, “It’s all wrong. And you did it without asking me.”

    “I…I mean, yeah, it’s not alphabetical or by genre. But does that make it wrong? Look how many people like it. I thought you would too.” His tone is hopeful—it is quite the opposite of his smugness at Scrooge’s.

He’s right; these people do love it.

He thinks he’s helping me.

But has he forgotten? He knows about my blog and he’s holding it against me to protect his own secret. Now he’s trying to encroach on my space.

I take a deep breath and look away. To a T-shirt display that’s half empty. And to the box of lights sitting next to the registers—all tasks on Ms. Velasco’s to-do list. “You should be focusing on your own work, your own issues, not mine.”

His eyes flash, understanding that I’m talking about more than these shelves. “Geesh. I’m sorry. I’ll fix it back,” he says quickly, leaning in as if we’re in cahoots. “I was checking out all the book bloggers on Instagram and so many of them had rainbow spines and—”

“Shhh,” I snap, and look around for anyone within hearing distance. Doesn’t he know what it means to keep a secret? “Forget about it. I’ll fix it back.” Then, despite Teddy’s hurt expression—and why should I even care that he’s hurt—I spin on my heel and put space between me and him, before I can say anything else I might regret.



* * *





    During the first half of my shift with Teddy, while I’m still brooding over the rainbow bookshelves, I try to instruct him on how to sort the hoodies against the back wall (customers prefer it when we sort by size rather than by color) and the importance of playing the movie playlist over the surround sound versus today’s popular music (we want customers to buy the CD from us). All to a myriad of Teddy’s objections.

For the most part I’m able to keep my frustrations in check. Through gritted teeth, I dig deep to unearth my holiday cheer that Teddy somehow smothers whenever he is around.

That is, until I see him rolling the Tshirts instead of using the T-shirt folder as instructed—and I turn into the Abominable Snowman. As soon as there are no more customers at the register, I stalk toward him with a roar building in my chest.