The Holiday Switch(31)

“Yeah? What is it?”

“You’re going to have to see.” He grins and takes a step toward the door, then turns back to face me. “Iha, we talk a lot about privacy but it really boils down to choosing how much you want to share. It’s hard enough to figure out what you want without the peanut gallery. We want you to have that opportunity to do it without pressure, or without consequences from strangers.” He gives me a final kiss on the forehead. “Okay?”

I nod with a sigh. Then I’m alone in the kitchen, with the sounds of my younger siblings stirring upstairs, and the thought that has occupied my head for a while now: What do I want, anyway?



* * *





“That was confusing as heck.” Carm shuffles behind me out of AP Bio. “I got all of my hand and arm muscles all mixed up. How’d you do? Let me guess. Just fine?”

“Totally fine.” I grin. We walk side by side toward our lockers, and I’m feeling light on my toes. I killed that exam.

“Curse you,” she grumbles.

I laugh. “Don’t ask me how I did in statistics, though.”

“True, true.”

We get to our lockers, with hers just a shout’s distance from mine.

“Ready for tonight?” she asks.

“Comet’s Cider, here we come!” I answer with mild sarcasm as I stuff my books into my locker, then slam the door shut and grin. To be honest, doughnuts sound like a great way to end the semester.

Ta-ta until the new year, textbooks.

I check my notifications. A new comment was posted a couple of hours ago, and instead of one or two sentences, there’s simply a link. The comment is from Santa with a View.

Anonymous commenters aren’t out of the blue, but randomly sent links are, so I click on it. It sends me to BookGalley, a book review site. They have an open call for interns.

“I think we should commit all the way by not only having cider doughnuts but also hot apple cider drinks. And what’s the point of me talking if you’re not listening.” Carm’s voice dials up as she advances toward me, punctuated with a sigh.

    “Sorry.” I look up, catching the tail end of what she said.

She laughs. “What’s up?”

“I was linked to this call for an internship.” I hand Carm my phone.

“Who’s Santa with a View?”

“I have no idea.”

She scrolls. “This internship is totally up your alley. Are you going to apply?”

“Should I?”

“I mean, why not?” We make our way outside, slinging our puffy coats over our shoulders.

“Oh, I don’t know, let’s see…um, that I would reveal who I am?” I shake my head, half laughing. “My parents will find out that I’ve been lying all this time.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it’s going to be.”

“And I should be looking for an internship in my future career, shouldn’t I? Why would it help for me to do this, if, by pure chance, I get picked?”

She shivers as a gust of wind cuts through the air. “Because writing is what you do. And you’re so good at this.”

She says it with such ease that it stuns me. Since sophomore year I have been focused on getting As and participating in every extracurricular activity so I can get into Syracuse for bio, and then to med school. Being a doctor is all I’ve talked about becoming. “Writing is just a hobby.”

“A hobby that you’ve been committed to for forever.” We step off the curb, then cross to the high school parking lot. The slots are numbered and her car is parked in the opposite direction. “You should apply. Besides, who says you need to choose now?”

    “It’s called a major. I applied under bio.”

“All right, fine, but you’re just turning in an application. Who knows, right?”

“Who knows,” I echo. Those words prove my point. Changing my path right now will only lead to a winding road, and if I was given an internship at BookGalley, my focus would stray from the straight path to success. Add the fact that my parents would be furious that I’d broken their rules of no social media for two years and counting. Yes, I’m eighteen now, but I wasn’t when I began Tinsel and Tropes. It is a breach of their trust—something I joke around about but that, on the inside, I’m serious about never wanting to lose.

Carm looks at her phone and sighs. “Cripes. My dad just texted. He made reservations for dinner.” She sticks her bottom lip out. “We have to reschedule cider doughnuts.”

I frown. “Bummer.”

“I’m sorry. But when the parentals call…”

“If anyone knows this rule, I do.”

“I’ll let KC know, and I’ll put another date on the calendar, ’kay?” She walks backward, shivering.

I nod. “All right.”

Steps away, her voice trills in the cold air. “Fill out that application!”

When I climb into my car, my phone buzzes with a text. “Okay, I heard you.” My friend, if anything, is persistent.

But when I check the screen, it’s not Carm, but from a number I don’t recognize.

It’s Teddy. Can we talk?