The Holiday Switch(67)

“That thing with Teddy is—was—new. And sweet. And I like him.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

I feel my temper rising, and suddenly I can’t shove it down any longer. “You assume things about me too. You assume that I know exactly what I want. You assume that I will always rise to whatever expectations you’ve set for me. You assume that things are going fine, when maybe I want different. When I have been confused about choosing between something I really love and something I know will be practical. When I’ve been worried about doing enough so I don’t burden you and Dad. Why do you think I’m trying to pick up so many hours? I want to do the right thing, but sometimes I don’t know what that is. So it’s not just me who assumes. It’s you too.”

    My mother’s eyes glass over, but she blinks away her tears in the next second. She opens her mouth to say one more thing, then stops herself. Instead she starts the car, and we head home.





SUNDAY, JANUARY 2

For the second night in a row, I toss and turn. And when I finally decide to get up, I check my phone, Teddy’s texts fill my screen, with various versions of I’m sorry. I’m sorry, too, but I’m still filled with anger and regret. And I don’t know what to do about it.

What a mess. My heart hurts from my conversation with Mom, and the conversation that Teddy and I aren’t having.

If the first day of the new year was an indication of how the rest of the year is going to go, then I might as well phone it in now.

I groan, covering my face with a pillow.

The sound of a creaking door takes me out of my head. I peek to the side of my pillow and see Irene’s face, contorted in worry. She has my old laptop open. “Ate Lila?”

“Yes.” My voice croaks.

“You okay?”

“No.”

Her eyes round into saucers. “This is a first.”

I groan again. It’s bad enough to have disappointed my mom, but now I’m failing my sister too. I have a reputation to protect. Ates are supposed to be indestructible, and here I am, falling apart. “Let me give you some advice, Irene. There’s no such thing as secrets. Because they always reveal themselves.”

    “Oh.” She bites her bottom lip, and she goes silent.

It’s curious.

“What. What ‘oh’?” I finally ask.

“Oh, then I might as well tell you that I looked through your emails. The notifications kept popping up, you know?”

I slide the pillow off my face and push away the strands of hair that imprinted themselves on my cheeks. “You read my emails.”

“And everything. Tinsel and Tropes. It’s so good.”

I should be horrified, but I can’t muster the energy. Instead, I smile. “Yeah?”

“And I think you should get dressed. From the top up, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Well…I kinda made an appointment for your interview.”

I sit up. “You what?”

“You wouldn’t email them back, and the lady sounded so convincing. Today was the last day. Anyway, it was really easy. I just clicked on the link that took me to their calendar and I put your name in. So”—she glances at the laptop clock—“you have, like, seventeen minutes.”

“Irene.” I press my fingers against the bridge of my nose. “Are you telling me—”

“That I’m way more observant than you think? I’m an ate too, you know.” She pulls me out of bed. “Now you have sixteen minutes. And I have the most perfect outfit for you.”



* * *





    Sometimes it takes a snowstorm to bring two people together, but sometimes it takes one person—and someone you least expect—to help save the day.

The face looking back at me from my dresser mirror is a little more put together than how I actually feel inside. Mirror Lila has her hair combed and braided down one shoulder. Her cheeks are pink from blush, eyes lined with liner. Her lips shimmer with a red gloss that’s supposed to show up well on video chat.

Or, Irene says so anyway.

From behind me, and looking straight at my reflection, she says, “Whatcha think?”

And honestly if I didn’t have makeup on, I would have cried. Because I needed this. “Thank you.”

“Eh.” She shrugs, like it’s nothing. “So, you’ve literally got three minutes.” She’s scrambling around me. She fluffs my blankets straight, lines up the pillows, then brings my laptop to my desk. Then, changing her mind, she stacks four of my books and then props the laptop on top of it. “Is that high enough? You need good angles and light.”

I don’t know what to say. So, I do the thing that requires the least bit of verbal effort. I wrap my arms around her. She stiffens at first, then melts into me. After beats of silence, she says, “I’m still going to repaint your room.”

I croak out a laugh; her comedic timing is perfect. “You have my blessing.”

From her pocket her phone buzzes. Her eyebrows lift. “You’d better log on.”

“Was that an alarm?”

“?’Course.” She slips her phone out and presses the snooze button. “I learned from the best.”