Pretend She's Here(55)

“Not possessive,” Carole said, shaking her head. “The way she made you switch seats with her in the car that time. So she could sit next to ‘the dear boy.’”

“She was being really nice just now,” I said.

“That dig about ‘love, break up, love again’?”

I shook my head and laughed. “Guess what?” I asked. “Casey asked me to go to Mark’s today.”

“That’s so great!” Carole said.

“You’re going, right?” I asked her.

“Oh, yeah.”

“I wish I could, but I have something I have to do at home …”

“No,” Carole said. “No way. You are not getting out of this. We are going to have too much snowy, cozy fireside fun for you to miss out. We clear on that?”

I laughed, and she took that as a yes—I had to find a way.

The bell rang. The rest of the day dragged. I couldn’t wait to get out of school, and I had the feeling I was already tobogganing—sledding down a rutted hill, my whole spirit leaping with every bump. The big question was: What would happen if I went? How far could I push Mrs. Porter? What would she say? For once, I wished it was one of her volunteer days so I could see her in the hall, try to convince her.

Lizzie’s useless phone sat in my pocket. Between the last two periods, I went to the office, made the same old lame excuse about forgetting my charger and told Mrs. Baker, the administrative assistant, that I had to call home. She pointed to a phone on the empty desk across the office—not much privacy.

“Hello?” Mrs. Porter answered.

“It’s me,” I said.

“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just … some friends are going to Mark Benjamin’s after school. His family has a tree farm, and I’m invited to toboggan with them. I wondered if I could go.” I spoke slowly, feeling bold for even asking, considering the incident with the clock.

“That’s a good idea,” she said.

“It is?” I asked, actually shocked.

“Yes. It’s just what you should be doing. Getting into the mainstream.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You love sledding, sweetie,” she said. Her words were nice, but they sounded as if they were coming between gritted teeth. “You always have.”

That was true. Whoever she was talking to—Lizzie or Emily—we had both loved winter sports. She might have been happy to see the smile on my face when I hung up, just like a normal kid, making plans for after school.

*

A bunch of us climbed onto the bus. No sign of Angelique. Casey grabbed my hand, pulled me into the seat beside him, across from Beth and Jon, two kids from our class.

“Where’s Angelique?” I asked.

“She didn’t want to come.”

“Why?” I asked.

He gave me a long, steady look. Then he slid his arm around my shoulder, and I felt his answer in my skin.

The bus meandered up and down some steep hills, over a frozen river, along a deserted road with only two houses on it, each with red barns. I’d been by here on the way home from school, and I spotted Mark’s place right away: the BENJAMIN FAMILY TREE FARM sign, and hundreds of trees, but also the most incredibly over-the-top light display I’d ever seen.

It was nearly dark by the time we got there. The big white house glowed, lined with thousands and thousands of tiny white lights. They encircled the porch rails, the window frames, the roof line, the chimney. A row of illuminated candy canes led to the barn, itself blindingly decorated with colored lights—pink, green, amber, red, blue—blinking on and off. A sign above the barn said ENCHANTED HOLIDAY VILLAGE!

A few cars and pickups were parked in the lot, and slews of little kids ran straight for the barn door. I peeked inside. As wildly bright as the outside was, indoors it was holiday on steroids.

Music jingled out, and there were at least a million white lights; illuminated angels with tall and feathery wings; two gigantic menorahs with blue bulbs; Santa Claus with a fluffy white beard sitting in a big red velvet chair; a kinara candleholder holding red, black, and green candles to represent the seven principles of Kwanzaa; and Mrs. Claus and a bunch of elves passing out cups of cocoa and hot cider and plates of sugar cookies. Two black Lab dogs with fake antlers on their heads slept by a wood stove in big soft plaid beds.

“That’s usually my job,” Carole said, pointing at the elves and Mrs. Claus. “On days I work here, I’m on cookie duty.”

“I thought you sold trees,” I said.

“Consider me support staff. I’m not the standin-the-cold-wearing-a-big-husky-jacket type. So I get to play with the kids while their parents decide on the perfect spruce.”

Electric trains ran in two directions along the perimeters of the floor and the ceiling. Behind snow-frosted windows were illuminated tableaux: one of antique dolls in beautiful gowns, another of white mice sitting down to a feast, and—my favorite—four teddy bears at a tea party.

“That one was my mother’s,” Casey said, coming to stand beside me.

“You mean one of the bears?”

“All of them. She designed that window. Before she died, she and Mrs. Benjamin were best friends. Mom helped her create this whole holiday world, but the teddy bear tea party was all hers.”