The Tori Trilogy (16 page)

I have a bit of a stomachache by the time the final bell rings. Even so, I gather my things quickly and hurry out to my locker, along with the rest of the class.

“Happy Holidays!” Mr. London calls after us. “Everyone have a great break!”

I bang open my locker, stuff my books, notebooks, folders, and pencil pouch into my backpack, zip it up, and pull on my jacket, scarf, and gloves. It may not be snowy out, but it sure is
cold.

My friend Shannon rushes over to me. “Merry Christmas, Tori!” she cries, wrapping me in a hug. “I can't believe our winter break is finally here!”

“Me, neither,” I say. “Have fun with your mom's family in Vermont!”

Shannon flashes me a knowing smile. “It should be interesting. I'll be back on the twenty-eighth, in time to spend New Year's with my dad. Let's get together sometime after that, so we can give each other our Christmas presents.”

“Sounds great!” I say. “You're going to love what I got you.”

“So are you! I have presents for Gina, Emily, and Elissa, too. We should have a sleepover or something.”

“Did I hear my name?” Gina pokes her head around the door of her locker.

“You sure did!” Shannon rushes to my cousin, hugs her, and wishes her a Merry Christmas, as well.

Half-an-hour has passed by the time Gina and I finish saying goodbye to all of our friends and making plans for winter break. As we walk toward the front doors together, my stomachache gets worse.

“Ugh!” I say. “I ate way too much at that party.”

“Me, too.” Gina's eyes sparkle. “But it sure was good, wasn't it? Food is one of the best parts of the holidays.”

“Right now,” I reply, “I don't care if I never see another
crumb
of food.”

“Don't tell Abuelita that,” my cousin laughs. “You know how much she enjoys cooking for Christmas!”

“So does my mom,” I add. “She's been doing a lot of it lately.”

“Christmas is only a week away!” bubbles Gina. She glances at me. “Hey! Uncle Javi's family gets here on Tuesday, right?”

My mood immediately sours. “Late Monday night, to be exact,” I groan.

Gina swats my arm. “Come on, Tori! I keep telling you, it's going to be so much fun. I wish
we
had houseguests for the holidays.”

“Take ours,” I say.

She shakes her head. “You're impossible, you know that? I guess you're still worried about Andrew and Stephanie's baby, too?”

I nod miserably. “Not only the gender, either,” I tell her. “I'm worried the baby might not even be
born
in time for Christmas. Stephanie's due date is
three days away.”

“Three days is three days,” Gina returns optimistically. “And there are
still
four days after that before it's Christmas.”

I don't say anything as we push through the glass double-doors of Forest Grove Elementary's main entrance. The cold wind hits our faces right away. And, of course, there is still no sign of snow.

Chapter Five

The weekend passes quickly. On Saturday, I spend most of the morning and the early-afternoon helping Mom and Dad de-clutter for our (ugh) Christmas houseguests. When we're finished for the day, I take a hot shower, blow-dry my hair, and pull on some fresh clothes. I head downstairs just in time to run into Ben as he bursts through the front door, his ski jacket zipped to his chin and his cheeks stung red from the cold.

“Hey,” I say. “What's the rush?”

My brother screeches to a stop. “Oh,” he returns, glancing at me in surprise, “I just picked up Jaine to take her to the mall, and I realized I left my wallet at home, so I came back to get it.” He snatches the wallet from the entryway table and jams it into his jeans pocket. “Driving without a license.
Not
a good idea.”

“The mall?” I ask brightly, ignoring the whole bit about his wallet. “Can I come with? I have some Christmas shopping I need to finish.”

“No way,” says Ben. “This is a date. As in, no ten-year-olds allowed.”

“Please?”
I beg.

“Nope.” He reaches for the door handle. “See ya later.”

Not about to give up, I stuff my feet into my shoes, which are right there on the entryway mat. Without tying the laces, I run outside and follow Ben across the yard to Mom's car, parked by the curb with Jaine in the passenger seat. The bitter cold bites my skin through the thin layer of my top, but I do my best to ignore it.

Ben sees me coming. He hurtles around the back of the car, flings himself onto the driver's seat, and is fiddling with the ignition by the time I catch up to him, rapping loudly on the passenger side window.

Jaine rolls it down. “Tori!” she gasps. “What's going on?”

“She's crazy, that's what,” Ben answers for me. “She wants to come on our date.”

“I have Christmas shopping to do,” I explain, my warm breath creating a visible puff in the cold air. “I promise I'll leave you guys alone. We could even pick up Gina on the way over. Mom lets us shop by ourselves, as long as we stick together.”

“Sorry, but no,” Ben replies firmly.

But Jaine twists to face him, running a gloved hand down the arm of his jacket. “Why can't she, Benny? It's not a big deal to me. Besides, don't you remember how it was to be a little kid?”

My jaw drops in surprise. I'll even pardon Jaine the use of the phrase “little kid.” She was sticking up for me!

Ben groans, but I know all too well how Jaine's got him wrapped around her little finger. Not five seconds later, he relents. “Get your coat, Tori,” he says grudgingly. “And don't forget to tell Mom or Dad you're coming with us. And above all,
don't forget your money.
I'm not buying those gifts for you. You can use my cell to call Gina when you get back to the car.”

I pump my fists into the air and do a victory dance right there on the lawn.

Jaine smiles at me, an actual warm, sincere smile. And for once, the smile I give her in return is warm and sincere, too.

Sunday is even busier than Saturday. The whole family pitches in to dust, vacuum, clean, and organize. We wash bedding and make up beds for our (ugh) Christmas houseguests, who are due to arrive the next night. We make grocery lists and hit the supermarket, dividing and conquering. We help Mom bake gingerbread cookies, double-fudge brownies, and candied pecans to freeze for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We wrap presents (including the ones I picked up at the mall yesterday), tie them with shiny ribbon, and write gift tags. Finally, we carry them downstairs and pile them under the Christmas tree.

By that time, it's nearly seven o'clock in the evening, and the six of us are exhausted, not to mention
famished.
No one has an ounce of energy or motivation to throw some dinner together, so Dad suggests Taco Bell.

Nate and I take his pick-up to the drive-through window and place a
big
order, not only tacos, but tostadas and Chalupas, Cinnamon Twists, and a steak quesadilla for Joey. At home, Mom pours pop for everyone and we eat dinner by the TV, watching a Christmas movie marathon on cable.

That night, I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.

When I wake up on Monday morning, December twenty-first, I feel a tangle of strange emotions in my chest. My first thought is of Andrew and Stephanie, and that their baby is due
today.
My second thought is of Uncle Javi's family, and that they are arriving
tonight
to invade our privacy. My heart thumping with something that can only be described as anxiety, I force myself from my warm nest of covers, toppling Ebony, who was curled up on my stomach. She glares at me and struts toward the closet, where she can sleep in peace on my disorganized jumble of shoes.

“And a delightful morning to you, too,” I tell her sarcastically. Quickly, I dress, trading my p.j.'s for a long-sleeved T-shirt, a comfy pair of jeans, and my green polka-dotted slipper socks. Then I strip my bed of covers and make it from scratch, tucking the sheets neatly around the mattress and everything. When I'm finished, I carefully arrange my throw pillows and stuffed animals against the headboard, and step back to survey my work.

Typically, I'm a very sloppy bed-maker. I leave sheets hanging at messy angles beneath the rumpled covers, and I don't care how the pillows and stuffed animals are arranged. But yesterday, Mom told me that I'd
better
start caring, because Uncle Javi and Aunt Leilani's eight-year-old daughter Joy is going to be sharing my room with me!

To say the least, I was
not
happy about that. I asked Mom why Joy couldn't share with her older sister Bella instead. She explained that she figured Bella, being a twelve-year-old girl, would appreciate some privacy, and assured me that Joy and I would have a blast together.

“But I'm a ten-year-old girl,” I protested, “and I would appreciate some privacy, too.”

“Stop it, Tori,” snapped Mom. “You love having sleepovers.”

This isn't a sleepover, I wanted to say. And Joy isn't Gina...or any of my other friends, either. But I kept all that to myself.

And now the roll-away bed stands across from my own, crisply made with freshly-laundered sheets and blankets, and a plumped-up pillow at the head. Mom even put a chocolate Santa on top of the pillow. I'll tell you, I was tempted to eat it last night.

With a sigh, I yank open my bedroom door and head downstairs for breakfast. On the way, I realize that I forgot to check for snow the very first thing after waking, but as I come into view of the front door and windows, I can see that it doesn't matter. The world is still brown and gray and gloomy. It hasn't snowed all December.

In the kitchen, Joey is lounging across a couple of chairs at the table, eating a gigantic bowl of Lucky Charms with chocolate milk and flipping through an extreme sports magazine.

I grab a bowl and spoon of my own and fix myself a duplicate of his breakfast. Then I drop into the seat across from him. “'Morning,” I say dully.

Joey glances up. “If it isn't Suzy Sunshine,” he retorts.

I grunt in answer, lifting a spoonful of cereal to my mouth.

“This is a good day,” insists Joey. “No school, and it's almost Christmas. Besides, the relatives are coming.”

“Must you remind me?” I ask.

My brother rolls his eyes. “Don't tell me you're
still
upset about that?”

“Joy has to share my room,” I whine, annoyed by his good mood.

Joey shrugs. “So? I have to move in with Ben for a week so Bella can sleep in
my
room. You don't hear me crying.”

I ignore that. “I haven't seen Joy since two Christmases ago. She was six back then, and I hardly remember anything about her, except that she was shy and quiet.”

“And that you were jealous of her,” adds Joey, laughing. “You thought everyone was going to think she was cuter than you. You spent Christmas Day singing your head off into that karaoke machine you got, so they'd pay attention to
you
instead.”

“I did not!” I cry, my cheeks burning. But even as I say it, I know that Joey's right. I
was
jealous of Joy. I
did
make a fool of myself singing karaoke all Christmas long. Though born actresses do crave the spotlight, I'll have to admit it was very immature of me, especially since Joy didn't even retaliate. She's always been the type who's happy blending in with a crowd.

“You'd better watch out,” Joey says devilishly. “Your competition is scheduled to walk through that door at nine o'clock sharp.”

“Quiet!” I spit back.

He smiles to himself for the rest of breakfast.

All day long, I wait for the phone to ring, hoping that it's Andrew, with the happy news that Stephanie has been admitted to the hospital. Three telemarketers and an old friend of Mom's call instead.

All day long, I keep checking out the windows, poking my head through the doorways, looking for snow. But the temperature has risen to forty-five degrees, and it rains instead.

All day long, Mom keeps me busy. We bake another batch of Christmas cookies. We vacuum the entire house all over again. We clean the bathrooms--all four of them--which is my least favorite chore in the world.

When it starts to get dark, I turn on the outdoor Christmas lights and peer through the glass panes on the front door, watching them sparkle through the dusk. The inside of our house is cozy, too, the Christmas tree glowing, the fireplace mantel dressed festively in silk holly leaves and glittering lights, the stair railing newly wrapped with lit evergreen garlands. Candles brighten the windows, the kitchen smells like Christmas, and the soft strains of holiday music fill the house.

But I myself feel more like one of the bare, dull trees at the far edge of our yard, removed from the glitz and glimmer of Christmas lights, alone and sad and forgotten. There's a heaviness in my heart that I can't erase, and I sit down hard on a living-room chair and sigh.

I stay there until Dad gets home from work. When he sees me sitting all alone, he asks, “What's the matter with my
princesa?”

I don't answer. I just stand up and put my arms around him, and he holds me tight. I cry a little--
just
a little--but I think Dad knows that this is not a time to ask what's wrong.

He smoothes my hair and whispers, “Cheer up,
princesa,
it's almost Christmas.”

Somehow, I feel a tiny bit better.

After we've eaten dinner, cleared the dishes, and cleaned the kitchen till it shines, Mom opens a cupboard and pulls out two long plastic containers of freshly baked apple turnovers, which she bought at the grocery store yesterday. She sets them on the counter, along with a stack of dessert plates, napkins, forks, coffee mugs, and water glasses.

“Yesss!”
cheers Nate, rounding the corner into the kitchen. I swear he has super-sonic hearing when it comes to all things food-related. He reaches for the top container, pops it open, and takes out a turnover.