by Sarah Dessen
It wasn’t just me that was feeling out of sorts. Even the weather was weird.
“You have to admit,” Harriet said, shaking her head as we stepped out into the employee parking lot later that night, “this is very strange. When has it ever been seventy-seven degrees a week before Christmas?”
“It’s global warming,” Reggie told her. “The ice caps are melting.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the apocalypse,” she said.
He sighed. “Of course you were.”
“Seriously, though, who wants to Christmas-shop when it feels like summer? ” she asked as we started across the lot. “This cannot be good for sales.”
“Do you ever think about anything but business?” Reggie said.
“The apocalypse,” she told him. “And occasionally coffee.”
“You know,” he said, “I’m aware that you’re kidding, but that’s still really—”
“Good night,” I called out as I peeled off toward the greenway. They both waved, still bickering. This, however, was not strange in the least; it was the way I always left them.
Often, Harriet gave me a ride home, as she hated me taking the greenway in the dark, but as the weather had grown oddly warm I’d been insisting on walking instead, just to make the most of the unseasonable weather while it lasted. On my way back to Cora’s, I passed several bicyclists, two runners, and a pack of kids on scooters, all with the same idea. Weirdest of all, though, was what I saw at home when I walked in the front door: Jamie, at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his bathing suit and swim fins, a towel thrown over his shoulder. It might not have been a sign of the apocalypse, but it seemed pretty close.
At first, it was clear that I’d surprised him: he jumped, flustered, before quickly recovering and striking a casual pose. “Hey,” he said, like he hung out in swimgear in the foyer every day. “How was work?”
“What are you—?” I began, then stopped as Cora appeared at the top of the stairs, a pair of shorts pulled over her own suit.
“Oh,” she said, stopping suddenly, her face flushing. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said slowly. “What’s going on?”
They exchanged a guilty look. Then Cora sighed and said, “We’re going pool jumping.”
“You’re what?”
“It’s seventy-five degrees! In December!” Jamie said. “We have to. We can’t help ourselves.”
I looked up at my sister again. “It is pretty nice out,” she said.
“But the neighborhood pool doesn’t even have water in it,” I said.
“That’s why we’re going to Blake’s,” Jamie told me. “You want to come?”
“You’re sneaking into Nate’s pool?”
Cora bit her lip as Jamie said, “Well, technically, it’s not really sneaking. I mean, we’re neighbors. And it’s right there, heated, with nobody using it.”
“Do you have permission?” I asked.
He looked up at Cora, who squirmed on the step. “No,” she said. “But I saw Blake earlier and he said he and Nate were taking off for an overnight business thing. So . . .”
“. . . you’re just going to jump their fence and their pool,” I finished for her.
Silence. Then Jamie said, “It’s seventy-five degrees! In December! Do you know what this means?”
“The apocalypse?” I asked.
“What?” he said. “No. God. Why would you—“
“She’s right, you know,” Cora said, coming down the stairs. “We’re not exactly setting a good example.”
“It was your idea,” Jamie pointed out. Cora flushed again. “Your sister,” he said to me, “is a serious pool jumper. In college, she was always the first to go over the fence.”
“Really,” I said, turning to look at her.
“Well,” she replied, as if about to justify this. Then she just said, “You know, it’s seventy-five degrees. In December.”
Jamie grabbed her hand, grinning. “That’s my girl,” he said, then pointed at me. “You coming?”
“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I told him.
“In my closet, bottom right-hand drawer,” Cora said. “Help yourself.”
I just shook my head, incredulous, as they started through the kitchen. Cora was laughing, Jamie’s flippers slapping the floor, and then they were outside, the door swinging shut behind them.
I wasn’t going to go and certainly didn’t plan to swim. But after sitting on my bed in the quiet for a few moments, I did go find a suit of Cora’s, pull on some sweatpants over it, and head downstairs, crossing the yard to where I could hear splashing just beyond the fence.
“There she is,” Jamie said as I slipped through. He was in the shallow end, next to Roscoe, who was on the deck, barking excitedly, while Cora was underwater, swimming down deep, her hair streaming out behind her. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”
“I don’t think I’m coming in,” I said, walking over and sitting down on the edge, my knees pulled to my chest. “I’ll just watch.”
“Ah, that’s no fun,” he said. Then, with Roscoe still barking, he dove under, disappearing. As he swam the length of the pool, the dog ran alongside, following him.
I looked over at Cora, who was now bobbing in the deep end, brushing her hair back from her face. “You know,” I said, “I never would have figured you for a lawbreaker.”
She made a face at me. “It’s not exactly a felony. And besides, Blake owes us.”
“Really? Why?” I asked, but she didn’t hear me, or chose not to answer, instead diving under again to join Jamie, who was circling along the bottom.
As they emerged a moment later, laughing and splashing each other, I kicked off my shoes, then rolled up my sweatpants and dunked my feet in the water. It was warm, even more so than the air, and I leaned back on my palms, turning my face up to the sky. I hadn’t been swimming since the last time we’d lived in a complex with a pool, around ninth grade. In the summer, I would spend hours there, staying in until my mom had to come get me when dark was falling.
Jamie and Cora stayed in for about a half hour, dunking each other and playing Marco Polo. By the time they climbed out, it was past ten, and even Roscoe—who’d been barking nonstop—was exhausted. “See,” Jamie said as they toweled off, “one dip, no harm done.”
“It is nice,” I agreed, moving my feet through the water.
“You coming back with us?” Cora asked as they walked behind me, heading for the fence.
“In a minute. I think I’ll hang out a little while longer.”
“Might as well make the most of it,” Jamie said as Roscoe trotted behind him. “After all, it won’t be like this forever.”
Then they were gone, through the fence, where I could hear their voices fading as they crossed the yard. I waited until it had been quiet for a few minutes before slipping off my sweatpants. Then, with one last quick look around me to make sure I was alone, I jumped in.
It was startling, at first, being back in a pool after so long not swimming. Just as quickly, though, all the instinct came back, and before I knew it I was moving steadily to the other side, the water filling my ears. I don’t know how many laps I’d done, back and forth, only that I had hit such a rhythm that at first, I didn’t even notice when a light clicked on in the house. By the time the second one came on, it was too late.
I froze, sinking down below the pool’s edge, as a figure moved through the now-bright living room. After it crossed back once, then again, I heard a door slide open. Shit, I thought, then panicked, taking a deep breath and submerging myself.
Which, as it turned out, was not the smartest move, as became apparent when I looked up through the shifting blue water above to see Nate staring down at me. By that time, my lungs were about to explode, so I had no choice but to show myself.
“Well, well,” he said as I sputtered to the surface. “What’s this all about?”
I swam to the edge, just to do something, then ran a hand over my face. “Um,” I said. �
�Actually—”
“Cora and Jamie were pool jumping, huh?” he said. I just looked at him, confused, until he pulled one flipper, then another, from behind his back. “They’re not exactly slick about it,” he said, dropping them on the deck beside his feet. “These were right there on that chair. Last time they left a swimming noodle.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I guess we’re busted.”
“No big deal.” He crouched down by me, dipping his hand in the water. “It’s good someone’s getting some use out of this thing. My dad’s always complaining about how much it costs to heat it.”
“You don’t swim at all anymore?”
“Not really,” he said.
“You must miss it, though.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. It was a good escape. Until, you know, it wasn’t.”
I thought of what he’d said, about his dad getting banned but still yelling from the fence. “You should come in,” I said. “It’s really warm.”
“Nah, I’m okay.” He sat on a nearby chair. “You go ahead, though.”
I bobbed there for a second, neither of us talking. Finally I said, “So I thought you were out of town on a business thing.”
“Change of plans,” he said. “It was decided I should come home early.”
“Decided,” I repeated.
He looked up, then gave me a tired smile. “It’s been a long day, let’s just say that.”
I’ll bet, I thought. Out loud, I said, “All the more reason to take a dip. I mean, it’s December. Seventy-five degrees. You know you want to.”
I honestly didn’t think he’d agree with this; I was just talking. But then he nodded slowly, and pushed himself to his feet. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
As he disappeared inside, it occurred to me that maybe this was not the smartest idea. After all, I was trying to keep my distance and now, with this invitation, had narrowed the space we were in considerably. Before I could figure out how to change this, though—or even if I wanted to—he was coming back outside, now in trunks, and walking across the patio. Needless to say, this was distracting. That first night, I hadn’t really seen him shirtless, and now I could focus on little else. All the more reason, I realized, to backtrack, but before I could he was stretching his arms overhead and diving in, hitting the water with barely a splash and disappearing below.
You swim, I thought, having a flash of that sweatshirt as he came to the surface, then closer toward me with a breast-stroke that looked effortless. When he emerged, shaking his head and sending droplets flying, I said, “Nice form.”
“Thanks,” he said, bobbing in front of me. “Years of training.”
Suddenly, I was so aware of how close we were to each other, with only the water between us. I looked down: beneath the surface my skin looked so pale, almost blue, my necklace lying across it. When I glanced up again, he was looking at it, too, and after meeting my gaze for a second he reached over, catching it in one hand to lie flat on his palm.
“How many of those key necklaces do you think Harriet has sold since Thanksgiving?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A lot.”
“I saw a girl at Jump Java today wearing one. It was so weird.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Harriet you said that,” I said. “She’ll be overjoyed.”
“I don’t mean it like that.” He turned his palm, letting the key fall loose, and it slowly floated back down to rest against me again. “It’s just that I associate them with you, and this one. You know? It was the first thing I noticed about you that night we met.”
“Even before I was jumping the fence?”
“Okay.” He smiled. “Maybe the second.”
All around us, the neighborhood was quiet, the sky spread out wide and sprinkled with stars overhead. I could feel him right there in front of me, and I thought of what Jamie had said earlier: It won’t be like this forever. That was true, and also the reason I should have climbed out right then, as well as why I knew I would stay.
He was still watching me, both of us bobbing, and I could feel the water around me, pressing in, pulling back. Then, slowly, Nate was moving closer, leaning in, and despite all I’d told myself, and all I wanted to believe I was and wasn’t capable of, I stayed where I was as he kissed me. His lips were warm, his skin wet, and when he drew back, I felt myself shiver, unaccustomed to anyone being so close, and yet still not ready for him to pull away.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
I was about to shake my head, say it wasn’t that at all, but before I could, I felt his hand close over mine. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s warmer the deeper you go.” Then, to prove it, he went under, and I took a deep breath, the biggest I could, and let him pull me down with him.
I already knew Jamie liked holidays. There were the matching blue shirts, for one thing, not to mention the thankful lists. But even armed with this knowledge, I still was not fully prepared for how he approached Christmas.
“Just stand still, okay?” Cora said, making a face as she stuffed the pillow farther up under his jacket. “Stop wriggling around.”
“I can’t,” Jamie replied. “This long underwear is a lot itchier than I thought it would be.”
“I told you to just wear your boxer shorts.”
“Santa doesn’t wear boxers!” he said, his voice rising slightly as she yanked the wide black belt of his costume tight over the pillow, holding it in place. “If I’m going to do this, I want to be authentic about it.”
“I seriously doubt,” Cora said, pushing herself to her feet, “that the Santa police do an underwear check. Now where’s your beard?”
“On the bed,” he told her. Then he saw me. “Hey, Ruby! So what do you think? Pretty great, right?”
This wasn’t exactly the first word that had come to mind at seeing him in a full-on Santa outfit: red suit, black boots, and big white wig, which to me looked itchier than any underwear could ever be. But in the interest of family, I decided to play along.
“Yeah,” I agreed as Cora reached over his head, fastening his beard. “Are you going to a party or something?”
“No,” he said. Cora stepped back, hands on her hips, examining her work. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Right,” I said slowly. “So this is for . . .”
“Walking around the neighborhood!” he finished for me. I just looked at Cora, who simply shook her head. “My dad always dressed up like Santa on Christmas Eve,” he explained. “It was a family tradition.”
“Which we did not have a lot of,” Cora added. “And Jamie knows that, which is why he’s made it a personal mission to make up for it now.”
Jamie looked from her to me, then back at her again. Even in the full costume, wig and all, he still looked so boyish, like Santa: The Early Days. “I know, it’s a little over the top,” he said. “It’s just . . . we always made a big deal of Christmas at my house. I guess it’s kind of rubbed off on me.”
Even without the Santa outfit, this was an understatement. All month long, Jamie had thrown himself into getting ready for Christmas: stringing up an elaborate light show out front, putting Advent calendars in practically every room, dragging home the biggest tree he could find, which we then decorated with a mix of brand-new ornaments and homemade ones from Hunter holidays past. Between all this and working at the mall, I’d frankly been over the holidays weeks ago. But as with most things involving Jamie, I’d gone along anyway, allowing myself to be dragged to the neighborhood tree-lighting ceremony, watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special over and over again, even holding Roscoe down while Jamie outfitted him in an elaborate harness of jingle bells.
“Here,” he said now, reaching behind him to the bed to pick up a red elf’s hat. “For you.”
“Me? ”
“Yeah. So we’ll match, when we go out.”
I looked at Cora again, but this time she avoided my eyes, busily putting away her blusher, which she’d used to give Jamie
his festive red cheeks. “Where,” I said slowly, “are we going?”
“To hand out gifts in the neighborhood,” he said, like this was obvious. “They’re all in the foyer, ready to go. Come on!”
He brushed past me, his own hat in hand, and bounded down the stairs, his boots thumping on the carpet. I narrowed my eyes at Cora until she finally turned to face me. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking like she meant it. “But I did it last year.”
And that was how I ended up out in Wildflower Ridge, at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, with Jamie in his Santa suit, and Roscoe in his jingle bells, spreading good cheer. Or, looking at it another way, walking in the cold—which had returned with a vengeance—and interrupting people from their own family celebrations while scaring the occasional motorist.
After the first couple of houses, we worked out a system: I rang the bell, then let Jamie stay front and center, hanging back with Roscoe until the door was opened, and pitching in when needed to help hand out the gifts, which were mostly stuffed animals and boxes of mini candy canes. Aside from a few weird looks—and some people who were clearly home but chose to ignore us—people seemed happy to see us, especially the kids, and after about an hour and three blocks, our stuff was mostly gone.
“We’ve got enough for maybe two more stops,” Jamie said as we stood on the corner by Nate’s house, having paused for Roscoe, bells jingling, to relieve himself against a mailbox. “So which ones do you think? You want to take something to Nate?”
I looked over at the Cross house, dark except for a couple of lights in the back. “I don’t know,” I said. “He might not be your target audience. Maybe we should go a little younger.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, reaching into his almost-empty sack. “But you go ahead and bring him some candy canes. I’ll meet you back here. All right?”
“Okay,” I said, handing over Roscoe’s leash. He took it, then tossed his sack over his shoulder—the Santa police would have approved—and started across the street to a house with brightly lit snowflakes on either side of the front steps.
