Home for the Holidays

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “You’re on,” Darcy calls back, towing our sled into position.

  Ethan, who was short and kind of tubby back in elementary and middle school, joined Alcott High’s wrestling team last year. He grew a bunch too, and now he’s almost as tall as Darcy and Third and really wiry. Third takes a seat on the front of the toboggan, and my little brothers and Andrew Bartlett climb on behind him. Ethan squats down and readies himself to give them a shove.

  I climb onto our toboggan behind Darcy, meanwhile, clasping my arms around his waist. Emma’s behind me, and Stewart braces himself with his hands on her back, waiting for the signal to start.

  “On your mark, get set, go!” cries Third, and Ethan and Stewart give both sleds a running start. They hop on as we lurch forward, and we hang for one long second on the near-vertical roller-coaster drop that’s the top of Nashawtuc Hill. I hold on for dear life as we plunge downward, then whoop and holler with my friends as we rocket toward the bottom, the wind whipping past us as the sleds pick up speed. Halfway down we hit a bump, and instantly we’re airborne. I scream and grab Darcy even tighter, feeling Emma’s arms do the same around me. When we touch down, Ethan and Third and my brothers flash past us, pumping their arms in victory. Our toboggan, meanwhile, skids and turns on its side, tumbling us all out into the snow. I lie there for a moment, laughing as I try to catch my breath.

  Megan and Becca are totally missing out. No shopping trip could possibly be as fun as this.

  My brothers and Third’s little brother Andrew holler for more, and we all get to our feet and collect our sleds. The next hour flies by in a blur of ever-faster runs and laughter and snowball fights and heart-pounding climbs back up to the top. I do as I promised and keep an eye on my brothers, but they don’t seem to need a whole lot of supervision. Plus, it’s not as if they’re about to wander off. They’re having the time of their lives hanging out with the high school boys.

  “Next one’s the tiebreaker,” says Ethan, as our two sleds coast to a stop again side by side in the field at the bottom of the hill. “Losers buy dinner for everyone from Pirate Pete’s.”

  “Hope you brought your wallet, man, because you are going down!” There’s a gleam in Darcy’s eye as he says this. Emma’s brother loves a challenge, especially one that involves sports. “Gimme a second, though, would you? I need some water.”

  He heads for the parking lot, and Emma and I turn to climb the hill, leaving the boys to drag the heavy sleds. When we reach the top we stand there, panting, as we survey the view.

  “We have a Crowd,” says Emma suddenly.

  “What?” Emma does this a lot—blurts out something random. Usually it’s related to a book. I’m used to it by now, but it can be unnerving to people who don’t know her. Especially when they have no clue what she’s talking about.

  “You know, like Betsy and Tacy. A Crowd—a bunch of friends we hang out with.”

  I nod. “Welcome to Deep Valley,” I tell her, and she grins.

  “So if you had to pick, which one of the guys do you think is a Tony, and which one is Joe?”

  My eyes narrow as I watch our friends below. “Well, I think Stewart and Darcy are both Joes. I don’t know if we have a Tony, though. Zach, maybe?”

  “Nah, Zach is Herbert Humphreys.”

  I start to laugh. “Oh, I loved the HHAS, didn’t you? When I read that, it reminded me exactly of us back in elementary school.”

  The HHAS—the Herbert Humphreys Admiration Society—was a club Betsy and her friends founded, back when they were little and all had huge crushes on this kid named Herbert.

  “I think Becca Chadwick is a one-woman ZNAS,” I tell Emma.

  “I don’t know, Jess, I think maybe Cassidy’s a member too.”

  “Really?”

  She nods. “Something’s changed between her and Zach. Watch them tomorrow at the TV filming—you’ll see.”

  Way down at the bottom of the hill, a little figure in red waves to me. It’s Maggie Crandall. I wave back. Her parents were my house parents back in eighth grade. They’re incredibly nice, and they really helped me that first year at Colonial Academy when I was homesick and didn’t feel like I fit in. Especially Mrs. Crandall. I still babysit now and then for Maggie, who’s three now. I don’t have as much time as I used to, though. I’m juggling a lot this year, between MadriGals, my school’s a capella group, and the equestrian team, plus helping Mr. Mueller with his foster animals. Not to mention all my classes.

  I’m taking mostly junior- and senior-level courses this year, which is hard, but I love it, especially calculus and AP Physics, my two favorite subjects. I like classics, too. English, not so much. That’s more Emma’s thing, and I’m just okay at it. I’m working hard at my singing this year too. I washed out in the solo auditions for regionals last year, and I want a chance to redeem myself. I was talking to Becca’s grandmother about it at our book club meeting the other night, and she said she’d loan me her copy of the Betsy-Tacy Songbook. She says I should think about “Dreaming,” one of her favorite songs, for my audition piece.

  Becca is going to bring the music over tonight so I can look it over this weekend. I make a mental note to remember to practice “Silver Bells,” too—the MadriGals are supposed to sing it at the tree lighting in Monument Square next week.

  The boys stagger up over the brow of the hill, and we all take our places again.

  “On your mark!” shouts Darcy.

  I can tell he wants to win this last run, and not because of the pizza, either. The only person I’ve ever met who’s more competitive than Darcy Hawthorne is Cassidy Sloane. The sun has dipped behind the trees on the horizon, and the wind has picked up. I close my eyes and clasp my arms around Darcy’s waist and snuggle against the back of his jacket in an effort to keep warm.

  Ethan starts the countdown, and a split second later both toboggans are flying down the hill again.

  “Lean forward!” Darcy shouts at us, and as we do I feel our sled surge ahead. Faster and faster it goes, passing my brothers and their teammates.

  “Yeah!” shouts Darcy, pumping his fist in the air. “Suckers!”

  We hit the bump midway down and go flying again. Right on cue, Emma and I both scream, just as we have on every run so far today. We land again, hard. This time we hit an icy patch, though, and the toboggan wobbles. Darcy struggles to keep us pointing straight ahead, but he pulls too hard on the rope and overcompensates. Behind me, Emma screams again as the sled spins out of control, then veers across the hill and right into the path of our friends. A second later we’re upended into the snow.

  Everyone scrambles to get out of the way of the oncoming toboggan, but somehow I’m caught in the rope. As I tug on it, I hear my brothers hollering at me. There’s real fear in their voices. I fling myself to the side at the last minute, but my entangled leg gets slammed between the two sleds.

  For a moment, I don’t feel anything at all. And then a noise comes out of me unlike any noise I’ve ever heard myself make before.

  In a flash, Darcy is at my side. “Don’t move,” he says, as I struggle to sit up. His face is as white as the snow I’m lying on.

  “My leg,” I mumble.

  “I know.” He looks stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry? I want to ask him why, but I can’t form the words. I’m confused. I can’t think straight. My leg hurts.

  Mrs. Crandall runs over to us and drops to her knees beside me in the snow. “Jess, honey, everything’s going to be okay.”

  I gaze at her, puzzled. Why wouldn’t it be? Then, in a flash of panic, I struggle to sit up again. Something must have happened to my brothers. “Dylan! Ryan!” I call wildly, as Mrs. Crandall grabs my shoulders and presses me gently back down into the snow. “What happened to them? My mother is going to kill me.”

  “Your brothers are fine,” Mrs. Crandall reassures me. “Lie still now.”

  Darcy takes off his jacket and spreads it over me. I give him a wobbly smile and he tries to smile ba
ck, but it falters. In another moment Emma is beside us too, along with Mr. Crandall. He’s on his cell phone, a serious expression on his face.

  “Your parents are on their way,” he tells me, slipping it back into his pocket.

  I hear the distant wail of an ambulance, and I realize suddenly why everyone’s so concerned. It’s not my brothers, it’s me. I make one more effort to sit up, but the searing pain in my leg renders me quickly horizontal again.

  I need to see my leg. I crane my neck, but Mrs. Crandall and Emma and Darcy are deliberately blocking my view. Shifting a little, I manage a quick glimpse, then sink back into the snow again, feeling faint. The lower part of my left leg is sticking out at a weird angle.

  I’ve seen a leg like that before. Where? The pain is making me foggy.

  Lydia! The fox I helped rehabilitate last year. The one who was hit by a bicycle. Her leg looked just like that.

  I start to cry.

  Lydia’s leg looked like that because it was broken.

  “This is all my fault,” I hear Darcy tell Mrs. Crandall. “I never should have agreed to a race.” He squeezes my hand. “Does it hurt badly?”

  Worse than anything I’ve ever felt before in my life, I think, but I don’t tell him that. Swiping my jacket sleeve across my tear-drenched face, I manage to whisper, “That’s not why I’m crying.”

  Darcy looks puzzled. Emma knows why I’m crying, though. I can see it in her eyes.

  I’m crying because I can kiss the trip to Switzerland good-bye.

  Emma

  “For a girl who wants to be a writer, it might be educational to spend Christmas in Milwaukee.”

  —Betsy in Spite of Herself

  I stare at Jess’s left leg, which is propped on the sofa in the keeping room at Half Moon Farm. Sugar and Spice, her family’s two Shetland sheepdogs, are snuggled up on either side of her like furry bookends, looking appropriately mournful. They’re also keeping a sharp eye on the strange beast wrapped around Jess’s leg. It’s a cast—a light blue one. Blue is Jess’s favorite color.

  “I still can’t believe you broke your leg,” I tell her.

  Jess nods sadly. “Me neither.”

  She’s been unusually quiet since I got here, and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe her parents were wrong about her wanting company tonight. Maybe I should go home. It’s hard to tell if Jess is so listless because her leg hurts, or because she’s upset that her trip to Switzerland got canceled. A little bit of both, probably.

  “It’s kind of like in Downtown, isn’t it?” I ask.

  Jess’s forehead wrinkles. “Huh?”

  I know she hates it when I do this, but I can’t help it—for me, life and books are intertwined, and one is always reminding me of the other. “You know, in Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown, when Betsy has that tobogganing accident.”

  She grunts. “Except she didn’t break her leg, she just sprained her ankle.”

  “Enter Mrs. Ray,” says Mrs. Delaney, who must have overheard us from the kitchen. She bustles in carrying a tray with a couple of mugs—Half Moon Farm’s hot cider, from the smell of it—and a big bowl of popcorn. “And Betsy’s mother is absolutely right, by the way—none of us mothers like tobogganing. Too risky.” She nods at Jess’s leg. “I rest my case.”

  She sets the tray down on the coffee table and nudges Spice out of the way as she squeezes in next to Jess on the sofa. “How are you doing, honey?” she asks, reaching over and smoothing Jess’s blond hair.

  Jess lifts a shoulder. “Okay, I guess.”

  “I know you’re disappointed about the trip, but you do understand that it’s absolutely out of the question, don’t you?”

  Jess grunts again.

  “Your father and I just don’t think it would be good for you—that long international flight, and traipsing through airports on crutches—”

  “That’s what wheelchairs are for,” mutters Jess.

  “Be reasonable, sweetheart. It’s just too much! You need to focus on getting plenty of rest and not overdoing things for the next six weeks. Don’t you want your leg to heal properly?”

  “Savannah said I could come along anyway, even if I can’t ski.” Jess is not giving up without a fight. She can be really stubborn when she wants to.

  Her mother sighs. “The answer is no, Jess. You’re staying home for the holidays. I’m sure you’ll be invited again sometime.”

  My face is arranged to look properly regretful, but it’s a struggle to keep from smiling. Jess will be here in Concord with me over winter break!

  The thing is, between Jess attending Colonial Academy and me living in England last year, plus both of us having boyfriends now, the two of us just don’t spend as much time together as we used to. We’re still best friends and everything, but I really miss “us”—I miss just hanging out having fun. Winter break will be the perfect opportunity for that.

  My cell phone buzzes again. I don’t even have to look to know it’s a text from my brother.

  After the accident this afternoon, Darcy drove me and the twins back to our house while Jess’s parents went with her in the ambulance. I’ve never seen my brother so upset. He was planning to skip football practice—well, football conditioning, because nobody, not even tough-as-nails Coach Elliott, would make a team practice outside on a weekend like this one—but my parents made him go, to try and take his mind off things. He was still at the gym when Mr. Delaney stopped by to pick up Dylan and Ryan.

  “I’m happy to keep the boys overnight for you if you’d like,” my mother told him.

  “Thanks, Phoebe, but it’s really not necessary,” he replied. “Jess is going to be just fine. She’s a very fortunate girl—it’s a simple break, and they had her leg set and in a cast in no time.”

  “What about our sleepover?” I asked.

  Mr. Delaney shook his head regretfully. “Not going to happen, Em. Shannon wants to make sure Jess gets plenty of rest, which definitely won’t happen at a sleepover. And we’re not sure about the TV filming tomorrow either—she wants to go, of course, but we’re going to wait and see how she’s doing in the morning.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  “Shannon did say it’s fine if you and Megan and Becca still want to come over later and watch a movie, though,” Mr. Delaney continued. “Jess could definitely use some cheering up, as long as you’re not too rowdy.”

  I left home before my brother returned from practice, and he’s been texting me nonstop ever since I arrived here at the Delaneys’. Jess lost her cell phone someplace—she thinks probably it was in the pocket of the ski pants she was cut out of at the emergency room.

  “Darcy’s worried that maybe you’re mad at him,” I tell her, glancing at his latest message on my phone and grabbing a handful of popcorn.

  “What?” she says, finally showing signs of life. “Are you kidding me? Of course I’m not mad at him!”

  I point at her leg. “He thinks this is all his fault.”

  “Maybe you should call and talk to him,” her mother suggests.

  “Can’t he just come over?” Jess replies. “He could watch the movie with Emma and Megan and Becca and me.”

  A worried pleat appears between the wings of Mrs. Delaney’s dark eyebrows. “I’m not sure, honey. Are you feeling up to it?”

  Jess nods vigorously. “Absolutely. Please, can he?”

  “Well, I guess there’s room for one more. But I’m going to kick everybody out right after the movie, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  As she heads back to the kitchen, the keeping room door flies open and Jess’s brothers tumble in, carrying Magic Markers. “Can we sign your leg now?” asks Dylan.

  “You said we could as soon as Emma got here,” adds Ryan.

  Jess nods. “Emma gets to go first, though.”

  “How come?” Dylan demands.

  “Because she’s my best friend.” Jess smiles at me. I smile back, relieved to see that sh
e’s acting more like herself. I guess the prospect of seeing Darcy again did the trick.

  “But we’re your brothers!” Ryan protests.

  “BFBB,” says Jess loftily, passing me a Magic Marker.

  Best friends before boyfriends. And brothers, too, apparently.

  Dylan’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

  “None of your beeswax,” Jess tells him. I bend over her leg and start to write.

  Violets are red,

  Roses are blue,

  You broke your leg,

  You Rupert, you.

  I sign it and add a little heart after my name.

  Dylan peers over my shoulder and grins. “Roooopert Loooomis!” he crows.

  “Mooooo,” adds Ryan, and the two of them collapse on the floor laughing.

  Jess and I smile at each other. “In a weird way, I kind of miss Rupert,” she says.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Rupert Loomis is this guy I met in England last year. He lived in the same village that I did, and we went to the same school. He’s kind of hard to describe. Before Rupert, I thought Kevin Mullins was the biggest dork I’d ever met. But Rupert isn’t just a dork; he’s in a category all his own. Darcy called him Eeyore, because he has this deep, mournful voice and kind of shuffles around all the time. Rupert lives with his great-aunt, which might be part of the reason he’s so weirdly old-fashioned. He’s at boarding school this year, which I think will be really good for him. I don’t know if it’s had much impact yet, though, judging by the mail he’s been sending me. He writes these long, formal letters, handwritten in real ink from a real fountain pen, on paper engraved with his family crest. There’s nobody in Concord like Rupert, that’s for sure. He’s one of a kind.

  “Boys!” Mrs. Delaney pokes her head back into the room, and the dogs prick up their ears. “I think I hear a car in the driveway. Go see who it is.”

  Sugar and Spice race out of the room on the twins’ heels. A minute later the four of them race back in again, followed by Megan and Becca and Mrs. Wong. Megan’s mother isn’t in the room two seconds before she spots Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the coffee table.