Sun-Kissed Christmas

by Katherine Applegate

  More Summer Fun!

  Beach Blondes

  Spring Break

  Tan Lines

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  SIMON PULSE

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  First Simon Pulse paperback edition October 2010

  Copyright © 1996 by Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc and Katherine Applegate

  Originally published by An Archway Paperback

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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  Designed by Tom Daly

  The text of this book was set in Bembo Standard.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Control Number 2010922985

  ISBN 978-1-4169-9397-1

  ISBN 978-1-4424-0959-0 (eBook)

  To Michael

  1

  Deck the Halls with Vows of Folly

  On December nineteenth, on a sweltering Florida afternoon, Summer Smith decided to boycott Christmas.

  If she could have canceled the whole shebang, she would have, but as far as she knew, that was a power reserved for Santa or Congress, or maybe the Toy Manufacturers Association of America. So she simply vowed to cancel her own personal Christmas, to let it pass unremarked, just another day on the December calendar.

  For a girl who flossed nightly, wrote polite thank-you notes the day after her birthday, and always used turn signals when changing lanes, this was a radical move.

  But as she stood in the Christmas tree lot late that afternoon, Summer knew she’d made the right decision. Sure, all the standard signs of Christmas were in evidence—things that usually filled her with anticipation. The sharp, piney scent of the trees. The string of Christmas lights, blinking erratically like an out-of-practice chorus line. Santa, cheerfully waving to passersby.

  Unfortunately, the scent of pine was nearly overpowered by the smell of coconut oil wafting over from the beach. The lights were dangling off palm trees. And Santa was wearing Ray-Bans and a pair of bright red swim trunks.

  In Minnesota, where Summer came from, self-respecting Santas did not wear Ray-Bans. In Minnesota, they put lights on evergreens. In Minnesota, the powers that be had the decency to provide a nice, thick blanket of snow. Sometimes several blankets. Mattresses, even.

  With a sigh, Summer grabbed a small, spindly tree, shorter than she was, not to mention thinner. When she shook it, brown needles rained down like dandruff. It matched her mood perfectly.

  “This is, without a doubt, bar none, the most pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree I have ever seen,” Marquez, Summer’s best friend, pronounced.

  “It is, isn’t it,” Summer said, looking pleased.

  “I was wrong. That’s not a tree,” Marquez continued. “That is a twig with delusions of grandeur.”

  Summer motioned to her cousin, Diana. “I need a second opinion.”

  Diana rolled her eyes. “You want a second opinion? Call Dr. Kevorkian.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Forget it.” Summer said. “Let’s just put some tinsel on that dying philodendron in the kitchen. But the way, I am officially quitting Christmas.”

  Marquez and Diana exchanged a “yeah, right” look.

  “You can’t quit Christmas,” Diana informed her. “It’s just one of those things. Like SATs and periods.”

  Summer leaned her tree against the fence. “What’s the point? Let’s face it, this Christmas is going to be a dud for all three of us. Our families are spread all over the place. There’s no snow, which, I’m sorry, is so completely not merry. We’re all broke—” She glanced at her cousin. “Well, two of us are, anyway. All these trees are half dead. Santa’s wearing swim trunks and he’s got a tattoo on his calf. Did I mention there’s not even, like, one flake of snow? And oh, yeah. I’m flunking out of my first semester of college.”

  Marquez draped her arm around Summer’s shoulders. “Summer, you got two A’s, a B-plus, and a B. That does not constitute flunking out. If it does, I’d better apply to that Sally Struthers trucking school, because I am in major academic trouble.”

  “I took an incomplete,” Summer reminded her glumly as they wandered down another row of trees.

  “Which you’re going to finish up this week,” Diana said. She paused to check out a tall pine with long, droopy needles. “You’re just going through withdrawal, Summer. You’ve been on this extended school high all semester, and now that you’ve finished exams you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

  Summer examined a wreath wrapped with a red bow. She crushed some of the pine needles between her fingers to release the scent. Unfortunately, the needles were made of plastic. She sighed. “Maybe you’re right, Diana. It was a pretty great semester overall. Maybe I’m just feeling a little let down.”

  Let down and a little lost—that was the truth. Now that exams were over, Summer had time to think about things that she’d really rather not think about. Such as the fact that her parents had split up and were spending Christmas apart for the first time in more than twenty years. Such as the fact that Austin Reed had found a new girlfriend.

  Marquez pointed out a tree. “How about this one? It’s not too shabby.”

  “Are you sure you want to bother?” Summer asked.

  “We have to,” Marquez said. “It’s part of the magic of the holidays.”

  “I sort of feel sorry for mine now,” Summer said. “It’s like we rejected it.”

  Marquez rolled her eyes at Diana. “Oh, let her get the twig. She’s vulnerable,” Marquez said. “Summer takes Christmas very seriously.”

  “Not anymore,” Summer argued.

  “Are you not the person who suggested—in the middle of exams—that we try making our own candy canes from scratch?” Marquez shook her head so hard her dark curls bounced. “I mean, really. Who knew you could actually cook them?”

  “Where did you think they came from?”

  “I thought they harvested them. Candy cane farms somewhere snowy. Finland or Latvia. Or your native land, Minne-so-dead.”

  “I was just trying to get you two into the spirit,” Summer said. “Which I’ve now officially given up on.”

  “Uh-huh. This from the girl who’s seen every Christmas movie ever made and forced us to sit through them? White Christmas. Miracle on 34th Street. It’s a Wonderful Life, like seventeen times in a row.”

  “Three times,” Summer corrected. “It’s a holiday classic. Look, let’s just grab a tree and go, okay? I need to get some work done on my history project. My overdue, incomplete, probably-will-get-an-F-minus project. Did I mention there’s no snow in this town?”

  “Summer, you live in the Keys. Much farther south and we’d be in Cuba,” Diana said. “Snow is not an option.”<
br />
  They went back to retrieve Summer’s tree. It was gone.

  Diana laughed. “Someone actually bought the thing?”

  “Maybe they’re putting it out of its misery,” Marquez suggested.

  Summer caught sight of her tree being dragged toward the exit and followed it. The tree thief was halfway out the gate by the time she caught up with him. When he turned around, she sucked in her breath.

  He was tall with dark hair, the hint of a beard, and a deep tan. And he just so happened to be her ex-boyfriend.

  “You stole my tree.”

  Austin Reed smiled and cocked his head at her. “You picked out this tree?”

  She gazed at him, unable to pull her eyes away. She hadn’t seen Austin in a long time. His hair was a little shorter and his shoulders—was she imagining this?—a little broader. “I have dibs, Austin,” she said in a faint voice. In the background, she could hear Marquez and Diana whispering ferociously behind a wall of wreaths.

  He shook his head. “Would you consider joint custody?”

  Summer reached for the trunk. Their fingers brushed.

  “How’ve you been?” Austin asked. Very carefully, not too interested. He was smiling that knowing smile that always made her wonder if he could read minds. She realized suddenly how much she’d missed it.

  “Okay. You?” She sounded way too uncomfortable. A ten on the dork-o-meter.

  “I haven’t seen you since … when?”

  She wondered if he really didn’t remember, particularly since she knew exactly how long it had been. Ten and a half weeks, not that she was counting. “Blythe’s party, I think.”

  “That’s right. Yeah.”

  He’d been with a girl that night. She’d had too-red dyed hair, a nose ring. She’d danced with him very brazenly, watch-me dancing, the way Summer would never in a million years have the nerve to dance. She was just a friend, Austin had said.

  But Summer knew that wasn’t true. She knew because her brother, Diver, shared an apartment with Austin. Given the awkward circumstances, she never visited their place anymore. But she did occasionally request updates from Diver.

  “So how’s collegiate life?” Austin asked.

  “Great, really great. Remember how scared I was? But these last few months, they’ve been incredible. It’s all been so hard and intense, and I still got through it on my own.” She paused, trying to prevent herself from sliding into full babble mode. But it was easier to talk than gaze at Austin in silence. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know exactly what you mean. I knew you could do it.” Austin glanced at their fingers, which were still touching. “How were exams?”

  “Tough.”

  “I’m sure you did great.”

  “I had to take an incomplete in Intro to U.S. History. We had to do an interview with someone whose life has been affected by a war. My first one fell through, so I got an extension.”

  “Fell through how?”

  “I was going to interview that lady who sells fish by the pier. You know the one I mean? She smokes cigars. Well, she told me she was a volunteer nurse during World War One. But then I did the math and figured she’d have to be, like, a zillion years old.”

  “You ought to talk to Harris, my dad’s uncle. Ask him about World War Two—you can’t shut him up.”

  “How is your dad?” Summer asked gently.

  Austin looked away. “He—”

  “There you are!” A girl, the red-haired nose-ringed girl, sauntered over.

  “Esme, you remember Summer?”

  “Sure.” She flashed Summer a smile. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Summer let her gaze fall for just a split second to the girl’s hand on Austin’s waist.

  “Pukey tree,” Esme said.

  “It has character,” Austin objected.

  “It’s hideous, Aus. Let’s get something artificial. You know, pink or silver. Something outrageous.”

  Austin pushed the tree toward Summer. “Guess you win. Give it a good home, okay?”

  Summer nodded, wishing she hadn’t won. “You can have visitation rights.”

  “You’re in the new place now?”

  “Yeah, on Full Moon Beach, in one of those old resort cottages. Last one on the right.”

  “I’ll stop by sometime.” He paused, staring at her with questioning eyes as if she were a vague acquaintance. Someone he knew he’d shared some laughs with but couldn’t quite place.

  “Well,” Esme said, clearing her throat, “we’re off to buy into the true commercialism that is Christmas.”

  “Say hello to Diana and Marquez,” Austin added. “They’re hiding discreetly behind the wreaths.”

  “I will. Nice seeing you again, Esme.”

  “Yep. Likewise.”

  2

  Psychology 101

  “I know it’s snowing in Minne-so-dead right now,” Marquez said that afternoon as she applied another layer of Hawaiian Tropic to her arms, “but you’ve got to admit, Summer, this isn’t bad. Our own private balcony. Our own private beach. Our own private sunshine.”

  “I love the sun,” Summer said. She adjusted the seat on her dilapidated chaise longue. “I love eighty-degree days. I just think they should come in July, not December.”

  Diana and Marquez were sprawled on the faded redwood deck, soaking up the last of the afternoon rays. Fifty yards away, the ocean lapped lazily. A handful of seagulls had congregated a few feet from the deck steps. They’d long since learned the girls were an easy touch.

  Diana rolled onto her back, her long dark hair splayed out on her beach towel. Even in an old tank suit, she managed, somehow, to look glamorous. “At least admit the fact that this place is a palace compared to Roach Manor.”

  Summer smiled. The apartment the girls had shared over the summer had been a little on the seedy side. “It’s a minor miracle we found this place,” Summer said. “If the roof didn’t leak so much, it’d be just about perfect.”

  The house was tiny, part of an enclave of bungalows at the eastern edge of Coconut Key. It was located right between Florida Coastal University, the college Marquez and Diana attended, and Summer’s college, Carlson. The enclave had been a popular resort in the thirties and forties but had long since fallen into disrepair. The owner, a reclusive old guy who’d made a fortune as an art dealer in Miami, refused to sell the property. He rented the houses to artists, students, and other “ne’er-do-wells,” as he put it.

  Marquez, an art student herself, had gotten his okay to paint a mural on the side of the house. She’d already started a bright, abstract portrait of the three girls, full of sharp edges, out-of-place limbs, and extra eyes. Marquez, as the artist, had also merited an extra breast.

  Summer’s brother joined them on the deck. “Your tree’s up,” Diver announced. “It’s kind of spindly, but if you layer on enough decorations, no one will notice.”

  “That’s always been Marquez’s philosophy on makeup,” Diana said.

  Marquez retaliated with a squirt from her water bottle. She missed Diana and hit one of the seagulls instead, causing a mini-riot of flapping wings and outraged cries.

  “To tell you the truth,” Summer said when the gulls had calmed down, “I’m not really in the mood to decorate.”

  “You’d better get in the mood,” Diana chided. “This is your last chance. Don’t forget Marquez and I are playing reindeer at the children’s charity thing tomorrow. Right, Blitzen?”

  Marquez shook her head. “Don’t remind me. I suppose you get to be Rudolph?”

  “I helped organize the party. That makes me the senior reindeer.”

  Marquez nudged Summer with her foot. “How’d you luck out of skipping this party, anyway?”

  “I’d love to go,” Summer said. “But I’ve got to do my stupid history thing.”

  “Well, I’m just saying it’s going to be hard to get motivated,” Marquez said. “Summer has a point about Christmas. To me, Christma
s means family. And my whole family’s in Texas. They can’t afford to come here, and I can’t afford to go there.”

  “You think that’s bad?” Diana said. “My mom’s on another book tour.” Diana’s mother was a well-known romance author. “She could have flown home, I guess, but I think she’s really chasing after some guy she met in L.A. who claims he’s a count. Surname Dracula, I’m sure.”

  Summer glanced at Diver and sighed. This would be their first Christmas since their parents’ divorce. Their mom was going to spend Christmas in North Dakota, tending to a sick aunt. Their dad was going to be in New York on business. Both of them were coming down to Florida after the holidays—taking care to ensure that their visits didn’t overlap.

  “No wonder we’re not in the spirit,” Summer said. “Our parents aren’t exactly setting good examples. Well, Marquez’s are, but they’re too far away.”

  “My mom makes these fantastic sugar cookies every Christmas,” Marquez said wistfully. “Then my brother Luis tries to scarf them all, and I have to slap him silly and chase him around the house … boy, I’m going to miss all those holiday traditions.”

  “We’ll start our own traditions,” Diver said, leaning down to kiss Marquez.

  Marquez smiled. “You’re right,” she said. “It’ll be fine as long as we’re together.” She kissed him again. “If we’re together that is. I feel like I never see you, we’re both working so much.”

  “Are you working the dinner shift tonight?” he asked.

  Marquez groaned. “Don’t remind me. It’s going to be dead. Zero tips.” She passed him her suntan oil. “Do my back, would you?”

  Summer watched her brother gently apply the oil. He was always so tender with Marquez, so open about his feelings. They made a great couple. It was a reminder of how good a committed relationship could be—and a reminder of how uncommitted Summer was at the moment.

  But that, she told herself, was her choice—school first, herself first. Guys later. Much later, when she was emotionally ready. Like, say, when was really, really old. Twenty or something.

  Diver looked over at her and smiled. Everyone said they looked alike—same shimmering blond hair, same vivid blue eyes. But there was something centered and calm about Diver that always seemed to elude Summer.