by Kylie Key
Yeah, so that all happened three days ago, on Sunday night. The fire chief and police gave us all a stern talking to, and even came to a school assembly to lecture us on the dangers. I considered that a good thing, informing kids to be safe over the holiday season. My apology to the Kings was accepted graciously, and Mrs. King was appreciative of the bunch of flowers and box of chocolates I took around. I thought that would be the end of it. A lesson had been learnt by all.
But no, Boyd and Aileen Masters felt obliged to do their own sentencing, which was why I was now at the hospital loading up a pine tree with a bunch of decorations, and not celebrating the start of winter break with my friends.
Chapter 2
Angelina
I’D WANDERED OUT OF my room knowing that the food trolley would soon be on its way around. It was something I wanted to avoid, talking to the care assistant who would make a comment about not finishing yesterday’s meal and needing nourishment. It would be said in kindness and not in a judgy way, but it was a conversation I wasn’t in the mood for. I wasn’t in the mood for anyone or anything, to be honest.
It was the day that Mom called Christmas Eve Eve, and my heart squeezed with emotion knowing that I would be spending Christmas Day in the hospital.
The timing couldn’t have been worse.
Diagnosed seven months ago, my leukemia had gone into remission six weeks after having intense treatment. That was a good thing, a great thing, but that didn’t mean I was cured. The chemo and drugs continued, though at a lesser frequency, but it just so happened that my six-weekly maintenance appointment was scheduled for Christmas week.
“It is what it is,” Dad had said, both him and Mom upset enough that they couldn’t stay with me. I hated their guilt, their burden, and insisted that I would be fine. I knew all the hospital staff, and they were so loving and caring that I probably wouldn’t miss them or my brothers, I told them.
It was a half lie. Well, the staff were mostly all great, there was always one cantankerous nurse who’d worked a double shift or had sore feet or something and got crotchety when you rang your bell. I’d try not to do that this time. The real lie was that I’d miss my family terribly. Crazily. To extremes.
But leukemia didn’t care about that.
Leukemia had its own rules.
The Smith Family Christmas Tree Farm was forty miles from the town of Snow Ridge, and as you can guess it was the busiest time of the year. The month of December had our family rushed off its feet and the week before Christmas was particularly crazy. My four brothers and I helped out, even Leo, the youngest at five years old, had a job of stacking pinecones. I lamented that I was missing those final few days where organized chaos reigned supreme with last minute shoppers looking for the perfect tree. This time last year I had helped Dad outside with the trees—I had an uncanny knack of being able to pair people and trees—only because I had spent hours with Dad checking the acres and acres of trees. But this year, not so much.
I headed to the lounge, knowing it would be empty. I’d sit on a beanbag, turn on the television and watch a movie I’d probably seen a hundred times before. That was the plan. The boy decorating the White Pine had other ideas.
I’d barely stepped in the room when he said, “Oh great, I could use some help here. There’s some lights that need untangling.” He was hanging up ornaments like he was in some sort of hurry.
“What?”
“Over there,” he said, pointing to a tangled mess of lights, “you can start on them.”
I made my way over, slightly amused at his slapdash decorating, though the laugh was on me as I knelt on the floor. “These?” I asked, unable to suppress my yawn. I hated how tired the medication made me. Like I was doing everything in slow motion.
“Uh...yeah. If you can manage to stay awake,” he said.
His unwarranted sarcasm made me bristle. Meaning, I shut my mind to his tousled brown hair and rather cute face, and snatched up the jumbled string of lights. Anthony, one of the nurses, had been talking about all things Christmas when I’d arrived yesterday, but my first round of tests and medication had zapped me. Now I wondered if he’d volunteered me to help out. Obviously this boy thought so.
There was a method to untangling Christmas lights, namely to locate the plug first. At the farm we started decorating for Christmas straight after Pumpkin Harvest. Mom and Dad had been reluctant for me to do much this year, but decorating was hardly strenuous, and it had always been a job I loved, and my brothers were pretty bad at it, as was this boy. The tree looked lopsided and unbalanced as he’d hung most of the ornaments on one side and most were up at the top, where his six foot frame could easily reach. Periodically I looked across to see him texting on his phone.
I was stretching the knotted mess into rows when he pushed a bunch of cartons to the wall and said, “That’s everything.”
It didn’t seem like he was talking to me, even though there was no one else in the room, and putting a jacket on, he jingled a keychain.
“I’ve finished my bit,” he said, and now he was talking to me, standing next to the lights.
I looked up, his eyes a mesmerizing shade of blue, a blue so deep I was suddenly transported to some magical kingdom floating on a cloud in a vast sky. My heartbeat raced, and my voice came out croaky, not sounding like me at all, “O—kay.”
“You’re good with that?” It wasn’t really a question, more a definitive statement which I didn’t dare argue with. He’d already sneered at my yawn, and I doubted he’d care that I felt nauseous, and I didn’t trust my raspy voice anyway, so I nodded.
“Cool,” he said, and he hesitated for a moment, like he was going to say something else but changed his mind.
My heart kept beating at a rate that was above normal long after the boy had left. Strange. Or maybe not. I’d been homeschooling all this year—let me rephrase that—ever since my leukemia diagnosis. It had been towards the end of my junior year that I’d started feeling sick, nothing specific, just low energy and fatigue, and I put it down to helping out on the farm everyday after school. Mom got worried when I lost my appetite, fearing I had an infection. She whisked me off to the local doctor, who sent me to Snow Ridge General Hospital for further testing. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to my fellow students and teachers—that’s how quickly I was admitted for intense chemotherapy treatment. Six weeks later, when they let me go home, I hardly recognized some of the trees I’d been nurturing over the years.
Do you know that it takes, on average, seven years for a Christmas tree to grow? Yeah, so you might have it in the corner of your living room for a month, or maybe only two weeks, but I’ve been watching that tree grow for years. And that’s why I considered myself the best when it came to selecting the right tree for a family. I knew my trees like they were my own children. Yes, I’d raised them from seedlings, and I could sense how much a family would care for a tree. Some went for size alone, wanting the tallest or the bushiest. Some wanted ones that didn’t drop needles (I would gently ask if an artificial tree would be better for them—we sold a few in the gift shop), and I’d had a couple once ask if we had trees that didn’t smell so pine-y. Gah!
The White Pine in the corner of the lounge wasn’t from our farm, that I knew. I’d have to get Dad to rectify that in the future. The soft branches and foliage weren’t ideal for the array of ornaments that the boy had displayed in a totally random manner. It basically looked like a hot mess! As I was set to entwine the lights, I shifted ornaments, placing the heavier and bigger ones lower down, where they didn’t make the branches sag so much. Grabbing the stepladder, I shakily climbed up to rearrange the higher branches. The boy hadn’t put anything on the top of the tree, not a star or an angel, and he hadn’t used any color scheme whatsoever. I moved the red, silver and white baubles into a pattern, wondering why I hadn’t corrected the boy while he was doing it. Oh yeah, his sarcastic attitude, that’s why.
I checked through the boxes, but the boy had definite
ly put everything out—there didn’t appear to be anything for the top. I made a mental note that I should text Mom to bring in the pink angel from the farm shop. She was my favorite, made of gold mesh, with soft pink wings. In fact, I berated myself for not having thought to bring in some Christmasy things to brighten up the ward.
That’s how messed up I’d been. The call up had been two weeks earlier than we were expecting, and it sent my parents and me into a flap. We immediately thought it meant I’d gone out of remission, that the cancer had returned. There were several hours of gut wrenching panic, until we were told that it was because the chemo technician would be on vacation in the New Year, so they wanted to bring my appointment earlier. Even though it was the worst timing ever, we didn’t say so. My health was more important than the farm, and even though I tried to be strong, my heart broke knowing I wouldn’t have Christmas at home with my family.
“We’ll celebrate Christmas again when you get home,” James, my 13 year old brother had said, and the boys all agreed—two Christmases for the Smith Family this year. Knowing Mom and Dad were stressed enough at this time of year, I sent them a photo of the tree, telling them I was putting my time to good use.
Their replies were typical: Don’t overdo it! and Rest up!
I sat on the couch for a moment and put my feet up, a light headedness coming over me. My stomach churned and I sat still, inhaling deep breaths.
The next thing I knew, Nurse May’s voice was above me, calling me back from my dreamland. I wished she hadn’t. That boy had been in it. Though the two of us hadn’t been decorating a tree but were running through a sunflower field looking for the biggest one.
“Angel. Angelina? You with us, precious?”
I dragged my body higher up in the chair, eyes blinking as I adjusted to my surroundings. That’s right, I was in the hospital lounge, and the boy had long gone. May held my hand and checked my pulse; I assured her I was fine, that I’d just dozed off. For two hours apparently. It was well past meal time, and I was due for my medication.
“Where’s Chase?” May asked, satisfied that I was breathing normally.
“Who?”
“There was a boy who was decorating the tree,” she said.
“Oh, he—”
“My oh my, he did a beautiful job,” May gushed, abandoning me to go closer. With the fairy lights flicking intermittently, it did look pretty. “Well, I would never have guessed he had such artistic flair.” She smiled back at me. “I think I might have misjudged the boy.”
May hadn’t been smiling when I’d seen her earlier in the day—Nurse Jeffrey said that a little boy hadn’t made it through surgery—so I wasn’t going to be the one to burst her bubble. There was no need for her to know I’d rearranged Chase’s decorations.
“That’s got me in the Christmas mood now,” May said, her eyes brimming with tears. “But you, Miss Smith, we need to get you to your room.” My legs wobbled as I pulled myself up, and the world momentarily spun. “Let’s get you a wheelchair,” May said, and she gently guided me back down into the chair.
I didn’t protest. I could see it had been silly not to eat earlier, I was as weak as a lamb. I’d forgotten how the chemo could knock you back, mercilessly, without regard. I let May wheel me to my room, and I ate every spoonful of the meal she reheated for me, knowing I’d probably throw it up later. But I needed the sustenance, or they’d keep me in hospital longer than planned. Five days. If I was stupid, it could be more. And really, five days was such a small amount of time.
Missing one Christmas was a small sacrifice to pay to getting the rest of my life back on track.
Chapter 3
Chase
IT WAS THE WEIRDEST thing, sitting in my truck half a block away from Blanche Coburn’s house. The reason I was down the road? Well, I wasn’t technically at Blanche’s house, therefore I wasn’t breaking any of the conditions of my punishment, was I? I wasn’t allowed to go to parties, and hey, I wasn’t at the party.
I saw Savannah in my rear view mirror running down the street, her long blonde hair floating behind her as white as the long skirt she was wearing. A red coat was draped over her shoulders. The door opened, and she jumped in.
“Chase,” she gasped, breathless from the run. It had been all of forty yards, her fitness was pathetic. “About time.”
“I can’t stay,” I said, surprising myself with my words. Only a few minutes ago I’d been texting her about how much I wanted to see her.
“What? Why not?” She was still panting.
“I just...can’t,” I said, and in one glance of her overly made up face, the long, fake eyelashes, the purply glittery stuff above her eyes, and the shiny sticky gunk on her lips, I felt a wave of disappointment. In myself.
Savannah was one of the coolest girls at school, and to not like her would be mad. Pretty, popular, pretty...I already said that, didn’t I? Truth is, I wasn’t sure why I wanted to be Savannah’s next boyfriend. Only that I did.
“You should come in. Your parents don’t have to know,” she said, leaning towards me with a giggle.
“I shouldn’t,” I said. Her musky perfume was cloying and heavy, the scent suffocating me.
“Hey, come on.” She reached out to my cheek, wiping it as if I had a crumb stuck there. I hoped I hadn’t. I mean, I hoped that volunteer girl hadn’t seen me with food on my face.
“My parents have the clock on me,” I said, fishing my phone out of my pocket. They were at some community function, so it was doubtful that they did.
“Your parents don’t have to know,” Savannah said again, her finger teasing along the smooth skin on my chin. She moistened her lips together and gave me a flirty smile. Then she leaned in close and kissed me. Okay, our lips were joined, skin on skin, but nothing was happening for me. I should’ve been feeling something, some excitement, a spark, a fire...but, zero. The moment was so uncharacteristic. I was known for my ability to charm the girls, and here I was kissing one of the most popular girls in school, yet I pulled away.
Savannah’s eyes darted around. “What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing her top lip down. It made her face unattractive.
“Uh, I don’t wanna get grounded till next Christmas,” I said, casually wiping my sleeve across my mouth. There was a strange taste on my lips, something I couldn’t identify, but I didn’t like it.
“Heeyyyyy,” she drawled, her finger nudging my face back in her direction. “I told you your parents don’t have to find out.”
I sat back, my head falling against the seat. I wasn’t sure what was going on, I mean Savannah Adlam was sitting next to me, her lips all pouty, and I wasn’t feeling a thing. If anything, I was awash with guilt knowing I’d taken off and left the volunteer girl to unravel the abominable mess of lights. And why couldn’t I forget her big round eyes? Or the misty-eyed look from May Taylor, and how she’d been so disappointed in me.
What a time for my conscience to awaken.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be the mayor’s son,” I said. “If I put a foot wrong, some upstanding citizen is bound to tell Dad. I mean, someone in this street is probably dialing his number right now.” It was a little far-fetched, but Savannah sucked in a breath and huffed it out in annoyance.
“Uh, I’ll walk you back to the party,” I said, hopping out before she could protest.
Savannah sat there until I walked around, and I held her hand as she jumped out of the truck. You’d have thought I was assisting her down a ten foot drop.
“It sure is cold,” she said, shivering in her flimsy dress. I don’t know why she didn’t put her coat on instead of letting it hang over her shoulders. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Nah,” I said. I had on several layers plus my jacket, but she visibly shuddered, so I pulled her along, making her walk fast to keep up. There was still no connection, not even a little. It’s like I’d turned into stone. Or hungry. That must be it; I hadn’t eaten anything since school.
We made it to Blanche’s h
ouse, all lit up and decorated to the hilt. The music was thumping, yet I wasn’t tempted. “Well, have a great night. And Merry Christmas.”
And I let go of her hand, not the least bit inclined to linger and feel the warmth of her skin. Savannah reached for me at the same time that she held her phone up for a selfie.
“Just one photo, Chase,” she said, already angling her neck and pursing her lips. Before I could react, she’d snapped a picture of her kissing my cheek.
“Don’t share that,” I said, a sudden thought that it was evidence that would condemn me for eternity.
“It’s just for me.” She smiled sweetly, gazing up as if she wanted to kiss again. I drew back sharply, somewhat mystified that I was rejecting her. Keen to get away, I jogged back to my truck.
Nene’s car was in the driveway, reminding me that she was babysitting. I went barging into the kitchen full of hope—my stomach was now rumbling, and Nene’s cooking was the best.
“No! No! Get out!” My seven year old twin sisters yelled at me as I stood in the doorway. “Go away Chase!” There was a flurry of covering things on the counter top. The intoxicating smell of sweet spices and baked goods permeated the air.
My grandma came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Hi honey,” she said, pushing me towards the door. “Have you finished your volunteering already?”
That was good, that meant no one would know I’d dropped by the party. “Yeah, I only had to decorate a tree,” I said.
“Good boy,” she said, guiding me into the living room. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. What are the girls up to?”
“Something special,” she teased, patting my shoulder. “Now you stay in here and I’ll bring you your dinner.”
“Thanks.” I picked up the remote and turned on the tv, putting up the footrest on the couch and lounging back. I flicked through the channels.
