by Tif Marcelo
7pm
You better not go MIA
I groan again.
“What’s up with you?” Teddy asks, suddenly in front of me.
I startle. Goodness. He’s inches away. And he smells good, like fresh laundry and mint. Mentally, I clamp down my sense of smell. “Nothing.”
“You ready for me to open?”
“I said I was ready.”
He sticks out a hand. I stare at it.
“The key?”
“Right. The key.” I slap the silver ring into his palm.
“Thanks.” Grinning, he walks away.
Carm: How’s the first day with Teddy?
A grunting sound pulls my attention. Teddy is hanging from the door frame, using just the tips of his fingers. He pulls himself up so his elbows bend to almost ninety degrees. Then he casually lets go and unlocks and flips on the automatic doors.
I look around to see if anyone else witnessed that feat of strength and ridiculousness. Who does that? And why??
Lila: I might need sugar after our crafting
Carm: Ooo, because he’s so sweet?
Lila: Because I need all energy to deal with him
More dots indicate that Carm is responding, but at the sound of the doors sliding open and the footsteps of customers entering, I stick my phone back under the counter.
One thing at a time.
* * *
Four hours later, and still on the register, my energy drags. My life force is drained from dealing with Teddy.
No, we can’t wait until the end of the day to return all of the go-backs.
Yes, we must greet every customer that walks in.
Yes, even when they’re browsing.
No, heading into town for lunch probably isn’t a good idea because you won’t get back in time.
Fine, you can have half my sandwich.
To Teddy’s benefit, having three younger siblings has trained me in all the ways. I’m somewhat patient when Teddy suggests rearranging the stockroom, because he couldn’t find the candy cane magnets. I practice self-control when he comments that the register area is too cluttered. And when he tells a toddler that it’s all right to “test” the music boxes by winding them all up and letting them play simultaneously (we have eight different varieties), I dial into my restraint.
Teddy is lucky that my exterior exudes calm, even if my insides are on hyperdrive, like a disgruntled elf on Christmas Eve.
A phone alarm sounds through the store, grabbing the attention of customers nearby, and from the corner I hear, “Yessssss.”
Please tell me that he hasn’t had his phone on him this whole time, I think. And tell me he didn’t turn on his alarm to signal the end of his shift.
Sure enough, Teddy appears at the registers, carrying a box of stuffed animals, a grin plastered on his face. It would be adorable if he wasn’t so frustrating. “Quitting time.”
“Technically, you can’t leave the store until your replacement gets here.” Although, relief courses through me because shift number one with Teddy is dunzo.
“Hi! I’m here!” Shana, another gift shop employee, enters in a rush. She pulls her locs over a Bookworm Inn visor.
“Sweet. I’m off to clock out.” Teddy holds out the box of products. “Once I drop these off in the stockroom, of course.”
“Sounds good to me,” I mumble. Good riddance. Shana is a whiz in the gift shop, and with her at the register, perhaps I can get a couple of minutes in my library. The last of the tours have come through, and at least two bags of donated books were dropped off today.
Teddy weaves through the aisles, whistling, and as he passes the sunglasses display, his phone thumps out of his back pocket.
“You dropped your phone,” I call out.
“Can you grab it for me?” he asks, readjusting his grip on the box.
“I can, but do I want to?” I whisper. Except seeing that phone on the ground as a couple of customers enter the shop makes me nervous. “I’ll put it under the counter!” I yell.
“Whatever!”
Jeesh.
How does that happen? How does Ms. Velasco, who is very much like my mother, and therefore much like me, have a nephew who’s so…whatever?
I bend down and pick up the phone; it’s protected in a black Smashbox cover, like mine. There isn’t a day without a spill or a drop or someone stealing my phone in the Santos family, and Smashboxes are the best on the market. Of all the colors, the black cover is always on sale.
I stick his phone under the counter with mine.
A group of ladies passes our large wall of windows, all wearing the same teal shirt, with Holiday by the Lake’s most famous quote scrawled across it: ALL I HAVE IS MY WORD, AND LOVE. They have matching hair accessories, too: shiny pink bows tied on top of their heads.
But that’s not what startles me. Many a girls’ trip have come through these doors, the Inn a crucial part of their pilgrimage. It’s the sheer amount of bodies. Five, six, eight, twelve…
“Big group!” Shana yells as she peers through the window. “A bus! Yikes. Two buses!”
Teddy grunts a complaint from the back, but moments later he appears, exasperation and complaint written on his face at my impending question.
“Stay?” I raise a hand before he can comment. “I know, and I’m sorry. These tour companies usually call before they arrive.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t? Look, you can’t bail right now. You can text Ms. Velasco, but until she gets here, we’re going to be outnumbered.” I bite my cheek to keep the rest of my thoughts at bay, aware of the customers entering the shop.
Finally, he answers with a hint of an eye roll. “Fine. But I’m not greeting them.”
“That’s okay with me.” I scramble to the door and face the avalanche of teal and giggles.
Turns out, the Inn is bombarded, too, leaving Shana, Teddy, and me to work the crowd until there are only five customers left in the store.
Teddy’s impatience is on display throughout the deluge. He sighs so loudly that I hear him above the roar of the crowd. His fingers drum against the counter in between each customer, and when one older lady who bought the replica straw hat Estelle wore during the film counted out quarters for payment, Teddy all but started to melt into a whimpering puddle like Frosty on a warm, sunny day.
As soon as he dumps the quarters into the till, I approach the counter. “Just go.”
“You sure?”
“Absofreakinglutely.”
A grin splits his face, like he didn’t just spend the last ten minutes sulking. “Later.” He slips a hand under the counter and grabs his phone, then heads to the back. As he passes Shana and enters the doorway that leads to the hallway, he leaps to grab the door frame, his fingers on either side, and just hangs there. Then he lifts his knees up to his chest. Another pull-up.
Shana jumps back and flashes me a shocked expression. “What the—”
I shrug. I don’t even know what to say.
While my favorite place inside the Bookworm Inn is my library, my beloved outdoor spot is its east side covered patio area that overlooks Otisco Lake and the famous pier where Leo proposes to Estelle. Its location is away from the parking lot, out of view of customers, and far enough away from the cabins, which means it’s quiet and serene. It’s the perfect place to take my breaks, where it can be just me and the book I’m reading.
I plop down on the Adirondack chair, my jacket puffing up to cover my chin, and pull my next book out of my jacket pocket. It’s the first book in the mass market Hanukkah Hijinks cozy mystery series, called Menorah Mayhem, which I found in the free library pile. There aren’t enough non-Christmas holiday books in circulation, and anticipation rushes through me at the prospect of read
ing a Hanukkah tale. I dig into the first page, and then the second, the third, and more, and the rest of the day fizzles away.
My phone buzzes several times in my pocket. It tears me from the story—I’m at page twenty-three and, good thing, at a scene break.
But when I flip my phone over to check the text notifications, I notice that the lock screen photo isn’t of a pile of books but of mountains. A moment later, more texts fly in—I don’t recognize the names.
Hugh: V7, baby!
Penn: Yo the way you matched your hands is absolutely heinous
Hugh: Yeah man just piano match and crank with your left
Will: And yeah that drop knee is absolutely ridiculous
Cece: That route’s spicy
Penn: That move is just heavy tension bro. You’ve got to core in and pray
Some of the words on the screen are broken up from the cracks that mark the glass.
My screen’s broken.
“No way, no way.” I’m always so, so careful with my things. This phone has to last me until I leave for school. As I sit up, irritation races up my spine. How did I switch my photo, break the screen, and mistakenly end up in a random group chat?
As a snowflake lands on the screen, I wipe it away, smearing water onto the glass and…Oh my gosh…“Where’s my screen protector? What the H. E. double candy canes is going on?”
The phone buzzes in my hand with an incoming call, and I fumble it in surprise, dropping it onto my lap. The number that appears on the screen is familiar, though there’s no photo assigned to it.
“Wait.” I read the number again, aloud. “Two one four, six eight five, one one one…”
It’s my phone number. What?
My thumb presses the green button instinctively, and my hand brings it to my ear. “Hello?”
“You have my phone.”
It’s an alien from the other world. I’ve been dropped into a scene where aliens take over the phones of…
“Lila,” the voice says. “It’s Teddy.”
“Teddy?” My brain recalibrates. I pull the phone from my ear. Reread the phone number. Slowly, the facts come together.
“Oh my God, I have your phone,” I say. “This isn’t a plot to take over the world.”
“What?” He laughs.
“N-nothing. I mean, I was confused, seeing the notifications.”
“You read my notifications?”
“I couldn’t help it! And…” The truth dawns on me. “You’re calling me from my phone.”
“I thought it would be faster than going all the way back to the Inn. And oh my God, why do you have a password with all ones? I took a chance, and it worked.”
“It’s for my brothers, since I let them use my phone.” And because I hate passwords. Note to self: create a tougher one. I shake my head at my thoughts, which are going down the wrong chimney. “Wait. I’m confused.”
“I took your phone, Lila. Accidentally. And I can’t bring it back right this second. Can we meet later on tonight? Around midnight?”
“Midnight?”
“Yeah, I’m—”
“I can’t meet at midnight. I’ll be asleep by then.”
“I can’t do earlier. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? That’s too far away. And I’ve got school.”
“I don’t mind meeting you early.”
“Why is this so complicated?” What does he have to do that’s so important that we can’t exchange our phones until tomorrow??
From his side of the world, someone yelps. The phone muffles, and Teddy mumbles something, sounding far away.
“Hello?” I call out. “I’m still here.”
“Yeah, okay. Sorry. Meet me at the Scrooge’s Shack for breakfast. How early can you get there?”
“I mean…” I raise my fingers to my forehead, thinking of my schedule. “Seven, I guess?”
“Seven, then. See you—”
Now, thinking of his notifications, mine must be flashing on my screen too. From Carm or KC or geez, Irene, and maybe even my TnT blog notifications. No! I heave a breath to calm myself. There are character limits to notifications, and my blog notifications look so much like email ones. And since it’s been a few days since I posted, none might come in while he has my phone. “Just don’t snoop through my phone, and please, please take care of it, okay?”
“Yep.” He clicks off. Without a goodbye.
But that’s not what catches my attention. It’s all the texts that continue to flow through this group chat.
Will: Where are you T?
Cece: He’s probably at that new job. Can’t believe you ditched us for Holly.
Will: Not sure how you’re going to manage new job and the thing we’re not supposed to talk about
Penn: T don’t take the L
Cece: Stay focused. You worked too hard
Will: We also need updates on the nemesis
Penn: Don’t piss her off you might need her
My eyes glom on to that message.
Nemesis. Is this text about me?
And what’s “the thing we’re not supposed to talk about”?
Here’s what I know for sure: Teddy has a secret, one that could potentially affect work. Something simmers inside of me, like anger and vindication. He took my hours at the Inn, and for what? So he could be doing whatever he’s doing?
My face burns. This is wrong, me reading his notifications, but it’s not my fault, is it? They’re just showing up in front of me. At least I didn’t hack into his phone, like Teddy did to mine.
Behind me, the door opens, followed by Ms. Velasco’s throaty laugh. “Lila! I know you’re on your break, but I’ve got a customer here who wants a tour of your library.”
I slip the phone into my pocket and stand, feeling equally relieved and guilty at the interruption. “Um, sure! I’m happy to give a tour.”
As I head back to the Inn and go into my memorized tour, showing a white-haired older woman all the hard work I’ve done building this library, all I can think of are Teddy’s texts.
If I’m the nemesis, what problem does he have with me? And what is he hiding?
* * *
“If you need help or have any problems, simply raise your hand,” says Mrs. Delaney, who’s dressed in an impeccable Mrs. Claus outfit, complete with artificial white hair and rosy cheeks. We’re at our ornament-making class, which is the first item on our Mission: Holly bucket list that we’ve managed to attempt—mostly because I’ve been working at the Inn all the time, as Carm keeps reminding me. As Mrs. Delaney speaks, I try to take in her tips on how to decorate the inside of a clear glass Christmas ball above the chatter in the packed log cabin.
Yet, despite her sincere enthusiasm—her job as a kindergarten teacher at Holly Elementary is at full display—I’m still confused. Why did I pay so much money for a fifty-cent glass ball, with instructions that leave so much room for interpretation? How this ornament-making event ended up ranking six on the list of things to do in Holly, I have no idea.
I raise my hand. Next to me, Carm sighs, and KC bites his lip to keep a laugh from escaping, but I forge on.
“Yes, Lila?” asks Mrs. Delaney.
“If I dribble the acrylic paint inside, won’t the colors just mix together and turn brown?”
“Not if you go slow, dear. And try dripping it against the inside of the actual glass.”
“And won’t the glitter just clump up?”
“If you sprinkle it around, like this”—she does this with a flourish to demonstrate, all in a soprano tone—“you’ll do just fine.”
I raise my hand for another question, but Mrs. Delaney turns ever so slightly and takes someone else’s question.
“We know what you need, Lila,” KC whispers, loud enough for the table to hear. “A
checklist.”
“Har-har. Just because you and Carm are so artistic and I’m not. I’ve never decorated inside an ornament, only the outside. I need directions to a destination.”
“What I really want is the star glitter. Did you see that being passed around?” Carm glances at the table behind us, at a family wearing matching hoodies that say MEET ME AT HOLLY.
“We can’t just take someone else’s glitter,” I say.
“Why not?” A grin escapes her lips. Then she stands and meanders between the small square tables. “Got it.” Carm sits, plopping the bottle of star glitter on the table.
“I like how you work,” KC says.
“Same,” Carm says. “Why haven’t we hung out before?”
“Because high school,” KC says.
Our conversation quiets with that thought. We attended preschool to senior year together, but it’s only in the last year of working at the Inn that I got to know KC. It’s weird to think that, even in our tiny town, there are still people to know and things to do. Like create ornaments.
I settle into my chair, then squeeze paint into my Christmas ball. From the get-go, it’s a mess. The paint glops to the bottom of the ball with a large splat. “Son of a snowman,” I mutter.
The table erupts into giggles. Meanwhile, my friends treat their project like they’re Santa’s elves themselves, handcrafting every toy for every good girl and boy with artistic magic. Soon, we settle into banter and teasing (I overanalyze every step, KC has hogged all the silver paint, and Carm has “borrowed” two other tables’ star glitter) as we craft, and everything is right in the world. The money I spent becomes a distant memory, because this moment is priceless.
“Thank you for reminding me about Mission: Holly,” I say, holding up my ornament. “Even if my ball is fugly.”
“It’s not fugly. It’s…,” KC starts. “Interesting,” he says as Carm chimes in with, “Full of personality.”
They crack up.
“Uh-huh.” I roll my eyes. Though inside, I feel lighter than marshmallows in hot chocolate.
