by John Paulits
“I go to bed when I want,” Francis reported. He pointed at the TV. “I want to see it again.” He looked at Philip. “Hey, do you have a DVD player?”
Philip slid next to his friend and whispered, “Lend me it, Emery, or he’ll be looking around for my stuff.”
Emery understood the situation. “Make sure he doesn’t break it.”
“I don’t break things I like,” said Francis.
“Here are your coats, boys,” said Mrs. Wyatt. “Maybe you can watch it again tomorrow, Francis.”
“I’ll watch it tonight,” Francis informed her. As he walked down the snowy sidewalk with Philip and Mr. Wyatt, he asked, “Why do you have a DVD player if there’s nothing to play on it?”
“It’s not mine, okay?” Philip answered gruffly. “It’s my parents’, okay?”
Francis merely stared ahead and kept walking.
Once inside, Philip’s mother hung up their coats and said, “I think it’s time for bed, don’t you, Francis?”
“No, I don’t. You can go. I stay up till I want.” He pointed at the TV and held up Pinocchio. “I might go to bed after I watch my movie.”
A lost look swept across Mrs. Felton’s face. “Are you watching it, too, Philip? I don’t want Francis up by himself.”
Francis looked coldly at Mrs. Felton, who gave a nervous chuckle.
“I’d worry about you being lonely,” she said.
Philip stepped in. “We watched it at Emery’s house. Why do you want to see it again?”
Francis banged his flat hand on the sofa. “Sit and watch with me. I don’t want to be lonely.”
Philip looked up at his mother in desperation.
“See. Keep your cousin company,” said Philip’s mother.
“Aw, Mom . . .”
This time, Mrs. Felton spoke one word. “Philip.”
Philip threw himself onto the sofa and got set for another viewing of Pinocchio. By the time Monstro swallowed Pinocchio and reunited him with Geppetto, though, Francis had fallen asleep. Mr. Felton gently carried him to the spare bedroom and put him into bed without even bothering to take his clothes off. Their first day with Francis was over.
~ * ~
Philip was awakened next morning by a scream. He opened his eyes and for a moment thought he’d been dreaming, but the scream came again. He rolled out of bed and ran down the stairs in his pajamas. He paused on the last step. His parents stood in the living room, his mother with one hand up to her mouth; his father wearing a weary scowl. Francis sat on the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest, a defiant look on his face. Spread out across the floor lay the wrapping paper from every one of his Christmas presents. Mixed into the wrapping paper mess were the tops of some of the boxes the presents had come in.
Looking more closely, Philip saw packs of underwear, socks, a couple of shirts, a pair of sneakers, two packages of pencils, a small box of crayons, what looked like a coloring book, and a few hardcover books.
“What did you do, Francis?” Mrs. Felton asked.
“Opened my presents,” Francis snapped in reply.
“But it’s not Christmas yet,” Mrs. Felton explained.
“It never is,” said Francis.
Philip’s mother had no response.
Francis slid off the sofa and walked into the pile of Christmas debris. “Look at this,” he cried. He dropped to his knees and started throwing packs of socks and shirts and underwear over this shoulder. “Look at this stuff. You call this Christmas stuff? I always get this junk. I never get good stuff.”
Philip’s mother tried to pacify him. “I see crayons and a coloring book. They’re fun.”
“They’re fun if you’re four years old. I’m not four years old. Look, look at this. Look, look.” He tossed the package of pencils over this shoulder. “School stuff. I don’t want school stuff for Christmas. I want good stuff.”
Philip’s dad took a few steps and picked up two books from under the scattered wrapping paper. “Here are some nice books,” he said. “This is good stuff. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.”
“They’re not good for me. Look inside them. I’m in second grade. I can’t read those stupid things.”
“Oh,” Mr. Felton breathed softly. “I guess maybe they are a little advanced for you.”
“You can read them if you want,” said Francis. “You can keep them if you want.” He got up and went back to the sofa.
Philip stepped into the living room. “Oh, Philip, thank goodness you’re here,” said his mother. “Help your father pick up this wrapping paper. I’ll make breakfast. And the schools are closed, Philip, so I didn’t wake you up. They announced it last night after you went to bed.”
Philip watched his mother trudge from the room. He and his father wadded up the wrapping paper and shoved it into a trash bag his father brought from the kitchen. Mr. Felton put the gifts back into boxes and shoved them under the tree and then took the loaded trash bag into the kitchen. Philip knew his father wouldn’t be back. He’d be on his own with Francis.
Francis no longer had his arms crossed, but he had his usual glare aimed at Philip, who knew Francis was dying for him to say something he didn’t like. Philip thought a moment and then said, “I see what you mean. About not getting good stuff.”
“Same last Christmas and my birthday.”
“They only give you stuff you need.”
“I need stuff to play with, not to wear. I need good stuff, not school stuff.”
Philip went to the window. Only the tiniest bit of snow fell. The storm was ending.
Philip’s mother’s voice came from the kitchen. “Philip.”
“Be right back,” said Philip. His mother and father sat at the kitchen table.
“Well, what do you have planned with Francis today?” his mother asked.
“Planned! Me! Today! I don’t know. Nothing. Why me?”
“You have to keep him occupied for the next couple days so he doesn’t tear the house down,” his mother answered. She turned to her husband. “Honey?”
“Well, let me think. The mall. The stores are decorated. He might like seeing the decorations. We could take him there and walk his legs off. Make him tired.”
“Keep him away from the Christmas trees in the mall, Dad. I think they hung candy canes on them,” said Philip.
“Good point. We’ll stay near him, keep him in view. Get Emery. Six eyes are better than four. How about breakfast, sweetie? Philip, go back to the living room. We don’t want to leave Francis alone too long.”
Mrs. Felton rose and went to the refrigerator. Philip’s dad shooed his hands toward Philip, so he rose and returned to Francis.
“Francis, we’re going to the mall to see all the decorations. You’ll like it. Let’s go get dressed. My mom’s making breakfast.”
Francis found nothing to argue about, so he rose from the sofa and followed Philip upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, they were eating breakfast while Mrs. Felton explained to her husband why driving through the snow to the mall would be no problem. No problem at all.
Chapter Six
The snow had stopped by the time Philip, his dad, Francis, and Emery piled into the family car.
Philip heard his father mumbling to himself. “Me and my bright ideas.” Louder, his father asked, “Everybody buckled up, in case we start sliding and end up in New Jersey?”
Emery, sitting in front, looked at Mr. Felton. “Are we going to New Jersey? New Jersey has a mall?”
“No, Emery. Our mall is a few blocks away. Sit back.”
Mr. Felton drove slowly and carefully over the snowy streets. Some parking spots had already been cleared of snow in the mall’s parking lot. Mr. Felton parked, and everyone climbed out.
When they opened the door to the main entrance of the mall, Christmas music greeted them; “Jingle Bells” at the moment. The wide, main aisle of the mall had a row of artificial Christmas trees down its center, decorated in the colors of the rainbow.
Mr. Felton looked at Francis. “If you want any candy canes, let me know. I’ll buy them for you.”
Francis frowned. “Jeez, you take one candy cane . . .”
“Why don’t you guys go and explore?” Mr. Felton suggested.
“Where are you going, Dad?” Philip blurted anxiously. He and Emery peeked at one another. Alone with Francis.
“I’ll look around and see if there’s something I can get for your mother for Christmas.”
“You didn’t buy her a present yet?” Philip asked. “Yes, you did.”
“Can’t I get her two? Okay with you? Take Francis and show him all the Christmas stuff. You have your mother’s cell phone. I’ll call you in an hour, and we’ll meet right here. You call me if you run into any problem. Now, scoot.”
Reluctantly, Philip and Emery led Francis down the mall aisle.
“Don’t touch anything, Francis,” Philip warned.
“You can’t boss me.”
“I’m not bossing you. I’m telling you.”
“Telling is bossing.”
Philip sighed. “Where’ll we go?” he asked Emery.
“They have the train ride,” Emery replied. At the far end of the mall in front of a toy store, a brightly colored, oversized train with three cars rode on a small oval track around a forest of gigantic candy canes and a stack of gigantic Christmas presents wrapped in shiny red and blue and yellow paper, all topped with big, fancy bows matching the paper. Six children could ride in each car of the train.
“Yeah! You’ll like it, Francis. Let’s go.”
The three boys walked along the aisle, stopping once in a while to inspect a Christmas tree.
“There’s nothing in those boxes, you know,” said Francis, referring to the smaller presents under the trees.
“I know,” said Philip. “It’s decoration.”
“I’d rather get those boxes than the boxes of junk I get at Christmas.”
“Keep walking,” said Philip.
“Don’t boss me,” Francis mumbled.
When they reached the train, the line of children waiting to board wasn’t too long.
“Get in line,” said Philip. “Oh, and Francis, those giant candy canes are fake.”
“I know they’re fake. I’m not stupid, you know. And why don’t you get in line?” Francis snapped.
“This ride’s for little kids,” said Emery.
Philip threw him an angry look.
“Little kids?” said Francis. “What do you think you are? I don’t want to go on any baby rides.”
The train stopped, and the children got off. Philip saw the girl at the gate give each child a mini-candy cane as the child exited.
Philip pointed. “Go on. See, they give you a candy cane when you get off.”
Francis studied the situation thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll go if you two go, but you have to give me your candy canes when we get off.”
Emery frowned. “I like candy canes, too.”
“Emery,” Philip snapped. “We’ll ride.” The boys got into line to wait their turn, and one trip later, they boarded the train. They got into the same car and rode the oval four times in silence.
“Having fun, Francis?” Emery asked.
“No, are you?”
“Well, not really.”
“Emery!” said Philip. “Yeah, we’re having fun, Francis.”
Francis rolled his eyes and turned away.
The train stopped, and everyone climbed out and got their candy canes. “Hand them over,” said Francis.
The boys gave their candy canes to Francis, Emery with great reluctance. Francis ripped the paper off one of them, broke the tiny candy cane in two, and stuffed both pieces into mouth.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“There aren’t any more rides,” said Emery.
“Want to look around in the toy store?” asked Philip.
“I don’t care,” said Francis, sucking loudly on his candy cane pieces.
Philip hoped the toy store would keep Francis’s mind off other things until his father was ready to go home, so he led the way into Kids’ Wonderland Toys. The store had toys, stuffed animals, games, all kinds of things displayed on tables, wall shelves, even the floor. A silver Christmas tree decorated with red and green balls lit by a spinning red and green light stood near the back wall. On both sides of the tree, another assortment of over-sized, fake presents rose up like a gigantic stairway to the ceiling. Emery saw something he liked and pulled Philip to the left. It didn’t take more than a minute for screaming to begin.
Philip’s stomach plummeted. “You look, Emery,” Philip said. “Tell me it’s not Francis.” Philip waited for Emery to reply. Emery looked at him, but said nothing.
“Well?” Philip demanded.
Emery shrugged. “I can’t tell you it’s not Francis.”
“Because it is Francis?”
“Because it is Francis.”
Philip moaned and made a slow about-face. There sat Francis at the very top of the pile of fake presents. A man wearing a Santa Claus tie and a short-sleeved red shirt waved his arm at the boy.
“Come down here, young man,” he shouted. “Get down from there. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Somehow Francis had scaled the pyramid of presents like a mountain goat and now sat on the top cube, legs dangling, unwrapping another small candy cane.
“No, I won’t,” Francis said with certainty. He let go of the candy cane paper and watched it floated down until it fell at the feet of the man with the Santa Claus tie. A younger man in a short-sleeved white shirt and Santa hat moved next to him.
“Shall I call security, Mr. Wackers?” the younger man asked.
“No, no. Not yet, Bascomb.” He looked up at Francis again. “Son, come down here.”
“I’m not your son,” Francis called down to him.
“Thank goodness for that,” the man mumbled.
“I’ll go up and get him,” said Bascomb.
“No, the boxes won’t hold you, and we’d have a new catastrophe on our hands.” His eyes rose to Francis. “Come down, please, little boy.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m not done yet.”
“Not done? Not done what? What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah, and I’m not finished.”
“Sir,” Bascomb said, “it could take him a long time to finish doing nothing.”
Mr. Wackers scowled. “I’ll have to call your parents if you don’t come right down.”
“They’re not here. They flew someplace.”
“Well, who are you here with?”
Philip’s stomach dropped when Francis pointed toward him.
“Those two people.”
Everyone who had gathered turned toward to look at Philip and Emery.
Mr. Wackers said, “Who’s responsible for this boy?”
Philip slowly raised his hand.
“What? You?”
“And him,” Philip said, slinging a thumb at Emery.
“Two boys?”
Philip looked at the floor.
“If he’s your responsibility, then you tell him to come down,” Mr. Wackers demanded.
“He won’t listen to anybody,” Philip explained.
“Tell him anyway.”
“Francis come on down here,” Philip called.
“No. You come up here.”
Philip spread his hands in Mr. Wackers direction. “See?”
Mr. Wackers stared up at Francis. “You come down now, or I’ll call the police.”
“I don’t care.”
Emery whispered into Philip’s ear. Philip tapped the man’s arm. “Mister,” he said softly. “Tell him you’ll give him candy canes if he comes down. He really likes candy canes.”
“I’ll try anything,” the man said. “Boy.”
“Francis,” Philip whispered to Mr. Wackers.
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“Francis, come down, and I’ll give you a candy cane.”
Francis took the small candy cane out of his mouth and held up the other. “Only one? I already have two.”
Excitedly, the man answered, “No, I’ll give you a whole box.”
“Two boxes,” said Francis.
“Okay, two boxes.”
“Big ones, not these little ones.”
“Okay, okay. Big ones.”
“Show me them.”
Mr. Wackers shooed Bascomb away, and a moment he later took the two boxes of candy canes from Bascomb and showed them to Francis.
“I get them all?” Francis asked, sweeping his hand across the sky.
“Yes, now please come down.”
“Okay.” Francis hopped onto the next lower box and then the next, the next, the next, and finally the floor.
He walked up to Mr. Wackers and extended his hand. “Give me them.”
Mr. Wackers handed over the candy canes.
Francis gestured toward Philip. “Come on.” Francis walked out of the store, a box of candy canes under each arm.
Philip threw a quick “I’m sorry,” in Mr. Wackers’ direction before grabbing Emery’s arm and hurrying him out of the store behind Francis.
Chapter Seven
Philip called to Francis to stop. “Why’d you climb all the way to the top of the presents? You almost got us in trouble.”
“I wanted a rest,” said Francis.
“A rest!” Emery cried. “More like get arrested. Why didn’t you sit on the floor if you were tired? The man said he’d call the police.”
“Pfft,” hissed Francis. “Grownups always say stuff like that. And I wasn’t tired.”
“You said you needed a rest,” said Emery.
“So? I needed a rest, but I wasn’t tired.”
Emery scratched his head and looked at Philip, who merely shrugged.
Francis looked up at the second floor of the mall. “Where are we going now? What’s up there?”
“More stores, of course,” Philip snapped. “Let’s go up the escalator. Maybe you’ll find something you like up there, Francis. Why didn’t you just walk around the store and look at the toys?”
