Any Boy but You (North Pole, Minnesota)

by Julie Hammerle

  “We skied?” Oliver shrugged, leaving his shoulders up by his ears a few beats too long.

  “You skied?”

  “Yup.”

  “You?” She placed her cup next to the cash register.

  Oliver nodded, sweating under the store lights.

  “You can’t ski,” his mom said, banging her hands on the counter.

  “I brought my computer.” Oliver raised his hands above his head. “I didn’t want to go on the stupid trip, but Regina made me, and I sat in the lobby all week working on the app for the store. There.” He wiped his brow.

  Releasing Oliver like a witness she’d just put through the ringer, Mrs. Prince turned to her husband. “I trusted you to handle this.”

  “I’m handling it,” said Trip, hangdog eyes on Oliver, who squirmed under his dad’s gaze. He’d accidently made his dad look bad, something he’d been expressly asked not to do while his mom was in town. “This full-time parenting thing is new to me. I wasn’t around as much in Florida with all the stores—”

  “Now you have one store, Trip. One.” She held up her index finger. “You sold the sandwich place, the burger joint, and the two chicken shacks. You’ve got more money than you know what to do with, and you have only this store to worry about.”

  “And two teenagers,” said Trip. “This is why we need you here, Jenny.”

  “Dad’s doing a great job, Mom,” Oliver said.

  His dad winked at him, and Oliver nodded in return. Sure, his dad hadn’t made them a home-cooked meal in months, and sure, if Oliver and Regina wanted clean laundry, they had to take care of it themselves, but Oliver would never let his mom know that. He and his dad were allies. And besides, Oliver and his sister were practically adults anyway. They should be learning how to fend for themselves.

  Shaking her head, Oliver’s mom strolled to the window. She gazed outside for a moment, then turned around. “It’s like back in Florida.”

  “It’s nothing like Florida,” joked Trip. “Have you been outside? It’s negative ten degrees out.”

  Oliver chuckled. North Pole in January couldn’t be more different than Orlando if it tried.

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t do everything, Trip. I just made partner. It’s my turn to focus on my career.”

  “I know.” He stepped toward her, and she took a step back. Oliver averted his eyes. In Florida, they’d always fight in private. But here they’d shown no qualms about airing their grievances in front of their kids. Yet another way North Pole was different.

  “When we made this agreement—that you would sell the stores in Florida and take over your dad’s shop here—you said you’d handle the stuff with the kids. You insisted that you’d have time to make sure Regina stayed out of trouble and that Oliver would keep his grades up, while branching out and making friends.”

  “Well, Regina has stayed out of trouble,” said Trip. “Oliver’s grades are fine, and he’s hanging out with the coffee kid.”

  “Dad’s right,” Oliver said. “Regina’s doing really well, and so am I.”

  His mom said, “No, you’re not. Every time I’m in town, all you do is lock yourself in your bedroom or the office to play video games or work on that stupid app.”

  “It’s not stupid,” Oliver said.

  “Maybe you’re just here on the wrong weekends,” Trip said. “Maybe if you were around more—”

  Jenny Prince cocked her jaw for a moment, then, with her eyes on Oliver, said, “I want to see you expanding your horizons. Just a little. I’m not asking for much.” She pointed to the window and Oliver followed her finger. Elena Chestnut was across the street, locking the door of her parents’ store. “Get to know some people. Go out on a date. There’s a cute girl right across the street.”

  Oliver chuckled. “That’s not a cute girl. That’s Elena Chestnut.” The Chestnuts were the enemy. The Chestnut-Prince feud was legendary in North Pole, and Oliver’s dad took it very seriously. The feud was the sort of thing that never came up in polite conversation around his parents and grandparents, and it had been enough to keep Oliver’s dad away from North Pole for twenty years. His dad’s sister, Aunt Becky, had brought it up once about ten years ago, but she’d been shut down swiftly and never invited to Thanksgiving again. Trip Prince did not half-ass his crusade against the Chestnut family, and neither did Oliver.

  His mom shook her head. “You ‘hate’ the Chestnuts.” She put “hate” in air-quotes. “You barely tolerate this town. Why did you even want to come back here, Trip?”

  Oliver stared at the closed office door, willing it to open and for his sister to rush out and save the day, or at least to unlock the door and let him in.

  “You know why,” Trip said, not taking the bait.

  Oliver’s mom moved her hand like a mouth, imitating Trip. “‘My dad died and I owed it to him to keep the store going.’ Baloney. I know why you’re here.”

  “Not now, Jenny,” Trip muttered.

  “He’s here to defend his family’s honor,” said Oliver, repeating the party line. Trip leaned over and gave Oliver a high five.

  “Sic semper Chesnuts,” they said in unison. It was their anti-Chestnut rallying cry. In every bedtime story Trip told Oliver as a kid, there was always a monster named “Chestnut.”

  Regina opened the office door—too little, too late. Their parents had already stopped bickering. She triumphantly held up a large book. “Look what I found!” She opened it and started flipping through.

  “You were supposed to be working in there.” Oliver marched toward the office. “Do I have to do everything?”

  “I was working, Oliver.” Regina stopped on a specific page in the photo album and said, “But I also found this. You have to see Dad.”

  But before Regina could show her family the picture and before Oliver could sneak away, Trip Prince—whose face had gone completely white—yanked the book from his daughter’s hands and quickly shut himself and the album inside the office.

  “I was going to work in there.” Oliver glared at the closed door.

  “I guess you’ll have to do something else instead.” His mom wrapped a long, red scarf around her neck. “I’m heading back to the house. You should come, too. Or maybe call the coffee kid to hang out.”

  Itchy and tense, Oliver put on his own coat and gloves while gazing out the front door at the dark, oppressive cold. The wind blew a torn Santa flag past the window. There was nothing to do in this stupid town. North Pole’s motto was literally “Christmas 365 days a year!” Yes, with the exclamation point. It was Christmas at Christmas, Christmas in the summer, Christmas at Halloween and Thanksgiving. There was no escape. Oliver’s computer was his only salvation. The game was his entire existence. Without it, he wouldn’t survive the winter.

  Chapter Two

  Around five o’clock the next day, Elena realized that the only people she’d seen since breakfast were her parents. She’d opened Chestnut’s at eleven, and her mom and dad showed up just before two. They were the first people to come through the doors that entire afternoon.

  Her mom was now in the back room taking inventory. “Yell for me if things get crazy up front,” she’d said.

  Hahaha. Like that was going to happen. “Dad?”

  He was behind the counter doing paperwork of some kind, his reading glasses falling toward the tip of his nose. “What is it, honey?”

  “Um…” This subject had to be broached, but Elena wasn’t sure how to do it. She understood the only real rule of engagement here was not to mention the name Prince. “So, I was thinking…what if we, you know, had an event in the store? Or maybe brought in, like, an expert to talk about skiing or…”

  “This is about the Princes,” her dad said, rubbing his temples.

  “No,” Elena said.

  “Yes, it is. You heard about the things they’re doing at the store now that Trip has taken over, and you’re concerned about how it affects us.”

&n
bsp; “Well.” Elena’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah.” And I’m concerned I’ll be working here every day of my life until I graduate high school, and that I’ll never have the money to hang out with my friends, and on and on and on.

  “Don’t be,” her dad said. “Our store has been around for fifty years. We’ve seen lean times before. We’ll get through this. It’s January, after all. This is always the worst time of year for us.”

  Elena glanced around at the empty shop. He was right about that. Most of the North Pole stores suffered a bit after the holidays during the winter lull, when tourists went home, when no one in their right mind would want anything to do with a town whose sole reason for existence was to be a year-round Christmas tourist destination. But business had never been this lean before, at least not in recent memory, at least not to the point where her parents had to lay off all the superfluous workers (i.e. the workers they had to pay in actual money, not just room and board and familial guilt, like Elena). Usually they had a few locals a day coming in to buy supplies for skiing or hunting or hockey. But ever since the Princes starting doing whatever they were doing—providing massages and giving away gold bullion or who knows what—Chestnut’s had been a ghost town.

  “It seems worse this year, though,” Elena said. There were other things, too, stuff beyond the store. Elena’s mom had started clipping coupons, and Elena’s dad had stopped going to the barbershop. He was letting his wife cut his hair instead. For as long as she could remember, her dad had loved getting his hair cut at Frosty’s Dye and Trim. It was a huge bimonthly social event for him.

  Her dad focused again on the bills in front of him. “You’ve been here too much, Elena. Why don’t you take the afternoon off? Your mom and I will be fine.”

  His words were a brushoff. They were him telling her not to worry her little baby head about it, like he didn’t think enough of her to be honest about the situation. She only wanted to help. She was as concerned as he was. As much as she resented being here at times, and as much as she imagined herself flitting off to deserted islands with sandy beaches, this store was her home-away-from-home, too.

  She grabbed her parka and stepped outside, where the December scent of roasted nuts and cinnamon had been replaced by January’s car exhaust and dirty slush. If “grime” had a specific odor, this was it. The yoga studio next door, Om Holy Night, still had a plastic reindeer decorating their doorstep. Glancing around, Elena checked to make sure no one was watching her. Then she kicked Rudolph onto his side, but she righted him before pulling out her phone to text Harper. Maybe they could meet for coffee at Santabucks or for dinner at Mags’s Diner.

  But the pit in Elena’s gut told her she already knew what Harper was up to. She was at Prince’s right now, waiting to hear whatever big announcement Stan Stashiuk was about to make, probably fawning all over Oliver Prince and his sister. Gross.

  Elena glanced back to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, then she put her hood up, crossed the street, and opened the front door of the enemy’s shop.

  She didn’t need the hood. No one rubbernecked toward the door when she came in. No one even noticed she was there. The entire place was crammed wall-to-wall with townspeople, people she’d known her entire life. There were the folks who had always been loyal to Prince’s, of course, but there were Chestnut’s regulars as well—like Craig, Dinesh Chahuan, and Danny Garland. He was in her class at school, and she had known him since she was born. He and his girlfriend, Star Lyons, were standing next to the coffee machine, which was almost too much to take.

  Elena pushed her way over to Danny and slapped his shoulder, a move which no doubt hardly permeated his thick, down jacket. “You’re standing next to the free coffee bar. You.” She poked him in the chest. “Your mom owns the coffee shop.”

  Danny shot Star a side-eye. “Um…hi, Elena.”

  Star gave her a bored nod, and flipped her long, blond braid across her shoulder.

  “Hi,” Elena said, staring pointedly at the coffee.

  “My mom…sold them the coffee…” Wincing, he played with the zipper of his jacket.

  Elena’s jaw dropped.

  “It was a business thing,” he explained. “Trip came in and offered her a bunch of money to supply coffee for the store…”

  Elena’s jaw dropped further.

  “It’s…just business,” Danny said again.

  “Traitor,” Elena hissed. She marched back toward the front of the store, about to leave and tell her parents how everyone in this town was a lying piece of garbage, but then the mayor, Cesar Sandoval, took the stage and asked for quiet. The crowd grew silent almost on cue. If she opened the door, the jingling of the stupid Christmas bells would draw all focus to her. Instead, she ducked behind a rack of ski parkas.

  “Welcome to the new Prince’s!” Mayor Sandoval said, and everyone but Elena started clapping. She spotted Harper up near the riser at the front of the store where the mayor was standing, towering over everyone else in the room. Next to Harper was Regina Prince. Regina was talking to Stan Stashiuk, the hockey player, and Harper was leaning across Regina, trying to shoehorn herself into their conversation.

  “I am honored that Trip has asked me to be the one to announce this wonderful contest he has organized with the help of one of North Pole’s favorite sons, Stan Stashiuk. Come on up, Stash!”

  Stan Stashiuk clambered onto the riser and stood next to the mayor. Elena, of course, knew Stash, but mostly by reputation. He was about three years older than she was, and had left North Pole right after high school to play hockey like his dad, who was from Poland. Stash was tall and broad with a curly-frizzy man bun, and he looked like he needed time to grow into his face, which he had gotten from his mother, a model from Ghana. The big difference between Stash and his mom, however, was that his mouth was currently missing two teeth.

  The mayor handed Stash the microphone. “My family has always been Team Prince,” Stash said.

  Elena groaned. “Barf.”

  Stash continued. “My parents and I are glad to see Trip continuing tradition and keeping Prince’s Sporting Goods in the family. In honor of the grand reopening, Trip and I and his kids, Regina”—Regina shot Stash a dazzling smile as he continued speaking—“and Oliver, who is…somewhere, created a competition we’re calling Stash Grab. How many of you played Pokémon GO last summer?”

  A few people raised their hands. Craig and Dinesh clapped enthusiastically, but Elena shook her head. Traitors.

  “This game is a little like that. There are virtual Stashes all over town. If you download the app and walk around, they’ll pop up on your screen. Answer the question, capture the Stash, get the points. Whoever winds up with the most points at the end of the game gets the grand prize—a $200 gift card to Prince’s, a jersey signed by me, and two round-trip tickets to anywhere in the continental U.S., provided by my sponsor, Bronze Airlines—Go for the Bronze!” Rolling his eyes, he stuck an unenthusiastic fist in the air and handed the mic back to Mayor Sandoval before scrambling off the stage to Regina, who giggled and whispered in his ear.

  Elena groaned. What a sucky prize—two hundred bucks to Prince’s Sporting Goods. Of course, the airline tickets wouldn’t be a bad thing. She could even use those for spring break. And she could probably sell the jersey somewhere online for spending money. Ugh, was she actually talking herself into playing this game? No. Stop it, Elena.

  A voice from behind her whispered, “Scouting the competition?”

  She spun around, nearly knocking over the rack of jackets. Oliver Prince was sitting behind her on the ground, his back against the wall. He had a laptop on his thighs, and his brown eyes were focused hard on whatever was on the screen.

  “No.” She folded her arms and turned back toward the stage.

  “Big Stash fan?”

  She didn’t answer him. The mayor was talking again, laying out the rules and regulations for the game.

  “You probably don’t want this, then?”

  She turned
around, and he, eyes and one hand still on the computer, was holding out a bright green flier. She saw the words “Stash Grab” in big block letters right in the middle of the page.

  “Nope.” She turned back around. “You’re right. I don’t want that.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “Your dad might, though. Just to see what a successful business does to stay profitable.”

  She spun on her heel. “Eat a bag of hockey pucks,” she hissed, and marched out of the store.

  …

  As he got dressed for school, Oliver’s brain ticked through everything he needed to remember about the game. He and Regina had set up the Stashes to come and go at varying intervals, kind of like blinking Christmas lights. All the questions were ready to be doled out over the course of the next two months, thanks to his sister. She was the one who’d done all the extensive Stan Stashiuk research. Oliver had created an automated sign-up, so there was nothing to do there.

  Everything was ready to go, and the game would probably run smoothly. There was no reason it wouldn’t. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to be on the computer at all times, monitoring everything, defeating any potential bugs—or not bugs, gnats. Tiny little hiccups. He’d ensured there’d be no screw-up bigger than that.

  In the kitchen, his mom poured coffee into a travel mug.

  “What time’s your flight back to Florida?” he asked. Not that he wanted her to leave or anything, though it would be nice not to have someone looking at her watch every time he sat down to play Wizard War.

  “I pushed it,” she said. “I’m leaving later tonight.”

  Oliver scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate and grabbed a banana.

  His mom tested her coffee and then screwed the lid on tight. “Your dad and I are going to school with you this morning.”

  Oliver’s banana fell to the ground.

  “We want to have a chat with the principal.”

  Oliver took a seat at the table. He shoved a big forkful of eggs into his mouth, but he couldn’t taste anything. This wasn’t going to be good. His mom had met several times with his principal back in Florida. Every time, she said the same thing—Oliver needed to branch out, put down the computer. Every time, his dad had saved him, reminding everyone that computers were Oliver’s lifeblood. He wasn’t like other kids who played sports and hung out doing…whatever. He designed games. Playing video games wasn’t a waste of time for Oliver. It was research.