Tourists pranced down the sidewalk, peering into shop windows, carrying armloads of green, red, and gold shopping bags. Danny lowered his eyes and booked it to the end of the street.
Single. He was single now, something he hadn’t been in, like, forever. For as long as he or the collective consciousness of North Pole could remember, they’d always been “Danny and Star” or “Star and Danny.” Wherever one went, the other followed. Her friends were his friends and his friends were her friends. Their lives were intertwined to the point where untangling them would be impossible.
Danny bit his lip. He would not cry. Not here. But then the tears started rolling down his cheeks. Danny punched himself in the thigh, but the tears kept coming.
He stopped at the corner of his street and leaned hard on his crutches. Despite the colorful holiday decorations bedecking every house and the perpetual Christmas carols on the wind, the world felt gray and drab. He’d lost everything, everything that had meant something to him since he was ten years old.
Yeah, things had been off between him and Star for a little while, but Danny would 100 percent rewind the night if he could. He’d go back to before the arcade, when he was just an ignorant guy who had no idea Star was kissing Phil Waterston on the side. He could live with that, if it meant he still had some semblance of normalcy. He’d already lost basketball; he couldn’t stand losing Star right now, too. This whole thing was a nightmare, and it was time to wake up.
Squeezing his eyes tight, he lifted his face to the sky and made a wish—a Christmas wish. Something he never did, but these were desperate times. He counted to three, slowly opened his eyes, and glanced down. His leg was still in a cast, his open toe protected by a red and green striped stocking.
This town was good for nothing.
…
With the entire Page clan currently living under one roof, it wasn’t hard to see why Holly’s parents had stopped coming here for Christmas years ago.
Grandma’s house was like a sardine tin. Holly had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
Holly’s Vermont aunt and uncle (Vixi and Bob) spent most of their time lying on the couch watching Fox News, dressed in baggy blue jeans and matching plaid flannels, while their gaggle of young kids ran wild through Grandma’s living and dining rooms. Holly’s eyes were stuck in a permanent eye-roll every time she encountered them. Elda’s parents, Donder and Pilar Page, had snapped up Grandma’s bedroom off the back of the house and held court in the kitchen most of the time. Holly’s own parents, Rudolph (Dolph) and Linda, had commandeered the second floor with R.J., Holly’s little brother. Holly and Elda were sharing the attic, which was awesome, because Elda was awesome, except for the part where she kept chatting on the phone with people from home.
This afternoon she was FaceTiming with some guy she’d met in college. Holly adored her cousin, but this dude was well below her station, and Elda totally didn’t see it. Teddy was a short, stocky dude who rocked a limp, scraggly comb-over at age twenty-one, and he was playing Elda like a fiddle.
Today Teddy was full-on trying to break up with Elda. He kept mentioning how busy he was and how he was going into his final semester of college and needed to focus. He even managed to mention some girl named “Kara” at three different points during the conversation.
Holly didn’t have a ton of dating experience, but she was well-versed in the art of rejection, having been on the receiving end more than a few times. Elda needed to save face here. She couldn’t cede the upper hand to this classless jerk-store who treated Elda like garbage. Holly wrote a note on a blank page in her sketch pad and ripped it out.
Carefully avoiding Elda’s phone screen, Holly crawled over to the pullout couch the two of them were sharing while in North Pole. She slithered along the floor and reached up to hand Elda the paper. Elda glanced at it and then looked at Holly, mouthing, “What?”
“Tell him.” Holly mouthed before crawling back over to the far corner of the attic, where she’d been sorting through her grandparents’ old books and magazines in preparation for the family to sell the house.
As Holly pulled open the bottom drawer of a tall, black file cabinet, Elda said, “Teddy, I’m so glad you’re saying this. I’m really busy, too, and I could totally use some space. Maybe we should take a break. I don’t want to be tied down here in Minnesota. You see, I met someone at the coffee shop—”
Teddy’s voice jumped an octave. “Elda, no—” He had obviously planned on being the dumper, but now Elda and Holly had snatched that away from him.
Holly’s smile of pride faded away as she peered into the drawer she’d just opened. About a hundred old National Geographic magazines were in there. Why had her grandparents bothered saving these? She glanced around the attic, which was full of garbage, basically. Why had they bothered saving any of this?
Her heart ached for her grandma, whose entire life was now on display. Holly made a vow that she would always keep her own house tidy and cleaned out. She’d never want her family members to have to sort through so much junk. She certainly didn’t want to leave anything gross or embarrassing hiding in a drawer for her father to find—like he’d found a set of his mother’s dentures tucked inside a jewelry box in her nightstand. Her grandmother would have been mortified.
Grandma had died only a few weeks ago, just this past Thanksgiving, while lying on a chaise by Uncle Don’s pool in San Diego. She’d had a Moscow Mule in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in the other. Elda’s parents had buried Grandma in California, for convenience. The entire family had been there, but it had been a small service. Holly’s grandmother had deserved a bigger sendoff. Her life was worth more than an intimate ceremony in a strange place.
There had to be something more they could do to honor her memory.
Elda knelt down next to Holly and wrapped her up in a big hug. “Thank you!” she squealed. Holly hadn’t even realized she’d gotten off the phone.
“For what?”
“I told Teddy I needed space, and then he said he wants to get together when we’re both back in town. He’s going to call me tonight, too.” She squeezed Holly tighter, then let go.
“So, you’re still going to go out with him?”
“Of course.” Elda brushed her hair off her face. She reminded Holly of a girl from a deodorant commercial, all fresh, clean beauty with a baby powder scent. Teddy was the before picture in a gym ad. “He’s a total catch, Holly, super smart. He’s president of the Young Republicans group on campus. And, obviously, he’s hot.”
Beauty really must be in the eye of the beholder.
Elda put her hands on Holly’s shoulders. “You and I really are an unstoppable team.”
Holly’s mom yelled up the stairs. “Girls! We’re going to dinner in a half hour!”
“Not another family dinner.” They’d eaten every meal together since the whole family arrived in North Pole a few days ago. Holly hadn’t had two minutes alone to rest and recharge.
Elda shrugged. “Tell your mom you’re sick or something.”
“Good idea,” Holly said.
Elda grinned. “Now I’m the one giving you advice.”
Holly’s parents let her off the hook for dinner, and she pretended to be napping until she heard the front door slam shut and the car engines turn over in the driveway. Then she jumped out of bed and listened. Holly heard nothing, no sound except the ancient furnace growling in the basement. She was alone. Finally.
She glanced around the attic, suddenly wondering what to do with herself. Holly wouldn’t squander this precious time alone. She could read a book or watch TV or just…exist.
Grabbing the biography of the Mitford sisters, Holly dashed downstairs to the kitchen. She snuck a heaping bowl of potato chips and retreated into her grandma’s study where they used to plan their gingerbread houses. Grandma would perch on the couch with her knitting, and Holly would sit behind the desk with her sketch pad and pencils.
She took Grandma’s spot on the couch and glanced
out the window and right into the neighbor’s kitchen. A woman stirred a pot on the stove, while a boy sat at the table. A boy with beautiful sandy brown hair and perfect lips.
Holly slid off the couch and onto the floor, ducking out of sight. Danny Garland lived next door? When had that happened? Why had her grandmother never told her? She crawled along the floor, pulled herself up to a crouch at the windowsill, and peered over at Danny from behind Grandma’s green curtain sheers. He tapped away on his phone, glowering. His crutches were propped up next to him, resting against the table.
Grandma’d probably never said anything because she had no idea this news would matter to Holly. She’d had no clue that Holly had been dreaming about Danny since she was ten.
Still, this felt like a sign, like Grandma was reaching to her from beyond the grave. Danny Garland lived next door.
Bah. Stop it, Holly. This was no sign, and, besides, she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Danny Garland anymore. He didn’t remember her, and he had a girlfriend. He was off the market, a pipe dream.
His mom put a plate down in front of him, and he pushed it away. He muttered something, and she pointed to the dish, as if trying to get him to eat; then he folded his arms, and she left the room. Danny sat alone after that, staring at the wall in front of him.
Holly boosted herself into the rolling desk chair and whirled toward the window. He looked so sad and angry. Maybe he’d just broken up with his girlfriend. Maybe he needed a friend…
Ugh. Holly’s imagination could be so overactive sometimes. She swiveled away from the window, giving Danny some privacy to deal with whatever he was dealing with.
Something gold on the desk caught her eye—embossed lettering scrawled over a red leather book. Her grandmother’s name: Dolores Page. She picked up the book and opened it. It was a calendar, but her grandma had used it as a journal and a scrapbook, filling it with little notes and pictures.
Holly glanced around, as if someone might yell at her for looking at this. But privacy no longer mattered. Grandma’s entire life was exposed—her underwear, her dentures, the fact that she’d been hoarding magazines since 1972—what did it matter if Holly peeked inside her day planner?
Her grandmother had scribbled notes and added pictures chronicling the whole year. She’d been to a wedding in town this summer—Matthew and Hakeem’s. Judging by a picture of the wedding party, it had been super fancy, too. Holly grinned. Her grandma had been to a gay wedding and Holly’d had no clue. Her grandma had never mentioned it, which probably meant she’d thought it was no big deal. Holly snapped a picture of the page and sent it to her best friend, Rebel, who would totally appreciate it.
A tear splashed on the page, and Holly wiped it away, smearing the ink a bit. Holly brushed away another tear before it could fall. This wasn’t sad. It was happy and beautiful. This journal was her grandma in book form.
Holly wasn’t sure what she was going to do with it, but she tucked the day planner under her arm and whisked it up to the attic, where she hid it in her suitcase. The others could have the dentures. This book was for her eyes only.
Chapter Three
Saturday, December 16
It’d been a while since Danny had simply watched a basketball game. For the past eight years, he’d always been the one playing. Even while resting on the bench, his mind prepped for his next minutes on the court.
But today he sat in the stands. Brian had driven him out to Countryside High School, about twenty minutes from North Pole. It was an act of bravery and defiance. Phil and Star would be there, and Danny had to reclaim his position with the team. No, he couldn’t play, but he could sit on the bench, helping his coach make decisions, passing on his observations about their opponent and how his teammates might adjust. He’d be useful. He’d participate. He’d prove that his usefulness stretched far beyond his ability to shoot a basketball.
But his coach had patted him on the arm and said, “We’ve got to learn to win without you, Danny.”
So he sent Danny back to the stands with his brother, where he had a full view of Star dancing with the poms squad and Phil Waterston sitting next to the coach, wrapping knees, handing out water bottles, participating in the huddle during timeouts. Watching everyone—his girlfriend, her new boyfriend, Danny’s teammates—go on with their lives without him, Danny felt like a fly on the wall at his own funeral.
From the opening tipoff until halftime, Danny was on the verge of tearing his hair out. Star performed dance routines in the corner and snuck little waves at Phil, like she used to do for Danny. His teammates kept making stupid errors. The other team was bigger and faster than the North Pole guys, and the Reindeer were just trying to keep up.
“They should be trying to slow it down,” Danny told Brian. “Why are they letting the other team control the pace?”
“We’re winning,” his brother said.
“For now.” Danny folded his arms and frowned. Kevin had taken over Danny’s position, power forward, and he’d made some of the dumbest plays on the court. He fouled the other team’s center for literally no reason. He tossed the ball up every time it touched his hands, whether he had a decent shot or not. And the one time he tried to pass it, he heaved it out of bounds. Yes, his points were in double digits, but that was pure luck. He put up so many shots, a few were bound to go in. “Kevin is a disaster.”
“Kevin is doing fine,” Brian said.
When the buzzer rang at the half, the Reindeer were up by five, and the guys all patted each other’s backs as they retreated to the locker room. Phil Waterston waved to Star, and she blew him a kiss. Well, that was a new one. Star had never, ever, ever blown Danny a kiss, not one time in the six years they were together. She wasn’t the kiss-blowing type.
Brian stood. “You want something to drink?”
“Sure.” Brian left Danny in the stands, alone and vulnerable to conversations with his teammates’ parents. Danny had no desire to make small talk. They’d just want to talk about the game and his leg. Coming here had been a huge mistake.
He pulled out his phone and pretended to play around on it while he watched Star lead the poms squad in a dance to “Jingle Bell Rock” at half court. His eyes met hers for a moment, for the first time all game, and she waved at Danny like they were old friends, like he hadn’t just caught her cheating on him last night. Screw that. His eyes jumped back to his phone. They weren’t friends. They were nothing. Danny was fine. Totally and completely fine.
He was a survivor, able to adapt to any situation. In fourth grade, he’d joined a park district team with a bunch of his classmates. He’d shown up for the first practice having no clue how to play basketball. He could barely even dribble, because he’d had no one to teach him. His dad had left them when Danny was young, and his mom never cared about sports. Danny had tried asking Brian once, but he just hurled a ball at Danny’s head and told him to get lost. So while other guys were out at the park playing sports, Danny stayed home with his mom building LEGOs and doing science experiments.
But Danny put in his time practicing, and somewhere around the fifth game of the season, Danny made his first basket ever. He’d improbably caught a pass and heaved it into the net. It was a total fluke, but everyone clapped and hooted and hollered. Danny knew that feeling of pride. It was the same way he’d always felt after winning the gingerbread competition.
But after the game, another kid told him that Kevin had said Danny was “bad.” He was “bad” at basketball. Danny, who’d won every gingerbread contest he’d ever entered, who had read The Hobbit when he was seven, had never been “bad” at anything in his life.
He was not going to be “bad” at basketball.
He started going to the park alone to practice. He watched old games on ESPN Classic. He studied famous players’ routines and stories. He lived and breathed basketball.
And he made the transition from “bad” to “amazing.”
Suddenly Danny started getting invited over by the coolest bo
ys in his grade, including Kevin. Before basketball, the guys would have secret birthday parties and not include Danny. Now he got all the invites.
He abandoned his old life. He stopped entering the gingerbread contest, he quit science club, and he sold all his LEGO sets. Star’s best friend, Carolee, cornered Danny at his locker in seventh grade and told Danny that Star wanted him to ask her out. Star was the most beautiful and popular girl in his class. Danny had achieved the adolescent dream—fame, popularity, perfect girlfriend.
Until he made one stupid dunk and ruined everything.
Danny watched as the team filed back out of the locker room. His status had been an illusion. He’d thought he meant more to his team, but here he was relegated to the stands. He’d thought Star had cared about him, but now, watching her act all cute and lovey-dovey with Phil, it was obvious she’d never felt the same way about Danny. The contrast nearly blinded him. She liked Phil. She never liked Danny, and he’d been totally oblivious. He’d bent over backward for years to make Star happy; he’d tried so hard to be the kind of guy she wanted him to be.
He couldn’t change his leg situation or the fact that Star was with Phil now, but Danny could avoid making the same mistake again. He’d never jump into something because the girl was hot or popular. He’d stop wasting his time pursuing any girl who obviously didn’t like him for him.
Danny would never date another Star.
…
On Sunday afternoon, Holly trudged upstairs, toweling off her wet hair. With so many people currently living under the same roof, it was the first time she’d been able to squeeze in a shower all day. She found Elda up in the attic, where she’d thrown herself sideways across the hide-a-bed and buried her face in a pillow, sobbing.
“Oh my God, Elda.” Holly, in her robe and slippers, perched next to her cousin’s feet and patted an ankle. “What happened?”
Elda heaved herself up to a sitting position. Tears had moistened her face, which only gave her a dewy glow. Elda didn’t cry like normal humans. Her skin wasn’t blotchy. Her eyes weren’t red. “He dumped me. Teddy dumped me.”
Approximately Yours (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 3
