“Want to go down again? But this time, let’s start at the same time so we can actually race.”
I chuckle into my scarf. “It’s not going to make much of a difference. You’ll still be eating my snow!”
We take six more runs down the hill. Sometimes we decide to judge based on speed, other times on distance. We keep track with a makeshift scoreboard created with twigs. By the sixth time, the snow in our racing track has been beaten down pretty flat, and the sky has darkened around us. Renee and Eric left after run four, and while at first I was going to walk with Renee, in the end, the possibility of continuing the races proved to be too enticing.
“Last run?” Matthew asks. I glance around us. While we aren’t the only ones still here, most of the other kids are gone. I shiver. Somewhat from the cold but also from … something else. Something that I’m having a hard time naming.
“Winner takes all?” I say, trying to tame my voice.
“Fine. Ready to try going backward yet?”
I shake my head. That’s way beyond me. I mean, I’m a hard-core sledder, but backward is terrifying and defeats the purpose. The whole idea is being able to see everything whizz by as you fly ahead. “How about on our stomachs?” I suggest.
My mom would freak out if she saw it, but I did it dozens of times last year, and the conditions are definitely better now than they were then. “We’ve done this run enough times that we know there’s no debris on the snow. And few people here. So …”
“That might be too scary for me,” Matthew says, but I know he’s joking. All this time together and I feel I can read the truth in his eyes. “You may need to hold my hand.”
I snort, trying to hide my blush. “That would make it much more dangerous.”
“Then what if, instead, we go down together? We can put our two sleds together, you can go in front, and we’ll—” His voice drops. “I mean, if you want.”
I glance over at the empty park bench where Renee had been sitting. Why couldn’t she still be there? I need to talk about this. I need her to see this!
“Okay,” I find myself answering. “How do we do it?”
And that’s how we wind up at the top of Magic Mountain, our two makeshift sleds connected as best we can. I sit in the front, with my knees up, and Matthew sits directly behind me. We don’t really talk as we set ourselves up because, really, this is a crazy idea. These aren’t even real sleds.
And now Matthew is going to have to hold on to me by putting his arms around my waist.
I’m finding it hard to breathe. Luckily, my coat is huge and puffy, so I can barely even feel it when his arms circle me.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate at all on the sledding. It’s already a big enough problem.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Matthew asks, and it’s too hard to dislodge the words from my throat. So I just nod. “Should I push us off?” I nod again.
Matthew drops his arms from my waist, and he digs his hands into the snow. This is our last run, I think. Who knows if Matthew and I will ever go sledding together again? And even if we did, it wouldn’t be like this. It wouldn’t be just the two of us with the sun setting around us. It wouldn’t be fun and easy like it is right now. But before I can feel any more sadness and nostalgia, Matthew has us moving down the hill. As we pick up speed, his hands move from the snow to reband themselves around my middle.
I want to play it cool. I want to seem like this isn’t a big deal, but I can’t help it because this is totally different from going sledding with my brother or with Sadie. Or even with my cousins over winter break on a real sled. And so instead of crossing my arms around my bent knees, I splay them out to the sides, and I scream.
Which is probably what causes us to go tumbling down the hill.
It happens so quickly, I don’t even feel anything before we hit the bottom. One second I feel free and wild, and the next my face is down in a pile of snow and I’m lying on my stomach.
Beside Matthew.
I don’t seem to have broken any bones. But I’m worried about Matthew. I turn to him. “Oh my god, are you—”
His eyes are wide. Could he be in shock? Could he—
“I can’t believe you toppled us over on the last run!” He sits up and laughs. “Next time you’re going to yell like that, warn a guy so he doesn’t let go in fright.”
I scramble to my knees, the wet snow permeating my jeans. Without thinking, I push his shoulder, toppling him back into the snow.
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” Matthew warns, laughter in his voice as he gets to his feet and starts packing a snowball.
“Mercy! Mercy!” I call, darting away from him. I’m freezing cold and covered head to toe in snow, but I can’t remember having been this happy in a long time.
And the memory of Matthew’s shocked face when I threw a snowball at him after playing the “mercy!” card keeps me warm through most of the walk home.
As does the memory of his arms around me on the sled.
After the Day of Awesome Sledding, as I’ve taken to calling it, us carolers buckle down and Auburn becomes our regular destination after school. Thankfully, Matthew’s busy basketball schedule is done, and if anyone in the group has other things they want to be doing, they don’t tell me.
We sing and we sing and we sing.
Each time we come to Auburn, there’s a different crowd. Sometimes it’s twice the size of that first afternoon, often it’s less, but each time, Francine and Hank are there.
We call them our regulars.
We have regulars. It makes us laugh.
The only problem is that they aren’t interested in hearing the same songs over and over. They all have suggestions and requests. And while in the beginning I try to keep us to only one or two new songs, I quickly discover that if we want our audience, we need to be flexible. So I bring a book of holiday songs and between that and our phones, we wind up being able to find the lyrics and chords for any song that they want, as long as we mostly know how to sing it. Which might be a problem because while our range is increasing, our level of polish is not. I try not to let it get to me.
Francine has taken to bringing sweet treats and setting them up on a table beside the giant Christmas tree and menorah in the lobby. She makes killer chocolate caramel cookies and lemon bars. And these brownie type of things called Nanaimo Bars. She says they’re a recipe from growing up in Canada, that they’re incredibly easy to make, but I can’t imagine that’s true. Once she discovers how much I like them, she starts making them all the time.
I should tell her to stop, but I don’t. Because they’re really, really good.
“You know, you should sell your bars to the bakeries in town,” I tell Francine on Friday afternoon, trying to figure out which bar is the biggest. We’ve just finished our last official rehearsal day at Auburn. Renee had to go to a doctor’s appointment, so her mom picked her up as soon as we were done singing, and Eric’s family was going to pick out a tree (lucky), so he had already left, too. Matthew and I were in the lobby with Francine, figuring we’d earned a treat after so much singing.
Matthew, Eric, Renee, and I will meet again over the weekend to finalize our audition, but we’ve practiced as much as we can. Which is to say that we’ve sung together as a group a lot, but we don’t really have much of a plan. I’m trying to focus on the sweet chocolatey goodness and not on the fact that … we probably won’t get the spotlight.
“Oh, you’re sweet, honey,” Francine says, patting my cheek gently with her palm. Her skin is silky smooth and it makes me think of how I can’t wait to see my grandmother.
“Charlie, they have something similar at the Daily Grind,” Matthew says.
“Matthew Yee,” Francine says. Her back straightens, which brings her up a few inches. “Are you suggesting that those bars are comparable to the ones I make for you upstairs in my own kitchen?”
“No, ma’am,” Matthew says quickly. “I didn’t … I mean, I wasn’t tryin
g to …”
It’s pretty hilarious to watch the usually very poised Matthew flail.
I catch the twinkle in Francine’s eye just before she begins to speak.
“Well,” she says, the gruffness in her tone belying those twinkling eyes. “Maybe you should bring Charlie there to test them out. I know she’ll tell me the truth.”
Oh my goodness. Is Francine trying to … ? No. Maybe. Gulp.
“Oh, you don’t need to take me there, Matthew,” I say quickly. “I’m sure Francine’s are better.”
But Matthew raises his eyebrows. “Well, I think you should keep an open mind. Maybe the Daily Grind can hold their own.”
“It’s worth investigating.” Francine begins to walk away. “I’ll expect a full report on Monday. You’re going to come back and tell me how the audition went anyway, right?”
“Right,” I echo, barely thinking of the audition now. I can’t meet Matthew’s gaze. Did he know … was he going along with …
Matthew pushes a hand through his straight dark hair. “Well, I was just going to walk home. But want to stop by the Daily Grind with me on the way?” While Matthew’s eyes are laughing, there’s also something serious in there. Like he’s almost … nervous?
“You don’t have to,” I stumble.
“But I want to.”
Oh. “Okay.” I whisper. “Can I meet you outside?”
* * *
I dial Renee as I scurry away.
“What did I forget?” she asks, without greeting me.
“Um.” I can’t breathe. Maybe Matthew feels he has to bring me to the Daily Grind because Francine basically forced his hand.
“Charlie?”
That’s the thing about talking on the phone. You actually need to talk. I really should have just texted her. Except, my fingers feel very shaky. “Um …” I start again. “Matthew invited me to go to the Daily Grind with him. But it’s kind of because …” And then I blurt out the whole story, whispering just in case Matthew finishes saying good-bye to his grandparents before I’ve gotten through it.
Renee laughs. “Well, definitely tell me how it goes. Listen, I’m at the doctor. Can we talk later?”
“No, I need …” I’m panicking. Full-on panicking. What does this mean? Do I want to do this? Does this mean something? Is it a date?
“You’ll be fine. I have to go.” I hear Renee’s mom in the background, telling Renee to shut off the phone or she’ll shut it off for her, which is the only reason I don’t call back. That and the fact that Matthew is making his way through the front doors.
“Ready?” he asks, wrapping his scarf around his neck.
“Yup!” I lie, and we’re off.
* * *
By the time we’re seated at the Daily Grind, I can barely feel my cheeks, they’re so cold. My eyes feel like they froze while we walked, though I’m not sure if eyeballs can technically freeze. Either way, my hands are warming against the mug of hot chocolate I have in front of me, and I’m trying to defrost my face with the steam.
Ironically, today of all days, the Daily Grind was out of the chocolate brownie bars. I thought maybe Matthew would see that as a reason for us to ditch the plan, but it didn’t seem to have an impact on him at all. Instead, he ordered two chocolate chip cookies for us to share, and I got us two mugs of hot cocoa with whipped cream.
“I’m so glad you ordered hot chocolate,” Matthew says. His glasses are completely fogged up, so I can’t imagine he can see me at all. It must be annoying to wear glasses, though on him, they look really cute.
“I was worried you’d laugh at me, but I don’t like coffee.” I wrinkle my nose, and he laughs.
“I don’t like coffee either,” he says, and my whole body lightens. “Sometimes if I’m feeling really tired, I order a mocha, but then I have to add a ton of sugar and extra milk and it still makes me hyper and tastes bitter.”
He’s back to talking a mile a minute, and I love this new nervous Matthew. It almost makes him feel more real. Not that he didn’t seem real before. He’s definitely real. But this way he feels more approachable.
More like me.
“Do you come to this place often?” I ask, and I have to swallow a giggle because it sounds like a line from a movie: Come here often? with an eyebrow waggle.
Apparently, swallowing giggles makes me cough a lot. Which shakes the table. And the hot chocolate. Luckily, Matthew grabs both mugs while I hack to the side.
“Don’t worry, I’m not sick,” I gasp, and that makes me laugh even more because of course he knows I’m not sick. We’ve spent every day together.
I’m not mature enough for a coffee date, apparently. Not that this is definitely a date. I mean, it’s really just an opportunity to warm up on a cold day. Or …
“Are you okay?” Matthew’s leaning over the table, still holding the mugs, but it means his face is even closer to mine than before. Especially when I lift my head.
Our faces are really, really close together.
“I’m fine,” I squeak. I try to take a deep breath to calm myself, but it’s hard to breathe like that with Matthew so close. Why is he so close? Is he going to kiss me? No. That’s totally not possible. I mean, I don’t even know if he likes me. Or if I like him.
Actually, that’s not true. I may not know if he likes me, but I know I like him. Which is so scary to admit that any ground I’ve gained in breathing is lost again.
“Do you want some water?” he asks, and I nod.
I like Matthew Yee.
I like Matthew Yee.
Each time I say it in my head, I know it’s more true, and I feel more panicked.
This is nothing like having a crush on Eric. Eric is cute and sweet and a good friend, but this … feels different. It feels scarier. Having a crush on Eric felt like I needed to convince him that he liked me. This is different.
So different.
Thank goodness the counter is busy. It’s taking time for Matthew to get the barista’s attention to ask for water, and that gives me a chance to grab my phone and text Renee.
It feels like it takes forever before I see that she’s texting back.
I glance over to the counter; Matthew is still waiting
I debate whether to press SEND but he’s getting closer and closer to the front of the line and I need to know what Renee thinks. So I shut my eyes and press SEND.
Holding my breath, I open my eyes to check my phone. I can see that she’s typing her response, but Matthew is also walking toward me with a cup of water.
Come on, come on, I beg Renee silently. It’s like she starts and stops typing, and I can’t imagine what she’s going to tell me. She couldn’t be telling me to leave, right? Or maybe she’s warning me that she knows what he’s doing. That this is a practical joke, and she wants me to know there are cameras hidden to see if I fall for the trick, the trick that Matthew Yee might like me back. I can’t breathe. I can’t—
The text comes through. One word.
“Here’s your water,” Matthew says. “Sorry about the wait, but they’re really busy up there.”
I drop my phone into my bag and try to appear relaxed.
What did she mean by duh? Like everyone knows I like him? Or maybe it was some weird autocorrect for something else. Like don’t.
Just then, my phone pings again. I ignore it because what if it’s Renee and she says something really embarrassing like JUST KISS HIM and Matthew sees it when I pick it up?
Or what if it says, He’s out of your league?
My phone pings again, and apparently I’m smiling like a crazy person ignoring her phone because Matthew is giving me one of those If I could, I’d back away slowly looks. When it pings for the third time, I finally grab it.
It’s my mom. She’ll be here in ten minutes.
Ten minutes. I’ve wasted most of this coffee date worrying. Not-date. Coffee—hot chocolate—thing.
But I have ten minutes. I send Mom back a thumbs-up, and slide my phone into my ba
g, jiggling it around so that it’s on the bottom, so any pinging won’t be a distraction.
“Sorry,” I tell Matthew. “My mom is picking me up in ten minutes.”
Is it my imagination or does he look a little disappointed? “No prob.”
All around us, there’s chattering and the clinking of spoons against coffee cups. I blow softly on the hot chocolate and then dip in a spoon, lifting the whipped cream to my mouth in a big bite. Mmm.
Matthew is taking a sip of his hot cocoa, too, and when he puts his mug down, he has some whipped cream on his upper lip.
I try not to laugh. “Um …” I motion to his lip.
“What?” He frowns, looking confused.
You’re adorable, I want to say, but don’t. Instead, feeling brave, I lean forward and quickly swipe the whipped cream off with my thumb. My face is burning, and I could swear Matthew is blushing, too.
“Thanks,” he says with a laugh, but I can tell he’s a little embarrassed.
I stir my cocoa and try to think of something—anything—to say. Or, rather, anything reasonable.
“Francine is a riot,” I blurt out.
Matthew smiles. “She’s something. Did I tell you that my grandma says that she’s trying to get the building to allow pets for therapeutic reasons?”
Francine with all her schemes. “But isn’t she allergic to dogs and cats?”
She’d told me that during her mammoth debrief on everything there was to know about her life, earlier in our visits.
She’d told me matter-of-factly that when she was growing up, she’d always wanted a cat, but there was barely enough food on the table for her family, and her mother had scoffed at the idea of another mouth to feed. And how disappointed she was as an adult when she found out that even with enough food to feed her family, she was too allergic to fluffy animals to have one of her own.
“She wants to get a parrot on the basis that it would talk with her and she wouldn’t feel so lonely,” Matthew explains.
There’s something hilarious about the idea of tiny Francine with a parrot on her shoulder, walking down the corridors of the senior home. How Mr. Carlson will shake his head, sigh that it’s just not right. How after she walks by, a swing in her step, he’ll secretly smile.
Carols and Crushes Page 10
