Page 26 of Christmas Criminal

"We're getting along fine," I say.

She smiles, waiting for me to continue, but when I don't, she says, "Well, that's great, honey! It's nice that you have a friend in town that you can hang out with."

I narrow my eyes. "He's not my friend, and we're not hanging out. It's community service."

She waves that off. "It'sHankcommunity service. I'm happy you're not hating it."

I shrug. "It's a lot better than I thought it would be," I admit.

She grins. "I hear he's cute," she says.

I turn on my heel and continue up the stairs. "Goodnight, Mom!"

"I take it you agree!"

I shake my head as I close myself in my childhood bedroom. A moment later, I hear her moving around downstairs, the ripping of tape as she wraps presents and her low hum as she sings along to her Christmas songs.

And I throw my dirty clothes into a pile by the door, shower, and change into a silky sleep set that I bring whenever I have to stay at my mom's because it gives me a smidge of adulthood in a place that is otherwise filled with memories of my parents' divorce, of uncomfortable high school years, of never feelingrightin my own skin.

It'sour last day of community service for the week. I have my dirty clothes packed up in a bag in the trunk of my car, as well as my sheets, which I have to cart back and forth so I can wash them in my special detergent. My mom bought the same kind and does her best, but I think her normal detergent gets stuck and mixed in somehow, because I always end up itchy after my mom's house, no matter what.

A niggling feeling in the back of my mind tells me it's not the detergent, but the stress of being in a place I never fit in.

But that, I can't change. So I do what I can with my sheets and pretend like I won't spend the next few days itchy.

When I walk into the school, I'm in a chipper mood. Just a few more hours of watching Robbie slipping into the skin of a confident, proud kid, and then I get to go home and see my sister.

I give Nick a big grin as I push through the doors, and he smiles right back at me.

"Someone is in a good mood today," he observes, standing and tucking his hands into his pockets as he rocks back on his feet.

I shrug. "I'm happy to be going home soon."

"Ah. You got that Friday feeling," he says knowingly. "I think Robbie had himself a Friday feeling today, too. He was all sorts of chatty during class today–apparently he has a date with some girl he likes. Why do I feel like the two of you are going to give me a run for my money tonight?"

"Better watch out," I tell him.

He grins, and we step out to the front of the school to wait for Robbie to show.

"So, what are you up to this weekend? Hanging out with your sister?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah. Knowing her, she's going to want to watch some Christmas movie and cut snowflakes or something."

"Your sister is a Christmas person, too?"

"Yeah. Not as bad as my mom, but she definitely enjoys the holiday. Add you into the mix and it's like I'm surrounded from every angle with people wholoveChristmas."

He shrugs. "Is that the worst thing in the world?"

I roll my eyes, letting out a long breath. "Is it the worst thing in the world? No. Is it a little tiring sometimes? Yes."

"Tiring?"

I bite my lip, wondering how much of this I should divulge to him. The divorce that manages to derail every single Christmas season in some way or another. My sister's leg, this year.

"My family always seems to have had a rough time during Christmas. And I don't know why, but when I was growing up, it was almost like they tried even harder at Christmas to even out the shit we were dealing with. I remember wondering why everyone was trying so hard. Like my dad has a second family, this Christmas is going to suck. So can we all accept that and tap out this year?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I guess I can understand why Christmas might not be your favorite time."

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