Page 4 of Christmas Criminal

He shrugs. "I think it is."

"I feel like helping out kids and taking on degenerates are two different things, though."

He sighs, resting his hands on the top of the broom. "Why do I feel like you're going to be trouble, Noelle?"

I scrunch up my face. "I'm not trouble. I promise, I'm a good person. I'm just curious."

"Okay, Criminal." When my eyes narrow, his grin ticks wider. "I'm doing it as a favor to Hank."

I scoff. "Ugh, really?"

I turn back to the float, throwing another bunch of silly string to the ground.

Hank Grundy is the town sheriff.

The one who found me throwing eggs at my dad's window last week and called my mom to come get her unruly daughter from the police station. The one who told me very firmly that what I was doing could result in a misdemeanor if I didn't play my cards carefully. The one who told me he'd conveniently forget about this domestic dispute if I went ahead and stuck around for the Christmas season and took part in some good, old-fashioned community service.

I’m fairly certain he’s in my mom’s pocket and this community service agreement is nothing more than an attempt to have me around more for the holidays.

I love my mom, but she’s not subtle when it comes to Christmas.

"What do you have against Hank?" Nick asks.

"What do youthinkI have against Hank?"

He shrugs. "He was just doing his job."

I eye him. "You already know why I'm here," I accuse.

He turns with the broom to collect a small pile of trash at our feet. I cross my arms, waiting for him to explain. "I know that you were caught throwing eggs at the Hellermans' house," he admits, his eyes following the path of the broom before briefly flicking up to mine. "But I don't know why."

I purse my lips, debating whether I want to tell him. On the one hand, I've always found it easier to tell things to people Idon'tknow. If they judge me, I don't care.

But on the other hand, I have to deal with math teacher Nick for another fifty hours of community service.

And I decide to take a chance and trust him. "He's my dad."

To Nick's credit, he doesn't seem surprised. "You have different last names."

"And isn't that the beginning of a fuzzy, feel-good family movie?"

"Ah. There's some friction there."

I snort. "Yeah, there's some friction there."

He nods. "Well, hopefully the egging was worth it."

I eye him. I can't tell whether he's trying to make light of the situation or reminding me that this is supposed to be punishment.

I press my lips together before responding. "I don't regret a moment of it."

He laughs, shaking his head as he walks off to one side of the garage and grabs a trash bin. He takes a pair of plastic gloves from the tool bench and begins scooping trash inside.

"So how many eggs did you get through before you got caught?" he asks, as he scoops and I waste time walking my bits of trash over to the bin so I don't have to pull on a pair of gloves and help him.

I give him my proudest smile as I turn back to the float. "All twelve."

We clearthe trash from the float and take stock of what needs to be done before the kids can start decorating it. We throw last year's decorations in the trash and note that one of the steps is wobbly–and a little zip of heat runs down my spine when Nick waves that off as something he can fix when he brings histoolbox in–and that some of the paint on the floor has chipped off and could use a new coat.

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