Page 18 of The Christmas Cookie Crush

But my nerves and anticipation have nothing to do with them.

No, it’s all down tohim.Austin Stanton. The bane of my existence.

He’s coming. I know he is. He made a point of stopping by the North Pole before ChristmasFest opened this morning and telling my mom he’d be here tonight. And he did it while I was in earshot, glancing my way to make sure I was listening, too.

And of course I was. Because every time he’s around, I can’t help going on high alert, wondering what he’ll say or do next.

I try to convince myself it’s because I want to be prepared for any more pranks, but deep down, I know that’s not entirely accurate. Especially since the worst thing he’s done is have someone give me a few pieces of sour candy, and he only did that once.

Although, Dylan’s here tonight, so who knows what could happen?

Except they’re not twelve anymore. And you’re not ten. And anyway, Lydia’s here. Dylan’s not going to make a complete ass of himself in front of his girlfriend, is he?

No. He’s not.

So Austin being here is no big deal. Not any size of deal at all. It’s nothing to me. This is a big party full of lots of people and food and I don’t have to talk to him if I don’t want to.

Which I don’t.

It’ll be easy to avoid him.

With that settled in my mind, I return my attention to helping Mom set out the food. That’s what I need to focus on right now anyway.

“Nora!” she cries. “Watch out!”

“Gah!” I manage not to trip on the rogue stack of cups rolling across the floor, but I bobble the full bowl of dip I’m carrying. A glop of it slips up over the rim and splashes down my front.

Setting the bowl down, I survey the damage.

“Here,” Mom says, thrusting a damp washcloth at me.

I make halfhearted swipes at my sweater, but it just smears the dip into the cables. This year, I felt like bucking the ugly sweater trend and went for a classic white cable-knit sweater instead, but so much for that idea.

“Oh, your sweater!” Lydia exclaims.

Sighing, I shake my head. “I guess I better change.”

Sarah stops me on my way to my room, looking at my chest and nodding. “I’ll come with you. We can get the stain out if we get to it right away. At least it’s not cranberry sauce.”

“Put on something that’s not white!” Dylan calls after us, and if Mom and Dad weren’t here, I’d flip him off.

“I’ll wear what I want!” I retort over my shoulder instead.

Sarah snorts. “You guys. I swear. You still act like you did when you were little kids. I spent the most time breaking up your squabbles when I had to babysit. When are you going to grow out of that?”

Irritated at having to change, at my sister scolding me, and doubly so at how close it comes to what Austin said the other day, I shove my hair out of my face, prickly heat crawling up my neck. “Never, I guess.” I pull open a drawer, then slam it closed again, facing my sister with my hands on my hips. “Or maybe when I’m forty. Or, I dunno, Sarah. Why don’t you tell me? Youand Ty still get into it like you’re five. When are you two gonna grow out of it?”

She waves a hand, shooing away my words. “Please. Ty and I don’t act anything like you and Dylan do.”

Crossing my arms, I arch one eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

She rolls her eyes and makes gimme motions with her hands. “Are you gonna change, or what? I thought you’d welcome my help getting the stain out. Or isn’t that one of your favorite sweaters anymore?”

She’s right, but I don’t want to admit to it out loud. Rolling my eyes, I drop my arms and turn to my dresser again. “I don’t know what to wear,” I admit, sounding as petulant and childish as she accused me of just a second ago.

“Who cares?” she asks sensibly. “Why aren’t you wearing the traditional Christmas sweater? Or are you too cool for that now like Dylan?”

I snort. She’s right. Dylan’s the only one, besides me, not rocking a Christmas sweater today. Shane’s even has real Christmas lights on the tree on his.

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