Page 12 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

Except, it wasn’t my cheek. It was ninety percent cheek, ten percent mouth.

Ten percentmouth.

Confirmed: I am no longer amongst the living.

What is happening?

Is Archie’s stupid whackjob plan actuallyworking?

Before I can figure it out, Baz is on his feet, pulling me up – and up. He lifts me until we’re face-to-face and chest-to-chest, then he starts walking. His arms are under my legs, supporting me. I throw my own arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder. He wants to carry me? Fine. That’s cool. I will let him.

And it has nothing at all to do with the fact that I’m not sure if my legs will work right now or not.

My brain is a fog, reliving my divine death.

Ten percent mouth.

Ten percent.

I wonder what twenty would feel like…

I scold myself.

No,Heidi, you do not!Respectful.

I sigh, gazing over Bazzy’s shoulder as he walks us ever closer to warmth, comfort, and all things good.

Then I notice a purple spot in the snow, getting smaller and smaller as we move farther and farther away from it.

“We forgot the sled!” I exclaim, leaning back in Baz’s arms to point at it behind him. He hums.

“We can’t just leave it there! That’s littering. It’s plastic,Bazzy. It won’t ever degrade into the earth. In seven hundred years, it’ll still be right there, a slightly faded purple relic of the past, surrounded by bare, dead land from all the micro-poisons it will have seeped into the ground by that point. And it will be all our fault. And Archie’s! Mostly Archie’s, actually. But still. We can’t leave it. Let me down. You can wait here while I go grab it!”

I put my hands on his shoulders to prepare for landing, then wrap them around his neck, screaming when he pivots without warning.

“Baz!” I yell. “You can’t scare a girl like that! What are you– oh!”

I lock my ankles around his waist and hold on for dear life with all of my limbs when he bends to pick up the sled. One of his arms holds my back, helping to support me while the other scoops up the purple toy.

He shoots back up, and the arm on my back slides under me now to support my bottom. Before I can process that petrifying sequence of events, he pivots again.

I bury my face in his neck as he retraces his footsteps toward the cabins, then realize I’m being selfish. It’s not at all fair for him to carry me a mile through the snow just because I am outdoors averse.

I suck in a breath to tell him that I can walk, but he grunts hisshut upgrunt before I get a single word out.

I release the air on a sigh. All right. If hewantsto, I guess.

“Okay, Bazzy. You can carry me,” I tell him softly.

He grunts again – my favorite one. Soft, low, caring. He pairs it with three quick squeezes of his fingers on my thighs.

“I love you, too,” I say, smiling into his neck. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the safety of Baz while we wander through a still, quiet forest.

It’s quite beautiful here in his arms – warm and bright and cozy.

It’ssoChristmas, now that I think about it.

Hmm.

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