Page 1 of Jack Frost
Chapter One
This is our tradition. Sammy and I get together one night a year to drape ourselves in silver and gold tinsel, drink a little too much wine, and get into trouble.
This tradition is like Thanksgiving to us. Or the Super Bowl. But with less beer and nachos and more wine and glittery nail polish.
Sammy flicks her pencil onto the kitchen table where she’s sitting with her MCAT books and slams the cover down.
“I’m done. That’s it.”
She’s been studying her butt off for weeks, and I agree that she deserves a break. We both do.
I grab two glasses and pour them each up to the top with a bottle of red wine I picked up on the way home from class today. I’m still in grad school myself, with just a semester left to go.
Sammy pulls off her glasses and lets her hair down - literally. She undoes to top knot piled loosely on her head and shakes out her hair, letting her silky blonde locks fall in waves around her face and down her back.
“You look like the girl in a comedy who is hot under the glasses and the ponytail and the cardigan,” I say, holding my wine glass to my chest and padding over to the new bluetooth speakers I got for myself for Christmas.
Best Christmas present to myself ever.
“The girl in the comedy or the girl in the porn?” Sammy says, biting the end of her pen and making a pouty face.
“Well, it is our special night, after all,” I say, wiggling my butt a little and looking over my shoulder at her.
I fire up my personal radio app on my phone and flip over to the Christmas station, and Santa Baby starts playing on the speakers.
“Ohh! I love this song!” Sammy says, hopping out of her chair and skipping over to where I’m standing next to my small tree. It’s artificial, and it’s just a tabletop tree, but I love it. It’s got shimmery black branches and needles, and is draped in white lights. My mom said it was a little too goth when I got it, but it’s the best tree I’ve ever had, and now that I have my own apartment, I want the tree to match my style.
Sammy slips her robe down off her shoulders and shimmies next to the tree, doing a sexy little dance like she’s a Hollywood bombshell. I take another sip of my wine and check my phone a little distantly. I have no one special wishing me a Happy New Year this year, and it’s bittersweet. I like being independent, but it’s also nice to share this time of year with someone special.
Screw that. I have my best friend here with me.
“So what are we going to do? Want to go to a bar, pick out guys and flirt with them all night and then trade at the last minute?” Sammy does a little twirl and kisses the air.
I literally laugh out loud at her suggestion. “That’s a little crazy, don’t you think?” I say.
“Yeah, then it’s perfect. I didn’t say we had to have sex with them or anything. Just mess around a little.”
“Oh, so I don’t have to have sex with anyone?”
“Nope. Don’thaveto. But don’t let that stop you.”
“I’m glad sex is not a compulsory part of the night,” I say with a little sarcastic edge in my voice.
I sigh and check my phone again. It’s been too long since I’ve even been kissed, and the truth is that I’ve only had sex with one guy. The sad truth is that we broke up shortly after that. I didn’t have any illusions about us being together forever, but I thought we’d be together for some amount of time, at least, after I finally lost my virginity to him.
Shaking my head, I toss my phone down on the coffee table and turn on the TV, hitting mute. I just want something on in the background. I guess sometimes it makes me feel less lonely.
I flip around a little until I land on the annual New Year’s Eve Twilight Zone marathon. This’ll be perfect. Perfect and comforting. I’ve seen every episode, and seeing this show is like reading an old book that I love. The repetition and memory of it just feels good, especially this time of year when it’s easy to get a little lost and lonely.
“We could do that,” I say. “The old switcheroo thing. What else?”
“What about we go hitchhiking? Try to get picked up on the side of the road by some random motorist and see where we end up?”
“No,” I protest. “I’m afraid where we’ll end up if we do that.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Lots of crazies out there in the world.” She flops down on my couch with her wine and pulls her robe over her shoulders.
“And at least one of them is in my apartment right now,” I tease, sticking my tongue out at her.
