Page 97 of Pride High 2: Orange
Silvia turned and saw a brawny guy approaching. She could tell from his disdainful air that he must be her older brother. Sure enough, he invaded Keisha’s personal space, rubbed her close-cropped hair in an affectionate noogie, and said, “Hey, freak show. Santa is back on the clock, so Dad needs your help.”
“Thank goodness,” Keisha said, shoving the dish brush in his hand. “It’s a Christmas miracle. Let’s go.”
“Hey, I could use some help here!” her brother said, looking specifically at Silvia.
Keisha hesitated. “I don’t mean to stereotype but…¿hablas español?”
“Of course,”she replied fluently.“Do you?”
“I get by,” Keisha answered before addressing her brother. “Santa needs her.”
“Then he doesn’t need you,” he shot back.
“Someone’s gotta show her the ropes,” Keisha said before pushing her toward the door.
Her brother groaned as he turned to face the mess, even though they had made good progress. That’s all Silvia saw. She barely had time to grab her jacket before she was pushed out into the main room again.
“Do you serve dinner too?” she asked as they passed by the empty tables.
“We’re not sadists! One meal service is enough, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Silvia said, not hiding her relief.
“Although we do pack leftover boxes for people to take home. Which you totallydon’thave to help with.”
“I’ll be hungry by then, so I officially volunteer.”
They went outside to a smaller building that was easily the most decorated. Giant candy canes lined the walkway and a massive wreath hung over the door. A pair of reindeer and a sleigh were off to one side, Mrs. Hart standing next to them while greeting everyone. Silvia would have loved to see them again, if there wasn’t work to do. She felt genuine awe when entering the building. It really did look like a scene out of the North Pole. Or any shopping mall at this time of year, because they too had a red carpet that led to an ornate chair where Santa Claus himself sat while listening to the wishes of children.
“I thought you weren’t one of his elves anymore,” Silvia murmured.
“Hey,” Keisha replied, tugging on the jacket she wore, “this is the official uniform of one of Santa’shelpers. My little sister has the old elf costume. Come on, you’re going to love this job.”
Keisha led them around to the back of the throne—as Silvia couldn’t help but think of it. A decorated partition resembling a gingerbread house separated them from the action, allowing them to listen in on Santa.
Mr. Hart played the role to perfection, both bumbling and warm when interacting with the kids. “Oh dear,” he often said. “I thought it was still Christmas Eve. That’s why I didn’t visit your house yet.” And he would impress them with tidbits their parents had given away when filling out a simple form. “Didn’t you win a spelling bee this year? That’s very impressive!” Whenever a child told Santa what they wanted, he would repeat it loudly for the benefit of his helpers. “A Tonka truck? Yes, I remember setting one of those aside for you.”
Keisha would then move to tables loaded with presents that were, as it turned out, organized by type and labeled with further details.
“Did your family pay for all of this?” Silvia asked.
“Some of it,” Keisha said. “Most is donated. The shops in town know what we do here. Some of them chip in or let us put collection boxes by the door.”
She wasn’t kidding about it being enjoyable work. Seeing the reaction of the kids when in the presence of Santa Claus himself, and their delight when receiving a gift from him, brought Silvia right back to her childhood. Especially when a little girl with long dark hair and brown skin approached Santa. She could have played Silvia in a movie about her life, even down to the way she shyly whispered her responses to his questions. She clearly understood English, because she nodded and shook her head when appropriate, but for whatever reason—nerves most likely—she only responded in Spanish.
“Oh dear,” Santa said, glancing around for help. “My ears aren’t what they used to be.”
“That’s the signal,” Keisha said, nudging her from behind.
Silvia walked around the partition. “I can help, Santa.” She kneeled next to the little girl, addressing her in Spanish.“What did you want for Christmas?”
“A doll like me but prettier.”
“You’re as pretty as a princess, so that won’t be easy. Let me see.”
Silvia was desperate to make her dream come true. She would’ve gladly driven the little girl to a toy store, if any were open, so she could have her pick. “Please tell me you have a Hispanic doll,” she said to Keisha.
“We’re all about that here,” Keisha said, leading her to a specific table. Sure enough, there were a variety of dolls, each with a coded abbreviation on the label to indicate race.
