Page 6 of Cross Check Christmas
"Right, that." I take a sip of my tea. "Though technically, you two serve different–-"
"Don't you dare say we serve different products." Daisy narrows her eyes. "Coffee is coffee."
A soft knock interrupts Daisy's coffee tirade. Our school treasurer, Marcy Whittaker, peers around the door, clutching a manila folder to her chest like it might explode.
"Miss McAllister? Do you have a moment?"
"Of course, come in." I straighten in my chair, noting how Marcy's glasses are slightly askew – never a good sign.
"Well, you see..." She shuffles forward, adjusting her candy-cane striped cardigan. "About the Christmas pageant budget request you submitted..."
I've been waiting for approval on those funds since September.
"Perfect timing. I need to order the new backdrop materials and?—"
"That's just it." Marcy's fingers flutter to her glasses again. "The school board met yesterday and... well... they've decided to... reallocate the funds."
"Reallocate?" The word tastes bitter. "To what?"
"The hockey team needs new uniforms." She practically whispers it, like saying it softer might cushion the blow.
"New uniforms?" I stand up so quickly my chair rolls back. "They got new uniforms last year!"
"Yes, well..." Marcy pulls out a spreadsheet, handing it to me with trembling hands. "The board voted and?—"
"My shepherds are wearing bathrobes held together with safety pins! Mary's veil is actually an old curtain panel, and don't get me started on the cardboard stable that's been recycled so many times it's basically dust held together by hope!"
Daisy whistles low. "Didn't they promise you new costumes last year too?"
"And the year before that." I sink back into my chair. "This pageant is a town tradition. We can't keep putting it on with costumes that are literally falling apart during performances. Last year, one of the wise men's crowns disintegrated mid-scene!"
"The board feels that since we're a hockey town..." Marcy's voice trails off.
"A hockey town? We're a town, period. With culture and arts and—" I wave the spreadsheet. "Students who deserve better than performing in costumes that are literally falling apart during the show!"
"I'm so sorry. I tried to argue for splitting the funds, but..."
I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate. Maybe it’s the added pressure from taking some sick days, but I’m just so over this. It happens every year.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do about costumes?” I say, trying to fight back tears. “The pageant's in less than three weeks!"
"They suggested maybe some... creative fundraising?" Marcy's voice rises to a squeak.
"I'll be back," I tell Daisy and Marcy, snatching my coat from the back of my chair. My heels click against the linoleum as I march down the hallway, past the trophy cases filled with—surprise—hockey memorabilia.
Behind me, I hear Daisy and Marcy's footsteps, their voices calling out.
"Colette, wait! There's something you should?—"
The rink connects to the school through a covered walkway, and the blast of cold air does nothing to cool my temper. The hockey coach, Wade Greer, isn't going to get away with this.
"You can't just barge in—" Daisy hurries behind me, still wearing her flour-dusted apron.
"Watch me." I've known Sarah Greer all my life. We have book club every other Thursday. If anyone can talk sense into that hockey-obsessed husband of hers, it's me.
I clutch my spreadsheet like a battle flag. "I'm going to give Wade a piece of my mind.”
"But Coach Greer isn't—" Marcy's voice echoes down the corridor.
