Page 26 of Rebel Without a Claus
One judge looks at me like I’m the anti-christ.
Roscoe Jenkins mutters to the mayor as they shift over to Eve’s table, “Why did that Scrooge even come if he was going to make a mockery of the contest?”
Ten minutes later, the festival Committee announces that Eve wins. There’s cheering. A ribbon. A picture taken. She holds the gingerbread trophy aloft like she just scaled Everest.
I should feel embarrassed for throwing the contest.
But I don’t.
No one expected me to be here, let alone win the damn thing. Roscoe Jenkins was right… I’m the grinch of the town.
I hang back, packing up my strange, but creative gingerbread house, wondering what the hell I should do with this thing. Aunt May may have a mini heart attack if she sees the gummy bear violence I’ve depicted. Hell, maybe Blitzen will enjoy some gingerbread as a little treat. She already ate her weight in candy canes and survived. That damn reindeer has a stomach of steel.
Eve finds me near the fireplace, her cheeks still pink, trophy in one hand.
“I know what you did,” she says, still clutching the hot cocoa in the other hand.
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“You melted red hots so that it looked like your gummy bears were bleeding, Luke.”
“Well… I like magical realism.”
“They were wielding candy cane swords.”
“Sounds like a win to me.”
She tilts her head at me, studying my face. Like she can see something I’m not saying. Maybe she can.
“As soon as Pam called you the grinch, you leaned into the stereotype turning your decent gingerbread house into Night of the Living Gingerdead.” After a pause, her voice softens. “For the record, I don’t think you’re a grinch. A Christmas rebel maybe… but not the grinch.”
I look away. My throat tightens. I’ve spent so long hating this season—everything it represents, everything it reminds me of that I don’t know what to make of these last few days where I’ve actually enjoyed some Christmas activities. Eve’s hand brushes mine, light as snow as though she’s reading my mood. But she doesn’t say anything. Just lets the silence stretch comfortably between us.
After several moments, she says, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came tonight. Your gingerbread house was the most memorable,by far. Even if you are a rebel without a claus.”
I snicker at her joke. “That should be a prize they offer next year. Most Memorable.”
“Mmm,” Eve nods in agreement. “I’ll talk to the mayor about adding it.”
“Next year?” I offer. “A gummy bear Battle Royale.”
“Huh. So you’re saying there will be a next year?”
My smile twitches higher despite the aching sadness echoing in my chest. “I don’t know. Willyoube back next year?”
Slowly, she nods. Then she whispers four words that gobsmack me. “I may not leave.”
For a moment, my head spins, and I don't know if it’s relief or confusion taking the wheel. She’s always had one foot out of Holly Ridge.
My throat is tight and dry. “You… you’re not going back to LA?”
She shrugs, looking both hopeful and unsure in equal measure before echoing me. “I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not?”
This was always Eve’s thing: skipping town as fast as she could after Christmas, leaving behind empty space that swallowed everything around it until everyone forgot she was even here to begin with.
“You’re kidding,” I finally manage.
“Nope,” she says, a little breathless. But there’s relief in her voice now, too—the kind you hear when someone admits something they’ve been dying to say out loud for ages. Her eyes are sparkling as she lifts a corner of her mouth into a timid smile.
