Page 58 of War on Christmas

Context: For the past hour, Sam has been a hard-ass taskmaster, shamelessly coercing the rest of us into a string of embarrassing (and sometimes illegal) tasks. Thad’s lips are still blue from Sam’s dare to do a snow angel in his boxers—“Time to prove your manhood, babe.”—and Freya could’ve gotten arrested stealing baby Jesus from old Mrs. Johnson’s nativity scene and leaving him on the front porch of old Mr. Pasterski, aka Mrs. Johnson’s next-door neighbor and longtime rival. (That one might result in a violent escalation tomorrow, but the possibility of a blood feud only fueled Sam’s determination.)

And the ugly truths are pouring out of us like confessions in a torture chamber. Thad secretly dated one of my high school ex-girlfriends for an entire week our junior year. (The betrayal!) Freya is a secret but die-hard Taylor Swift fan. (“I swear, Asshat, if you ever tellanyone, I will cut you.”) And the truth is finally out regarding my real feelings about Dave Matthews Band. (“Fine! I can’t fucking stand them. Are you happy now?”)

All of it orchestrated by Samantha.

So, you’ll have to excuse us for not buying into her whole “I’m cute and sweet and fragile” bit. It’s a sham.

“You know your choices.” Freya shrugs. “Answer the question—Who is the first celebrity crush you ever masturbated to?—or eat the sauce.”

It’s Freya who finally found the key to breaking Sam’s reign of terror. Neither Thad nor I would have dared to ask that question, but somehow, Freya zeroed in on it with unerring instincts.

And now the more Sam resists, the more we’re all dying to know.

We all watch, riveted, as Sam scrunches up her face, sticks out her tongue, and touches it to the hot sauce. With a yelp, she pulls back. Nobody—not even Freya—has been able to tolerate the sauce. Back in eighth grade she managed to swallow it once, but she immediately threw it up, so it didn’t count. We’re sticklers like that.

“Fine!” Sam seethes, tossing the spoonful of hot sauce into the mug on the old coffee table. “It was Bill Pullman! Are you happy?”

Stunned silence fills the basement. Even the springs on the ancient couch are afraid to make a sound. Across from me, Thad’s mouth drops open in shock.

“Bill…Pullman?” he repeats, and Sam curls into her overstuffed armchair with shame, burying her face in her knees. Freya starts to snicker.

“So, like…While You Were SleepingBill Pullman?” Freya asks. “NotMr. WrongBill Pullman. That would betooweird.” Then she gasps. “NotCasperBill Pullman?!”

We all pull back with a grimace, and Sam groans. “It was turn-of-the-century newspaper guy Bill Pullman.”

Freya considers this, then shrugs. “That’s not so bad.”

“But wait…” Thad chews at his lip. “If Bill Pullman is like, yourtype…how did you end up withme?”

Freya doesn’t miss a beat. She turns to Thad and stares hard at his face. “Oh, I can see it.”

“What?” Thad looks horrified, and I turn my head to hide the laugh I’m struggling to keep down.

“Oh, for sure.” Freya nods, exuding 100 percent confidence. “That whole guy-next-door, super safe and forgettable thing.”

“Safe?!” Thad sputters. “Forgettable?!” He turns to Sam. “Tell her hownotsafe I am.” Sam, who appears to have given up on life, pulls herself tighter into a ball and says nothing while Freya gives an evil chuckle only I can hear. Thad tries again. “Babe, tell her how wild I can be.”

“Dude,” I laugh, taking pity on him. And myself. Quite frankly, I really don’t want to hear how wild Thad is. “Frey is fucking with you. You’re not Bill Pullman.”

Not entirely anyway. Thad does have that whole “nice guy” vibe, though. Not that he looks nice right now. Right now he’s staring daggers at his twin, who responds by sticking her tongue out at him.

It’s all very mature.

Ok, honestly? Ever since Thad got home, it’s been a little bit like we’ve all reverted to our middle school selves. Fantasy games and movie nights and, yes, Truth or Dare. And, sure, maybe it hasn’t been very mature, but…it’s been super fun.

“Who’s up next?” Thad asks. “Oh, that’s right. The Evil Twin. What’s it gonna be, Frey? The truth or the sauce?”

Freya rolls her eyes. “I have nothing to hide.”

Sam unfolds from the fetal position to glare at Freya as well, a question already on the tip of her tongue. “All right, who—”

“Nope.” Thad holds up a hand to interrupt her, his eyes staying trained on Freya. “It’s time for the big guns.” Freya scoffs, but Thad narrows his eyes. He means business. “What happened with Ryan?”

Freya goes still, staring back at Thad with a look of utter betrayal, and a trickle of foreboding runs down my spine. Thad had mentioned Ryan to me the other morning. What the fuck did this guy do to Freya? More importantly, how the fuck do I get my hands on him?

“You really want to go there, Thaddeus?” Freya asks, and Thad takes a few seconds to read her face before giving a jerky nod. He’s not looking vindictive anymore, though. His mouth is pinched, his shoulders braced. Freya sighs. “Fine.”

She licks her red lips, her eyes flitting to mine, and I realize she’s nervous. Alarms are blaring now, but I’m careful to keep my face relaxed and neutral. My fingertips, though, are digging into the bumpy fabric of the couch cushion.

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