When Emily had read her horoscope in the Philadelphia Sentinel this morning, it had said, Be prepared for an uncomfortable situation today. No kidding.
Over the booming Christmas music, Emily heard the faintest, haunting giggle. She paused and whipped her head to the left, watching as the shoppers streamed past. Was someone watching?
“Emily?” A tall, graying woman in a red dress and a Santa hat rushed toward her. Even in the Mrs. Claus outfit, Emily recognized Judith Meriwether from church—she was always giving a reading or announcing a canned-goods drive.
“It is you!” Mrs. Meriwether breathed, taking Emily’s hands. Her palms were ice-cold. “Thank goodness you’re here. It’s so nice of you to do this for your mother. For all of us.”
Emily pressed her lips together to keep from saying that she hadn’t really had a choice.
Mrs. Meriwether directed Emily to sit down in the little gingerbread house and fill out some tax forms. As Emily finished writing in her address, she glanced out the diamond-shaped window. Santa Land was wedged between an Aéropostale, a BCBG, and two kiosks. One sold glittery cell phone and iPad cases while the other hawked what looked like some sort of bottled water. DISCOVER THE AMAZING POWER OF AMINOSPA! said a banner draped over the booth. A buff, chiseled guy and a punky girl with jet-black hair stood in the thoroughfare, trying to get passersby to take free samples. The girl’s red lips were drooped in a despondent frown, and she was practically tackling anyone who walked by.
“Here we are.” Mrs. Meriwether bustled into the gingerbread house with a Santa suit in her arms. “It’s fresh from the dry cleaner’s. Our previous Santa wore it too, but he was much bigger than you are. We’ll have to fill you out with some pillows.” She held up the curly white beard to Emily’s face. It felt like silky doll hair against her skin. “Perfect! No one will know you’re a girl!”
Emily pulled the Santa suit over her clothes. When she looked at herself in the small mirror in the back of the gingerbread house, she looked, well, like Santa.
“Now, let me give you the rules,” Mrs. Meriwether said after stuffing a bunch of pillows under Emily’s jacket and down her pant legs. “Try to move the kids along as fast as you can, but always give them a few ho ho hos and let them tell you a couple things they’d like for Christmas. Hold on to them tight for the picture—a lot of kids will want to squirm off your lap—and if someone pees on you, just laugh it off. Our previous Santa got angry, which upset a lot of parents.” She made a face. “Our previous Santa also hit on thirteen-year-old girls. At least you won’t be doing anything like that.”
Emily clomped in her oversized black boots toward the gingerbread door, which had a wobbly knob in the shape of a gumdrop. “So where are these elves I’m supposed to be spying on?”
Mrs. Meriwether’s eyes darted back and forth. “They’re not here yet,” she whispered. “Please keep your mission quiet, though. Sophie’s father is the mall manager. He can’t find out what we’re doing until we have proof—I can’t afford to be fired. But these girls need to be caught. Mrs. Ulster from the church swears they took the Santa sleigh from her front yard. And one of my neighbors woke up a few mornings ago to find her inflatable Frosty in a very . . . compromising position with the inflatable Ho-Ho-Homer Simpson.” She winced.
“Well, I’ll do my best,” Emily assured her. Her phone beeped. She had one text message from Spencer:Want to check out the new Ryan Gosling movie?
I wish but I’m working, Emily wrote back. Then she opened the gingerbread door and stepped outside. All the kids’ heads swiveled around at the sight of her. “It’s Santa!” one of them screamed. “Santa, Santa!” the rest of the kids wailed, jumping up and down.
The girl at the front of the line barreled for Emily before she could sit down, latching herself onto Emily’s leg. “Hi, Santa!” she bellowed. “I’m Fiona!”
“Hello, Fiona,” Emily said, deepening her voice. She lowered herself onto the throne, and the girl climbed up onto her lap. She was about five years old, had her hair in two blond pigtails, and smelled like Lucky Charms. “What would you like for Christmas?” Emily asked.
“A Little Mermaid doll,” the girl said promptly.
Emily couldn’t help but smile. “The Little Mermaid is one of my favorite movies, too.” She’d kind of had a crush on Ariel.
Fiona’s face brightened. “Really?” It was as though she’d just gotten a Santa exclusive.
“That’s right,” Emily said. “Ho ho ho!”