Mrs. Meriwether snapped a picture. Fiona gave her a huge hug, which filled Emily with a surprising sense of happiness. It was pretty cute. After the little girl skipped away, Emily assessed the line again. One child down. A zillion more to go.
The next kid, a boy of about seven, wanted a Star Wars Lego set. The girl after him wouldn’t say a word, but Emily made her smile by pretending to pull a peppermint candy out of her ear. Fifteen or so kids later, a man in a police uniform and a badge that said O’NEAL plopped his daughter on Emily’s lap. The girl, whose name was Tina, recited a very long list of Christmas wants, from several different American Girl dolls to a motorized car Emily had seen in an FAO Schwarz catalogue that cost $1,500. Her father nodded after each request, saying, “Santa will bring that for you, honey. And that, and that, and that.” Emily wanted to scold him. On a cop’s salary? Tina was definitely going to be disappointed Christmas morning.
There were some kids who cried, wiping their snot onto Emily’s sleeve. There was one boy only a few years younger than Emily who was there with his little brothers, who wanted to sit on Emily’s lap too, probably realizing she was a girl. Inevitably, a little girl peed on Emily’s lap out of excitement. Her mother whisked her off immediately, apologizing profusely. “It’s okay,” Emily said, recalling Mrs. Meriwether’s advice. She blotted the warm wet spot on her knee and tried not to gag.
“You’re much nicer than you were the other day, Santa,” the peeing offender said, showing off her missing front tooth. “You were mean to me then. You said I was dirty.”
“Oh, that was just a joke,” Emily said quickly. “I think you’re great.”
When there was a lull in the line, Mrs. Meriwether emerged from the gingerbread house and marched over to Emily. “You’re doing a great job,” she said. “Certainly better than our old Santa, anyway.”
“It’s been fun,” Emily answered. It was true. The job was a whirlwind of activity, but it was fun to hear what the kids wanted for Christmas. It was even better when they squealed or hugged her, like she’d made their day.
Suddenly, Mrs. Meriwether gasped at something in the distance. Emily turned to see four girls ambling toward Santa Land. They were dressed in pointed hats, green dresses, striped stockings, and shoes that turned up at the toes. As they passed the Santa throne, Emily caught a strong whiff of cigarettes and peppermint schnapps.
The elves. Though they definitely didn’t look merry.
“Girls,” Mrs. Meriwether called, waving. “Can you come here for a minute?”
The tallest elf, who had bright blue hair, wore a lot of makeup, and looked vaguely familiar, rolled her eyes and started over. The others followed. One had dreads and a nose ring, another was an Asian girl with hippie braids and a tough expression, while the final girl was tiny with short hair and a tattoo of a smiling jester on the inside of her wrist. Their eyes flickered cagily over Emily as if they didn’t like what they saw.
“Girls, this is our new Santa. Her name is Emily Fields.” Mrs. Meriwether put a hand on Emily’s arm.
The blue-haired girl guffawed. “A girl Santa?”
“She’s doing a very good job, Cassie.” Mrs. Meriwether’s voice rose in pitch. “Emily, this is Cassie Buckley. And Lola Alvarez”—that was Dreads—“Sophie Chen”—Hippie Braids—“and Heather Murtaugh”—Jester Tattoo. “They’ll be helping you out with whatever you need.”
The elves chuckled and nudged one another, as if to say yeah right. Emily’s gaze returned again to Cassie, the blue-haired girl. All of a sudden, she realized why she looked so familiar: Cassie Buckley had been on the Rosewood Day JV field hockey team with Ali. But what had happened to her? She used to look like all the other field hockey girls: long, blond hair, bronzed skin, and an extensive wardrobe from J. Crew. Now, there were rings through her lip and eyebrow, and she was glaring at Emily with such animosity Emily immediately felt like she’d done something very, very wrong.
“What are you looking at?” Cassie snapped, noticing Emily’s stare.
Emily whipped her head down. “Nothing.”
“You’d better be looking at nothing,” Lola threatened.
Emily glanced around for Mrs. Meriwether, but she had vanished. She might as well have left Emily alone with four rabid, unleashed dogs.
“And you better leave us the hell alone, Santa,” Sophie rasped in a low smoker’s voice.
“Yeah, we have a good thing going here,” Heather growled. “So don’t screw up our shit. Got it?”
“Got it,” Emily whispered.
The elves laughed raucously, linked arms, and sashayed away in a booze-smelling cloud. Emily’s heart sank to the soles of her black Santa boots. What had she gotten herself into? There was no way she could infiltrate the elves. It made breaking into Ali’s clique in sixth grade look easy.
Chapter 4
Elves Have Feelings, Too