Emily kept her gaze trained on her half-eaten cannoli. “I don’t know how I feel about stealing.”
“Oh, we’re not stealing the stuff.” Cassie waved her fork in the air. “We’re just moving it to the tennis courts. They can move it back the next day. It’s just to mess with them. Screw with their perspective. It’s like how, a couple of weeks ago, we stole this baby Jesus from the Nativity scene in front of a church. We wanted people to see the empty cradle in the manger and really think about things—what the holidays mean, what the symbols mean.” She paused. “It was also really funny. Heather had to ride in the car with the Jesus on her lap. She kept screaming about how it was bad karma and that God was going to strike her down.”
It took all of Emily’s willpower not to tell Cassie that it was her mother’s baby Jesus she was talking about. On the bright side, it didn’t sound like Cassie and the others had smashed the baby Jesus to pieces. “So the pranks aren’t about ruining people’s holidays?” she asked timidly.
Cassie popped the last bite of cannoli into her mouth. “Not necessarily. It’s more to draw attention to the commercialism of it. All good pranksters have a point to their actions. I mean, we’re not complete thugs.” She touched Emily’s hand. “We’ll have so much fun, I promise. Think of it as a Christmas crusade.”
The bites of cannoli churned in Emily’s stomach, and she stared out at the mall’s promenade, with its massive Christmas tree and millions of shops. Maybe Cassie had a point. She thought about the line of kids at Santa Land, all of them asking for way too many things, and their parents nodding encouragingly. And there were all those stories on the news of shoppers tackling one another to get the last hot toy at Target or Walmart. All those commercials that made you feel terrible if you didn’t buy your beloved a diamond ring or a Lexus or an It bag for Christmas. Even her mother’s desperation to get the baby Jesus back: She was going to sell it in order to buy Christmas presents so she could turn this Christmas into, yet again, the best Christmas ever. Did it really matter when they had the most important thing: a healthy, happy family that was spending the holiday together?
Her fork dropped to her plate with a loud, clear clang. “Okay,” she decided. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”
Chapter 12
All the Whos Down in Whoville
“Should we have our usual turkey for Christmas dinner or try something else, like steak?” Mrs. Fields asked as she spooned squares of lasagna onto her children’s plates that night for dinner. “Or how about if we went out for dinner this Christmas Eve? That would be special, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m not sure we should be spending money on extravagant restaurants,” Mr. Fields said as he filled the water glasses at the fridge.
“It’s only once a year,” Mrs. Fields interrupted, thrusting her chin into the air. “And anyway, I think we’ll find a way to afford it.”
She raised her eyebrows at Emily, but Emily kept her gaze trained on her empty plate. In one hour, she would be joining the elves on their pranking mission—but not as a narc.
Mrs. Fields launched into the regular family prayer, and everyone started to eat. “We’ll have to decide about Christmas Eve dinner soon,” Mrs. Fields said as she spooned some green beans onto her plate, picking up on the topic again. “All of the restaurants probably book up fast.”
“I vote for Ruth’s Chris Steak House.” Jake stabbed a piece of lasagna.
“Uch, that place is so boring.” Beth bit off a piece of a roll. “Let’s go somewhere nicer. Like somewhere in the city, maybe.”
“I’m fine with Applebee’s,” Carolyn said meekly, always the sensible girl.
They argued about this for the rest of the dinner. Emily didn’t dare contribute a word, feeling like a pent-up volcano ready to blow. Finally, fearing she was going to blurt out everything if she sat at the table for another minute, she rose from her seat. “Uh, I have to go to the library. I have a ton of homework.”
“On a Tuesday night before the break?” Beth looked surprised. “Rosewood Day is working you hard.”
“Uh, it’s a last-minute test,” Emily fumbled, carrying her plate to the sink.
Mrs. Fields rose too and caught her arm. “You hardly ate any of your dinner.” Her eyes were wide and concerned. “Is everything okay?”
Emily kept her eyes locked on the chicken-printed trivet sitting next to the stove. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, placing her plate on the counter. “See you later.”
As she walked into the living room, she could feel her mother’s gaze on her back. Don’t turn around, she silently willed. She made herself think about lyrics to Christmas songs instead, though the only one that rattled through her mind was “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.” Only when she reached the stairs did she glance over her shoulder again. When she did, her mother had turned away, like she didn’t suspect a thing.