“Okay, I’ll just take this and go then.” She tucks her mangled package under her arm.
“Fine, maybe not im-me-di-ate-ly,” I say, stretching out the final word.
She grins and thrusts the bundle into my arms. The snowman-patterned paper crackles in protest as the parcel squashes against my chest for the second time. Like a pillow. Or a stuffed animal. Or Stephen’s polar bear.
“What is it?” I say, a little too loudly. A little too much like a frothing-at-the-mouth rabid person. Maybe I shouldn’t be wearing pajamas. It’s just one more thing that might convince someone to cart me away to a madhouse. Or the hospital or whatever.
She raises a single eyebrow. “I’m not sure that you understand how this whole gift-giving thing works. . . .”
“All right, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll open it.” I pierce the paper with a jab, then grasp the torn edge and pull away one long strip after another. They fall to the floor like absurdly misshapen snowflakes.
“Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh!” It’s so much better than a stupid polar bear. It’s better even than a not-stupid polar bear. It’s basically the greatest thing ever.
I let the rest of the paper fall to the floor and hug my own personal LumberLegs to my chest. My very own red-cloaked, elven warrior with tree trunks for legs. The material is soft and oh-so-cuddly.
“Where’d you find him?” Legs has never been big into merchandising. It’s not like you can just find Legs stuff in a store. He’s got a few shirts—all of which I own—in his online store, and that’s it.
“Online. I found this girl who makes them.”
“He’s perfect. I love him. You’ll be the maid of honor at our wedding, right?”
She laughs. “Careful, you’ll make Grayson jealous.” She leans down, gathers the discarded wrapping paper into a neat little ball, and hands it to me. “I’d better go, though. Granddad’s in the car, waiting. I just stopped by to give you that.” She moves toward the door.
“You saved Christmas,” I tell her.
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob and looks me in the eye. “Did it need saving?”
“I’ll tell you later. Go home and put on some pajamas. Like seriously. Now.”
She laughs again, then disappears out into the cold. I toss the wrapping paper back on the floor and give Legs another hug.
CHAPTER 13
LEGENDS OF THE STONE
[]Sythlight has entered the waterlands.
[]Sythlight: You guys up for a dungeon run?
KittyKat: actually, I’m really tired. think I might sleep.
MEGAdawn: It’s only 10pm!
KittyKat: I know. I’m just so tired. and I need lots of sleep if I’m going to survive the new year’s thing.
MEGAdawn: Fine. <3 <3 <3 good night party pooper!
[]Sythlight: Good night.
KittyKat has logged off.
MEGAdawn: you still want to play something?
[]Sythlight: Actually, I might head off too.
MEGAdawn: of course you will
[]Sythlight: What?
MEGAdawn: never mind
MEGAdawn: good night
[]Sythlight: Hey, thanks for always texting me when you guys are playing.
MEGAdawn: np
[]Sythlight: OK. Ciao.
MEGAdawn: bye
[]Sythlight has logged off.
KAT
Mom. Dad. Luke.
Mom. Luke. Dad.
Luke. Mom. Dad.
Luke. Dad. Mom.
Dad. Luke. Mom.
Dad. Mom. Luke.
There are six different ways to organize the set, but no matter which way I choose, there are still only three items in it. We’re already halfway through Christmas vacation, and I’ve only done three tests. I have no idea how to go about the others.
Granddad is fine with a tablet, but not so great with a mouse, so despite his offering, he’s out. Which means I’ve run out of family-member lab rats. Meg’s extended-family Christmas party is in a few days, and she swears she can get fifteen tests done just from her cousins alone. I have cousins too, but they’re older. And in different provinces. And countries. I always got along with Tarah, my youngest cousin—youngest, but still seven years older than me—but she’s in Kenya for a year delivering babies or building schools or something. I don’t think she can even get email, let alone do a speed run in LotS. Maybe I should try her anyway.
“Kat.”
Then again, even if she did find some internet café, the connection might be too slow.
“Kat! Earth to Kat!”
I blink, bringing the world outside my head back into focus. A snowman mug, ringed with the powdery remnants of my hot chocolate. An LED screen boasting a flickering countdown.
New Year’s Eve at Meg’s house.
Everyone—Meg, Grayson, Grayson’s buddies, even Luke, who had nothing better to do and decided to come along—is gathered by the front door, all peeling off their socks in some foot-fetish orgy. The living room couches around me, packed with people just moments ago, are deserted. The noise hasn’t stopped, though. Everyone’s still laughing and talking like they’re on a radio show and can’t have dead air.
Meg bounds barefoot across the room toward me and starts tugging at my socks like I’m some obstinate child refusing to change for bed. “Come on, come on,” she says. “It’s almost time.”
“I can do it.” I hook my thumb under the topmost stripe and slide my sock away to expose my wintry-pale, naked flesh. “We’re all going to get pneumonia,” I mumble, just loud enough so that she can hear me but the weirdos by the door can’t. I fold my socks and set them in a tidy pile on the rug.
“Then we can be hospital buddies,” she says. Before I can protest that we might pass the pneumonia on to Granddad, she grins, grabs my arm, and hauls me to my feet. “Come on.”
We draw up to the front door just as Grayson starts the countdown, reading from the TV screen like it’s a teleprompter. “Ten . . . nine . . .”
Everyone joins in. Luke’s sonorous tenor harmonizes with Grayson’s gruff bass. Luke has always had a knack for blending into groups of strangers.
“Six . . . five . . .”
Meg’s hand hovers on the front door handle. It’s not open yet, but already my toes curl, retreating from the winter wind. This—this ridiculous midnight celebration Meg has convinced us to do—is bananas. I’ve gotten swept up into some alien culture that shoves aside all reason in favor of a herd mentality of recklessness. Foolish idiocy.
“Two . . . one . . .”
With a shout of “Happy New Year!” Meg whips the door open and the alien cows lumber past me with surprising speed, bursting out onto the porch, then onto the snow-piled lawn. There’s no time to flee. Meg latches herself onto my arm and kisses me on the cheek—actually kisses me on the cheek, the silly fool—and then we both tumble out the door and into the snow. Barefoot.
MEG