How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

And now it was time for what Storee dreaded most of all,

to perform on the stage in front of the small and the tall.

With eyes staring at her, the Christmas bells will ring,

and she will have to sing and sing and sing, sing, sing.

The more she thought about it, the more she grew sick.

“I must stop this at once, and I must do it quick.”

“Should we practice one more time?” Max asks, staring up at me from the couch.

“No,” I answer. “I think we’re ready. Plus, I don’t want to wear out my voice.”

“Smart.” Max taps the side of his head and packs up his guitar. “Before we head to the Caroling Café, I want to run something by you.”

“What?”

When he finishes packing up his guitar, he sets it to the side, scoops up his duffel bag and looks at me. “I got us outfits.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “Dude, I’m not going up there in fucking lederhosen again.”

“It’s not lederhosen.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out two buffalo plaid shirts. One is red and green. The other is red, green, and white.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, staring at the normal shirts.

“No catch. I think it would be nice if we matched up there. But there’s one more thing.”

“What is it?”

He lets out a deep sigh, reaches into his bag, and pulls out a picture frame. He doesn’t show me what’s inside. Instead, he says, “Before you say no, I don’t want you to think this is for anything or anyone but you.”

He turns the frame around. It’s displaying a picture of my parents and me in front of Evergreen Farm when I was maybe ten. We’re all wearing matching flannel shirts like the ones Max purchased.

“Shit,” I mutter as I grab the picture and take it all in. Mom’s holding my hand, and Dad has one hand on my shoulder while his other arm is around Mom. Mom’s wearing a Santa hat while Dad sports a silly white beard. I have a jingle bell around my neck and am wearing a huge smile.

“I think it would be a nice tribute,” he says, pulling out a Santa hat, white beard…and jingle bell necklace. “I’ll wear the beard, man. You can wear the hat and the necklace.”

My eyes never leave the photo. “Mom was so sick the night before we took this picture. She had food poisoning, and Dad was trying to convince her that we could push getting a tree to another day, but she wouldn’t allow it. She knew how excited I was, so she put on a smile and made it through the day. I didn’t know until years later that she wasn’t feeling good.”

“She was a really good mom.” Max places his hand on my shoulder. “She wore that Santa hat almost year-round.”

I chuckle. “The only reason she could was because we lived here. I think people would have thought she was crazy anywhere else.”

“Probably.” He squeezes my shoulder. “So, what do you say? You up for it? If not, then we can stick to what we’re wearing right now—”

“No, I want to do it.” I want to do this for them. I’ve pushed away these memories, my Christmas traditions, for so long that this…this feels right. This feels like something I need to do in order to preserve their memory, to have them with me on this new chapter in my life. I turn to my friend. “Thank you for this. I didn’t even consider a tribute, but…but I think I’m ready for this.”

“I think you are too. Look how far you’ve come.” He gestures to the living room. “I never thought you’d get to this point, but here you are celebrating Christmas, involved in the town, and opening yourself up to another person. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, man,” I say as we both stand, and I take the red, green, and white plaid from him and strip out of my current shirt.

“Holy shit,” he says, his eyes falling to my chest. “Dude, what the hell happened—” He pauses, and his expression changes from shocked to knowing in a matter of seconds. “Are those hickeys and scratches from Storee?”

I push my arms through the sleeves and start buttoning up the shirt. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? You’re just going to answer that so casually? Dude, you look like a leopard under there.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not that extreme.”

“Cole, that is a lot of marks.”

Smirking, I make eye contact with my friend. “You should see her.”

“I don’t even want to know,” he says as he changes into his shirt as well. “I’m starting to get jealous, and I don’t need to feel jealous about your sex life.”

“Why not?” I finish buttoning the top of my shirt and then put on the jingle bell necklace.

“Because I have enough going on with this Kringle competition. I don’t need to be wishing I had a sex life to go with it. Someone has to be the backbone of this operation, and clearly that person is not you since your head has been in the clouds.”

“Can you blame me?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I actually can’t. I’m more than willing to be the backbone because I can see my friend returning, and that’s what matters to me most.”

“Max, you getting emotional on me?”

“I mean, I’m not crying if that’s what you’re leading to.”

“I don’t know. I think I can see a tear.”

“There are no tears, and even if there were, I’d embrace it. Hell, want me to squeeze one out right now? Give me a second.” He comically attempts to bulge his eye out of its socket and force himself to cry.

“Can you not do that? It’s creepy as fuck.”

“You’re the one who wants to see tears.” He gets in a squatting position now, hands on his legs, his ass jutted out, his face straining. “I’m going to give you tears.”

“Jesus Christ.” I swat at him. “Stop that. You’re going to burst something.”

“Yeah, burst into tears,” he says, still straining.

“Stop it.” I push at his face and force him back on the couch. “I don’t need you tearing up. Lord knows you’ll cry enough when we’re performing later.”

“Can you blame me?” he says. “What we have planned is going to knock the apron and hairnet right off crotchety old Karen back on the grill. And the town votes on these performances. The town knows you, so this is in the bag.” I shrug, and I can tell he’s not happy with that response because he says, “What the hell happened to you? Where’s the competitive spirit? When you started this competition, you were ready to wield a candy cane like a sword and stab anyone who came near you. Now you’re…you’re soft.”

“I still want to win, but, yeah, maybe I’ve softened. Maybe it isn’t about the competition as much as doing something I would never have thought to do a few months ago. Maybe it’s about growth. Maybe it’s about coming out of my shell and letting myself live again. Enjoy the season…and honor my parents.”

Max slowly nods. “I couldn’t agree more.” He pauses and places his hand on my shoulder again. “But we should win while accomplishing all those other things.”

I chuckle and place the Santa hat on my head while Max straps on his beard. “Yes…we should win while accomplishing all those things.”

“Atta boy.” Max slaps me on the back. “Now let’s go blow this competition wide open.”

Storee

“I’m going to puke,” I say to Taran as I clasp my shaky hands together. “I can’t do this.”

“Stop that,” Taran whispers in my ear. “It’s all in your head. Nothing will happen other than you rocking this competition, and doing it with pizzazz.”

“I don’t feel very pizzazz-y right now,” I mutter back as I glance up at the Caroling Café stage where Beatrice Pedigree is currently singing “Little Drummer Boy” like Angela from The Office. I don’t think she planned on doing a spoof from the popular Christmas episode—I just think this was the approach she took with her performance. It’s stiff, people are bored, and I worry she might get booed.

“Do you need me to show you the video of the routine again?” she asks, pulling out her phone.

“For the love of God, no. That makes it worse,” I say. “We need to find a way out of this. Like…pull a fire alarm, shout ‘rat,’ or even faint. Maybe I should faint. How do we feel about fainting?”

“You’re not going to faint. You’re not pulling a fire alarm. And you’re not shouting ‘rat.’ You will get up on that stage and perform the routine like we practiced.”

“But, Taran—”

“What’s going on, dears?” Aunt Cindy says from her seat beside us. For public appearances, she’s moved from a wheelchair to a walker, which we put green-and-red tennis balls on and then decked out the rest to show her Christmas spirit.

“Storee is feeling nervous and pukey,” Taran says. “And she’s trying to sabotage the whole competition by fainting or screaming ‘rat.’ I’m trying to reassure her that she’s fine.”

“You’re not the one who embarrassed herself ten years ago and knocked an ornery woman into the river.”

“That was ten years ago,” Taran says. “And she was fine, just wet.”

“Not to mention,” Aunt Cindy says, “you did the Judy Garland rendition so well.”

“That was different,” I say. “I was still nervous, but I just had to sit there and look out a window while mouthing lyrics. This routine has me moving all around…and singing.”

“Yes, but we practiced,” Taran says. “Now just watch on my phone one more time, and everything should be—”

“Ready to lose?” Cole says as he comes up behind us.

I turn around to catch a smirk cross his lips.

“Get out of here, you pariah,” Taran says. “We don’t need you over here messing with Storee. She’s already flustered.”

“You’re flustered?” he asks, and I can see the concern in his eyes.

“No,” I say, crossing my arms, trying to play the part. “Taran is just saying that so you think you can win this when in reality you don’t have a routine half as good as mine.”

“That’s the spirit.” Taran fist-pumps the air. “You tell him.”

Okay, Taran, bring it down a notch.

“I’m sure it will be great,” Cole says in a sarcastic tone that I know he doesn’t mean. “But I need to pull you to the side for a moment. Tanya wants to say hi to the new couple. We must give the people what they want.”

Taran rolls her eyes. “This whole farce you have going is completely ridiculous, and there’s no merit to it.”

“The reason you’re in first right now is because I put you girls on the map with this idea.”

“Oh, please,” Taran says. “We’re in first because we’re the better team.” She shoos at him with her hand. “Now hurry along. I need to get my Kringle-ee mentally prepared.”

Cole grabs my hand and brings me to a secluded corner of the café, away from the ruckus and near the bathrooms. I glance around. “Where’s Tanya?”

I can barely get the sentence out before his lips are on mine. My hand floats up the soft flannel of his shirt as he pulls me in tighter, his mouth opening just barely.

This is exactly what I needed. This kiss. This moment of ease.

Him.

His comfort and reassurance.

When I pull away, I glance up at his beautiful eyes. “Thank you.”

“Feeling better?”

“A little,” I say.

“Don’t be flustered or nervous, okay? It can’t get worse than Beatrice up there.”

I chuckle and nod. “I think she’s scaring the children.”

“I saw a mom block her child’s eyes.”

I laugh a little more and lean into him so he can wrap his arms around me and pull me into a hug. His hand soothingly rubs over my back for a few seconds before I pull away again out of fear that Taran might come searching for me.

“You going to be okay?” he asks.

“I think so.” I let out a deep breath. “I just want this to be over.”

“It will be soon.” He tugs on my coat. “What do you have hiding under there?”

“Nothing.” I hold my coat tighter together.

“You’re hiding something. What are you hiding?” He tries to unzip my parka, but I don’t let him.

“You’ll see.”

His brows raise. “Uh…what do you plan on doing, Storee? If it’s flashing everyone, I do not approve.”

I chuckle. “I’m not going to flash people.”

“Storee!” Taran calls. “We’re up.”

“Got to go.” I quickly offer him one more kiss, then take off, that moment with him giving me the slightest bit of confidence as I head up toward the stage.

I try to focus on the decorations of the Caroling Café and not the people. Just like a Broadway diner, booths fill the restaurant, offering people an unobstructed view of the stage. The walls are decorated with a hunter-green plaid wallpaper while wreath chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Each booth has a gold table with green leather seats, Christmas tree salt and pepper shakers, and Christmas-themed tableware, from reindeer mugs to Christmas china and gold silverware. It resembles Christmas Eve dinner at the grandparents’ but with a selection of classic diner food tailored to the season.

“You ready?” Taran asks as she joins me onstage, along with Aunt Cindy who is clutching her walker and looking more excited than I’ve ever seen her.

“Ready,” I say, and together we all remove our jackets, revealing our Santa Claus outfits…well…naughty-ish Santa Claus outfits—and yes, that includes Aunt Cindy. The rules state we can have backup dancers, but I must be the one singing, so…we took full advantage.

I spot Cole in the crowd and see the lift of his brows as he takes in my high black boots, red skirt trimmed with fur, and long-sleeved red bodysuit. Taran tosses me a Santa hat. I secure it on, adjust the black belt around my waist, and then grab the mic, my heart racing.

Taran and Aunt Cindy come up next to me, wearing versions of my outfit. Aunt Cindy is in red silk loungewear, and Taran wears a red romper with white fur trim.

The music thrums through the speakers. I swallow hard and start singing “Jingle Bell Rock” while performing the same dance from Mean Girls.

My voice is shaky at first, my moves a little stiff, but once the café starts to realize what we’re doing, the cheers erupt, clapping occurs, and I start relaxing as I continue to dance and sing, hitting my every mark.

I catch Cole in the crowd a few times. His enthusiastic smile spurs me on. I flow with the music. I swing my hips. I add some facial expressions. I even add a little hip pop here and there, and all the while, Taran and Aunt Cindy are my backup dancers—Aunt Cindy with her walker bopping around and Taran with her comedic timing of “messing up” the moves just like Gretchen in the movie.

On the last note, we all pose, and the café erupts with cheers, filling me with so much joy that I could actually cry.

I put the mic back on its stand, and then together we help Aunt Cindy off the stage and toward the back, where Jimmy is waiting to go on next.

“Oh my God, you nailed it,” Taran says, pulling me into a hug, something completely out of the ordinary for her. We don’t hug. We barely high-five. We’re not that kind of touchy-feely sisters, but look at her hugging me…actually hugging me. Mom and Dad would probably faint in shock. “I’m so proud of you.”

She’s…she’s proud of me?

Huh, that’s also new.

“Thanks, Taran,” I say, feeling my cheeks go red.

“Well done, girls,” Aunt Cindy says as she takes a seat in one of the chairs to the right of the stage, her bedecked walker in front of her. “If that doesn’t take first place, I don’t know what will.”

Jimmy is introduced onstage, and instead of grabbing the mic, he plugs his electric guitar into an amp and places one foot on top. With just a few strokes, he starts to fill the room with “Carol of the Bells.”

Huh, who knew Jimmy had it in him?

“I see you pulled out all the stops,” Cole says as he comes up next to us. To my surprise, he tips my chin up and places a chaste kiss on my lips. When we pull away, I can feel Taran’s eyes like lasers on me. “Not going to be good enough, though.”

“Can you not touch her, please?” Taran says. “We don’t need you tarnishing the talent.”

“Yeah, we don’t need you tarnishing the talent,” I say with a hair flip.

“The town expects me to congratulate my girl on a job well done, so I’m just playing the part for the fans. Should we kiss again?”

“Spare me,” I say with an eye roll, trying to hold back my smirk from the slight shock in his eyes.

“Please spare us all,” Taran adds. “Also, you’re ruining our vibe over here. We were celebrating, and now you’re suffocating us.”

“It’s all about keeping up appearances, Taran. Although I guess you don’t know what that means, given your light display.”

Oh.

Shit.

I glance over at Taran, and her once-jovial expression has morphed into that of a woman ready to split a man’s skull in two with her bare hands. I understand what he’s doing, especially since he’s attempting to keep our secret…well, a secret, but disparaging Taran’s light display? No, Cole…no.

“How…dare…you,” Taran seethes as the music in the background starts to build, the crescendo of the song blasting through the speakers. “I will have you know I like to take my time, not just throw up some generic decor I saw in a magazine.”

“You might want to throw something up. Christmas afternoon is when the Christmas Kringle is announced, and you have until midnight on Christmas Eve to get it all together. In case you forgot.”

“Why don’t you just worry about yourself and stop creeping on my sister?”

“Okay, why don’t we just move ourselves to the side?” I say as Jimmy finishes and the crowd cheers. It seems pretty loud, so maybe they were impressed. I honestly couldn’t tell you if he was good or not because I was a bit distracted.

Atlas approaches us. “Okay, I got a projector for us.” He takes in the group’s tension and places his hands on his hips. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing at all.” Cole turns to me. “Aren’t you going to tell me to break a leg, babe? Maybe a good luck kiss?”

“See?” Taran points at him. “Pariah.”

“Okay, Taran,” I mutter. Turning toward Cole, I say, “Break a leg.”

“Uh…the kiss?”

I make a dramatic sigh for Taran, then inwardly squeal as I stand on my toes and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He smiles back at me and goes up onstage with Atlas, who’s wearing a Santa beard for God knows what reason.

They’re the last act to go since Ursula went first. She performed a rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” which wasn’t too bad. It would have been better if she hadn’t messed up the lyrics, saying “four French hens” and “three turtle doves.” But hey, we all get messed up with that song every once in a while. It would have been even better if she hadn’t done it while performing as a ventriloquist.

Or if her puppet’s arm hadn’t fallen off at the end…

I think it will be a battle for last between Ursula and her armless puppet…and the stiff-as-a-charcuterie-board-lacking-in-cheese Beatrice.

The café crowd turns quiet while both Atlas and Cole take a seat on stools brought out onto the stage. The lights dim down, not too dark but just dark enough to see the projection on the screen behind them, and when it focuses, my heart swells in my chest. Because I remember that boy on the screen. Cole in matching plaid flannels with his parents. His mom wearing a Santa hat, and his dad in a Santa beard. Atlas and Cole are wearing the same thing, bringing the picture to life, but in a different way.

Then Atlas strums the guitar, Cole brings the mic up to his mouth, and in a deep, rich timbre, he starts singing “Blue Christmas.”

My hand immediately goes to my chest as his eyes shut, the lyrics conveying the pain of missing his parents during Christmas. Atlas plays the guitar subtly in the background, and Cole’s voice takes the lead as the café is enamored by the performance.

“Oh my God,” I say softly, staring up at them. Cole’s past, matched with his present. Atlas filling in the role of his family, matching the traditions Cole once shared with his family.

Tears well in my eyes, and I attempt to tell myself not to get too emotional, not to get caught up in the beautiful moment onstage because I can feel Taran watching me, but I can’t help it.

His voice is beautiful.

The gesture is heartwarming.

The meaning behind it all, a son singing to his late parents, has me in a bucket of emotions.

And when the song ends, Atlas finishing on a soft strum, Cole looks up and wipes his eye as Atlas pulls him into a hug and they share a moment up on the stage, the café crowd cheering for the both of them.

“That was…beautiful,” Aunt Cindy says as she wipes her eyes. “Just beautiful.”

Thank God she’s crying, because that gives me the right to do the same.

I wipe at my eyes as they walk offstage, and when Cole meets my gaze, I can see the water in his eyes—the need for comfort—but I fear if I run up and hug him, it will send Taran into a tailspin, so I keep my distance as they walk up to us. Though Aunt Cindy grabs him by the hand.

“That was so touching, Cole.”

He smiles down at Aunt Cindy. “Thank you.” He sniffs and then walks off to the side with Atlas where they hug each other one more time. Dammit, I want to be the person who’s hugging him. Who’s celebrating him. Who’s sharing this moment with him. Mourning with him.

“Damn, that was good,” Taran says and then looks me in the eyes. “Are you crying?”

“Just a little,” I say and wipe at my eyes. “We knew his parents and him back then. It just…I don’t know, it made me sad for him.”

“Don’t feel sad for him. He’s going to take first.”

“You think?”

Taran nods. “Yes, I do. We’ll be lucky if we get second.”

“Lucky?” I ask. “I thought we would for sure get second at least. This is a caroling competition. Jimmy didn’t even sing.”

“Playing an instrument is allowed. I saw women throw their napkins up on the stage when he was playing. Remember, the people vote, and he showed chest hair, so he’ll take second. Now I just need to do the calculations.”

Taran disappears while Bob Krampus goes up on the stage, taking the mic in one hand.

“What a wonderful set of performances, some of the best I’ve seen since being the emcee of the Kringle competition. I hope you’ve been taking notes, because now it’s time to enter your vote into the system. Please pull out your phones and scan the QR code on the table to place your vote. Please note you’re accepting all terms and conditions when voting and will need a valid email address that will be shared with Kringletown tourism when entered.”

I chuckle because, man, do they have it down with this whole Kringle competition and maximizing every facet of it to grow the town.

“We’ll give you about a minute to enter your votes. Meanwhile, can we please get our Kringle-ees up on the stage?”

I feel a hand grab mine, and just as I look up, Cole pulls me toward the stage so we’re the first ones on. A bunch of hooting and hollering is coming from the back where Tanya, Martha, and Mae are sitting. Bob Krampus gives us a gentle nod, and Cole wraps his arm around my shoulders as we stand side by side, Jimmy, Ursula, and Beatrice falling in behind.

I whisper, “Your performance was beautiful, Cole.”

“Thank you,” he whispers back just as Bob Krampus clears his throat.

“Okay, I believe the results are in. Karen, could you please bring them up to me?”

Karen, in her hairnet and apron, walks up onto the stage and hands Bob a piece of paper. I don’t know what system they used to tally the votes, but I’m impressed with how fast it worked.

Bob scans over the results like he always does and then looks out to the crowd. “Well, what a close competition, but we have a clear winner. Starting with fifth place, we have Ursula Kronk with ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas.’” The crowd claps, and Ursula takes a bow with her puppet.

I’m not surprised about her last-place position. The arm falling off was a real nightmare. Pair that with the look on her face as she tried to keep her mouth as still as possible…and, well, it was a fail all around.

“Coming in fourth, we have Dr. Beatrice Pedigree with her interpretation of ‘Little Drummer Boy.’”

Cole squeezes my shoulder, and I know he’s happy for me, given how worried I was.

“And our third-place winner…” Bob looks surprised. “Was not expecting this, but Storee Taylor with ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’”

Dammit.

I thought I was a guaranteed second after the way the crowd reacted, but it seems like I was overlooked for Jimmy Short’s guitar.

“Good job,” Cole whispers before Bob continues.

“And in second, we have…Jimmy Short! Making our very own Cole Black our first-place winner with his beautiful tribute to his late parents.”

Everyone cheers.

I clap.

Cole stands there with pride, his hands in his pockets, smiling to the crowd and looking quite…shy. I can’t stop clapping and cheering as loudly as I can. This man is absolutely incredible. That took true bravery.

“And we have a new leader,” Bob says into the mic. “Taking over first place with sixty-two points is Cole Black. Trailing five points behind is Storee Taylor. Coming in third is Jimmy Short with forty-eight points. Fourth we have Ursula with forty, and in last is Beatrice with thirty-three points. We have one competition left, the Super Santa Speed Round, which will take place Christmas Eve eve, followed by the check-up on the light displays on Christmas Eve. And then the announcement of the Kringle winner will be on Christmas Day out at Ornament Park. I hope to see you all there.”

He turns off the mic and heads off the stage where he walks around the café, taking pictures with people.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Did you hear that?” Cole whispers in my ear. “We have a new leader.”

Normally, I’d be irritated by his prodding, but I don’t mind, not when he took the lead with that performance. He broke out of the shell he was living in and brought his parents back to life through a beautiful memory.

“I did hear. I think it was well-deserved.”

“Storee Taylor, are you…are you in favor of me being in the lead?”

We step off the stage, and I turn to him. “I’m in favor of you stepping out of your comfort zone and finding ways to celebrate the season you used to shy away from.”

He smiles down at me, and I can tell he wants to pull me into his chest, kiss me, love on me like he does when we’re in private. But for the sake of Taran and Aunt Cindy, he holds back and places his hands in his pockets once again.

“Come over tonight.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say. “Making no promises.”

“Storee, let’s go,” Taran calls out. “We have some strategizing to do.”

I wince. “God, can’t wait.”

“Text me.”

“I will.”

And with that, I take off, following Taran and Aunt Cindy out to the car, my mind on one thing and one thing alone.

It’s not the competition.

Or the fact that I’m in second.

Nope, it’s the man who has no problem looking straight into my soul with those mesmerizing eyes.