Jingle Boy Read Online Free Page B

in its purest form.”
    When we came around the corner of the roped-off area, my stomach clenched with disappointment. Santa was sitting on his big red velvet throne with a pudgy-faced kid on his lap. His bowl-full-of-jelly padding was convincing enough and his beard was somewhat genuine looking, but it was totally clear to me that underneath it all, the guy was not in the Santa spirit. He looked bored. And he was not ho-ho-hoing.
    “Okay, I hear ya. You want a pony,” he said to his knee rider. He wasn’t even trying to mask his clearly adolescent voice. “But what are you going to listen to on your personal CD player while you’re
riding
your pony?”
    The kid gave him a blank-eyed stare, folding his fingers together in his lap.
    “That’s right!” Santa announced, reaching down into a box at the side of his throne. He pulled out a cheap CD jewel case and handed it to the kid. “You’re gonna listen to
Santa’s
favorite rapper, Scooby. Scooby is way cool. And this is his first album! All ya gotta do is ask your mom to give me nine ninety-nine plus tax and you can listen to Santa’s favorite music!”
    The kid’s eyes grew bright. He jumped off Santa’s lap and ran off, waving the CD above his head. “Mom! Mom! I need nine ninety-nine plus tax!”
    “I feel physically ill,” I said flatly, my arms suddenly hanging at my sides like deadweight. I couldn’t believe this guy was using his position as Santa to hawk what was undoubtedly his own bad rap album. “We have to report this.”
    “To who? The North Pole police?” Holly asked. She reached out and tugged on my arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here. When you’re up there being Santa next week, you can uncorrupt all the kids he corrupted.”
    “All right,” I said, trying to see Holly’s bright side. She was right. I’d be such a great Santa I’d put this guy to shame. “Let’s get out of here before you burst a blood vessel.”
    Holly actually took a skip of joy as we headed for the car. She could be pretty cute when she wasn’t paying attention.
    “Hey, can I get my hat?” I asked as we approached the short hallway that led to the door.
    Holly stopped dead in her tracks and I felt my heart plummet. “I don’t have your hat,” she said, turning ever so slowly to face me.
    “Yes, you do,” I said. My whole body started to heat up. “You took it, remember? What did you do with it?”
    Holly stuffed her hands in her coat pockets, but it clearly wasn’t in there. It was too big to fit in there.
    “You lost it?” I said loudly. “How could you lose my hat?”
    “I’m sorry!” Holly said, her face paler than usual. “I must have put it down in one of the four thousand stores you dragged me into.”
    “Hey! Going to every store was
your
idea, remember?” I said, feeling desperate. I looked around at the floor, hoping she’d just now dropped it and hadn’t noticed.
    “Come on, Paul,” Holly said placatingly. “It’s not like it’s irreplaceable. I’ll buy you a new one right now.”
    She took a step in the direction of the North Pole, where all the Christmas stands were. I didn’t budge. And I didn’t say a word. How was I supposed to explain my superstition to her? She knew I always wore the hat, but I’d never told anyone about my little obsession—the fact that I knew in my bones that Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without it.
    My
Santa hat. The one with the semimatted fur around the headband. The one with the pom-pom that was stained with hot chocolate and was hanging on by a few short threads. The one that still smelled like mulberry wine from the time my mom left that Christmas candle burning in my room. It
was
irreplaceable.
    “No. Forget it,” I said, forcing a smile. “I just want to get home and wrap Sarah’s present.”
    “There ya go! Focus on that!” Holly said, relaxing. “You found the perfect gift.”
    As we turned toward the door again, I took a deep breath and told myself to chill. Maybe it