Under the Mistletoe (2 page)

Chapter
Two

Thursday November 24

           
“What are you doing here?” I asked, opening the door and letting
him into the house.

           
“It's nice to see you too,” he grinned, turning into the kitchen
without a single look in my direction.

           
I stood in the foyer, still trying to figure out what was going
on.

           
This wasn't the first time Alexander Rivera had walked through the
front door of our rental home. Just two months ago my mother
arranged a blind date, unbeknownst to her that she was aiding in a
slightly awkward, very illegal set-up. It was the night that Calvin
proposed to Caroline when I realized my true feelings for his
younger brother, Alex.

           
Mr Rivera returned to the room and stared at me with a puzzled
expression. “Did I interrupt-”

           
“I was in the bath-”

           
“Right-”

           
“I'll get dressed.”

           
“No need,” he said. “I'm heading out. There's a basket of food on
the counter if you're hungry.”

           
I hid my blushing cheeks. “You didn't have to--”

           
“Gran insisted that I bring you a hot meal, a hug, and warm
wishes...” He eyed the towel and then met my gaze. “The food is in
there, I wished you a Happy Thanksgiving...and given the
circumstances, we'll refrain from the hug until a later time.”

           
“Right... well... tell her I said thank you--”

           
“I will,” he smirked, opening the door to step back into the now
heavy rainfall. “My number is in the basket. Call if you need
anything.”

           
Outside, onto the porch, and down the sidewalk he moved as I stood
watching him from inside. He pulled his jacket closer to his body
and crossed his arms, as he often does, and walked further and
further from me with each passing second.

           
The cold air rushed in and sent a shiver through my entire body.
After nearly a minute, he was no longer in sight so I allowed
myself to back away and go about the day. As I turned to shut the
door I noticed a large moving truck parked in the driveway directly
across from ours. Two men, one close to mom's age and the other
near mine, carried boxes to and from the vehicle. I closed the
door, but not before being seen. The younger of the two movers
nodded in acknowledgment before walking up the ramp and into the
back of the truck.

           
I played the role of the nosy neighbor for the next hour. After
putting on a warm sweater and jeans, I peeked out the front window
to continue watching the latest family move into Webster Grove.
While appearance may be deceiving, I concluded through a little
neighbor-watching that these two men were probably the nicest guys
you'd ever want to meet. They talked, laughed, and smiled with each
other the entire time they walked to and from their small house.
Clearly, they were a father and son duo. And fortunately for them,
they had the type of relationship I'd always dreamed I could have
with my mother.

           
The youngest was tall, fit, and sporting a neatly trimmed, blonde
haircut. He made the most of his time by organizing boxes and bags
in such a manner that he'd minimize the amount of trips he'd have
to take to complete the task at hand. His father, minus the height,
was the polar opposite. He had shaggy, mop-top brunette hair, large
round glasses, and seemed a bit clumsier than any one man should
ever be. In the matter of time I'd watched him, he'd dropped one
lamp, three boxes, and tripped over a garden gnome left by the
previous owner.

           
While neighbor-peeping would beat the Macy's parade hands down, I
hated watching them unpack all of their belongings in the cold,
gusty wind. Plus, it was Thanksgiving. They must be starving by
now...

           
When the rain let up, I walked into the kitchen and peeked into the
basket that Mr. Rivera had dropped off; turkey, stuffing,
vegetables, sweet potato casserole, and rolls... more than enough
for two male diners. I pulled a yellow post-it off of one of the
containers and read the note underneath the seven digits.

           
Steph, call if you need anything. Happy Thanksgiving.
-Alex.

           
I folded it up and stuck it into my pocket before sliding the
wicker handle over my arm and walking out the front door, ready to
greet the newbies. I dashed across the street and peered into the
back of the moving truck; empty. I walked down the short sidewalk
and up the steps of the single-story house and rang the
doorbell.

           
“Yes?” The older man stood on the other side of the door, looking
down at me for a moment before stepping back. His hair was shaggier
than I thought, uncut and matching his scruffy five o'clock
shadow.

           
“Hi,” I said. “I'm Steph, I live over there.” I pointed behind me
at the two-story brick house facing his. “I hope I'm not intruding,
but I figured you might want to take a break and enjoy a
Thanksgiving dinner.”

           
“
Your eyes
,” he whispered, looking past my glasses and
acting as though nothing I'd said had registered in his brain. “I'm
sorry,” he shook head. “Did you need something?”

           
“I'm Steph,” I repeated myself, suddenly regretting that I
willingly walked into this awkward situation.

           
“Hey,” the younger of the two men said, stepping into the doorway.
“Don't mind him, he's a little backward today. I'm Isaac, this is
my dad, Nick.”

           
“Again,” I said. “I'm Steph. I live across the street.” I lifted
the basket. “I thought you might be hungry--”

           
“Wont lie. I'm absolutely starving.” Issac smiled. “Will you be
joining us?”

           
“No,” I shook my head. “I have to get back to... my... family.” I
passed the food to him, taking the time to notice Nick still
staring at me, wide-eyed and grinning. “Happy Thanksgiving and
welcome to Webster Grove.”

           
Without giving either of them a chance to respond, I shot off their
front porch and back over to the safety of my own home.

           
I sent a quick prayer in hopes that this wouldn't be one of those
no good deed goes unpunished
kind of gestures...

Monday November 28

           
“Do not make me tell you again, Miss Canter,” Mr. Rivera snapped,
standing at the chalk board with a stern face.

           
“Sorry,” Rachel said, sheepishly.

           
Seemingly everyone was on Mr. Rivera's bad side today. In the past
ten minutes he'd yelled at, not only her, but Nate twice, Bridget
once, and that was just before he sent two girls to the office for
gossiping during the morning announcements.

           
“Before we adjourn, I'll remind you once again that expression
delivery is Friday, no exception-”

           
“Mr. Rivera,” the elderly school counselor stepped into the open
door of the classroom. “Could I have just a moment?”

           
He turned to the class and stared at each of us, not saying a word,
but communicating the idea of immediate detention to anyone who
opened their mouth while he was gone. Bridget and I exchanged wide
eyes. Nate shrugged. Rachel scoffed and a chunky brunette boy in
the back, who I'd purposely avoided introducing myself to, mumbled
something about male PMS.

           
Our teacher returned moments later, but not alone. Standing next to
him was a tall, blonde, youthful, and physically identical human
version of the Ken doll; Issac Peyton, my new neighbor.

           
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Rivera said. “We have a new
student.”

           
“Oh my God,” Rachel uttered, staring at the newbie with an open
mouth and on the verge of drooling.

           
Nate shifted into jealous mode and crossed his arms defensively. I
heard Bridget scoot forward in her seat and whisper “dibs” in my
ear before giggling like a young school girl.

           
“He's all yours,” I whispered back.

           
“
Steph
!” our commanding teacher yelled, causing a few
surprised jumps across the room. “Have I not made myself perfectly
clear today?
Stop talking
.” I sunk a little lower in my
chair and shot a glance over my shoulder at Bridget. She shrugged
with an apologetic look. “Isaac,” he turned back to the newbie.
“Welcome to first period English. You can take the empty seat next
to Miss Wright.”

           
I didn't have to turn to know Bridget was pointing excitedly at
vacant desk next to hers as the newest member of the Webster Grove
family made his way through the aisle. The bell rang to dismiss the
class before his butt had time to hit the seat.

           
All of the girls, Rachel included, sprung from their chairs and
flocked toward Isaac, fighting Bridget to be the first to offer to
show him around.

           
“Uh...Mr. Rivera,” I said as the last student left the room.

           
“What is it?” he asked, taking a seat and shuffling through
papers.

           
“Are you okay? You seem a little off--”

           
“You need to move along, Miss Ghijk,” he said, not meeting my
stare. “The bell rang. Class is over.”

           
“I will, but I wanted to make sure-”

           
“
Have a good day
,” he snapped, putting a definite end to the
conversation.

           
“Okay,” I nodded, walking toward the door. I turned to look at him
one last time and watched him bury his face in his hands. “Alex,” I
said quietly before stepping out. “You know where to find me if you
need to talk.”

           
“
Go
!”

Chapter Three

Thursday December 01

           
“I can't take much more of it,” Bridget yelled, throwing a pillow
at the poster hanging on my bedroom wall.

           
“I'm sure he'll come around,” I said, trying to convince myself as
well.

           
Mr. Rivera had shown little improvement in the attitude department.
In fact, he'd only gotten worse with each passing day. This
morning, by the time the bell rang to dismiss first period, he'd
handed out seven detentions, three office referrals, and accused
Bridget of being up to something just because she smiled.

           
His accusation, I wholeheartedly believe, was justified...because,
boy!
Was she ever smiling
! It was a much needed change of
pace in the Bridget department. Her depression seemed to have ended
the moment a new man walked into her life.

           
Her infatuation with Isaac Peyton was astronomical in comparison to
any high school crush I'd ever witnessed. She's been planning a big
move since the moment he walked into the classroom at the beginning
of the week. By the way the girls flock around him in class, the
halls, and at lunch, she and I both know, if she's going to make a
move, she has to do it fast.

           
“A note in his locker--”

           
“Too impersonal,” I told her. “Think bigger.”

           
“Buy ad space on a billboard?”

           
“Now smaller.”

           
“Ask him on a date?”

           
“Too desperate.”

           
“Then what?”

           
“I dunno!” I threw my hands up. “Strike up a conversation, build a
friendship, see how it goes from there. No one has really reached
out and took him under their wing. Maybe you can be
that
girl, Bridget.”

           
“I tried the friend thing with Nate and look how far that got me,”
she crossed her arms.

           
“Come on, Bridge,” I said. “You and Nate knew each other in
diapers. You didn't start off liking him .You grew to like him. And
maybe Isaac could grow to—“

           
“Why is love so complicating?”

           
“It's a stupid crush, Bridge, not the end of the world.”

           
“Stupid?
Pa-hah
!”

           
“Spare me the dramatics--”

           
“So, what are you going to do for the expression delivery
tomorrow?” Bridget asked, sitting up on the bed. I sat on the ledge
and stared out the window, watching the snow fall steadily to the
ground.

           
“Steph?...It's the easiest assignment of the year.”

           
“I'm glad
you
think so-”

           
“It’s just a short presentation about how you communicate your
personality through one of the various forms of expression.”

           
“Oh,
is that all
?” I asked, completely aware of the effect
Mr. Rivera's mood was having on my own. “This is such a stupid
assignment, anyway. I don't know why we're even doing it.”

           
“....because he said so.”

           
Because I said so.
His voice echoed through my brain for the
millionth time today.

           
Those were the last four words Mr. Rivera said to me this morning.
I learned quickly that I'm not as good at whispering as I credit
myself for.
Why do we have to do this stupid expression
assignment
? I'd asked Bridget.

           
“
Because I said so
,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and
cocking his head like an arrogant jerk.
I say
like
an arrogant jerk because I know it's not who he
is. Deep down, Alexander Rivera is the kindest, sweetest, most
generous man I've ever met. Which makes me wonder why he's taken on
the role of the Christmas Grinch.

           
I hate that he's mad...

           
I hate that he won’t talk to me...

           
And more than anything, I hate that he only acknowledges my
existence if and when he has something nasty to say.