Read Online Jingle Boy by Kieran Scott - Free Book Online Page A

front of the Foot Locker at Paramus Park on Monday afternoon.
    “I’m gonna be two seconds,” I told him, slamming the door.
    I ran around the car and dodged a few shoppers to get to the automatic sliding door. The last place in the world I wanted to be at that moment was the mall—the proverbial scene of the crime—but I’d promised my mother I would pick up her last paycheck. There was no way she wanted to face That Awful Woman or Mr. Steiger again and I was glad I could do something for her. I just wanted to do it as quickly as humanly possible.
    The mall was packed, as it would be every day until Christmas from here on out. I tried not to pay attention to the Muzak playing overhead or notice any of the bright decorations all around me. It had taken two days to entirely change the way I felt about this mall. Friday I’d been, let’s face it, aglow. Today I was Mr. Sneer—the guy I hated. That person who stormed through the mall at Christmastime with that look on his face like it was a chore rather than a special yearly ritual to be savored and cherished.
    I loathed myself.
    I crossed the mall quickly, averting my eyes from the North Pole, and was about to duck right into Fortunoff and back to the counter in front of the office, but I stopped short, my sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. This was not happening. Sarah was not standing with Lainie Lefkowitz and That Awful Woman at the counter in the front of the store.
    I stood there for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Did I just walk by them, pretending they weren’t even there as Sarah had done to me
all day long
in school? (I’d tried to talk to her during choir, but she’d told me she wasn’t good with breakups and it would just be better if I left her alone right now. Please.) Did I act like the bigger person and just walk over there and say hello? Or did I, as the more sadistic part of my brain was prompting me to do, break open the emergency fire hose case next to me and douse all three of them with a nice, freezing-cold blast of water?
    As I stood hovering, my decision was made for me by the none-too-subtle Lainie. She saw me standing there, elbowed Sarah on the arm, and lifted her chin in my direction. I quickly ran my hands through my hair and tucked in the front hem of my shirt. Sarah turned, paled, and swallowed.
    “Uh . . . hi, Paul,” she said.
    “Oh, so I guess I’m not invisible outside of school,” I said. Damn! Did I really
say
that? Way to act cool, buddy. I walked the few steps it took to join them and pointedly looked away from That Awful Woman. But from the corner of my eye I could see her with a wicked smirk on her pointy little face. Was she gloating over my booted mother or did she somehow, with her evil radar, know that I was a dumpee, standing next to my dumper?
    “I heard about your house, Paul. I’m really sorry,” Sarah said, her blue eyes sympathetic. Ugh! Why not just shoot a poisoned arrow through my heart? “Were you able to save any of your things?”
    “Some of it. Thanks for asking,” I said as I tried to avoid That Awful Woman’s amused gaze. “What are you buying?” I asked. There was a small silver Fortunoff box sitting on the counter in front of Sarah.
    “Oh . . . well . . . Scooby gave me this present this afternoon and I was just bringing it back here to have it cleaned,” Sarah said, her skin growing attractively pink. (Stop thinking that way!) “It was a little smudged. . . .”
    Against my will, my brain was skipping around, jabbering about how pretty she was, how sweet she was to ask about my stuff, and how cute it was that she was embarrassed to be caught with another gift. That had to mean she cared about me, right? If she cared about the fire? If it mattered to her how I felt about another Scooby gift? It wasn’t like she didn’t think about me at—
    My happy-thought train hit a brick wall when Sarah opened the little box and pulled out a delicate gold chain with a one-of-a-kind