Read Online Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances by John Green, Lauren Myracle, Maureen Johnson - Free Book Online
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love the Flobie Santa Village. And it was so silly to put them in jail. The Flobie Five! Oh, I’m sure they’ll let them talk on the phone to their daughter! At Christmas! It’s not like they killed somebody.”
Stuart looked up at me knowingly, as if to say, Told you.
“I don’t even know what jail they’re in,” I said. I felt guilty as soon as I said it. My parents were wasting away in a cell somewhere, and I didn’t even know where.
“Well, that’s easy enough to find out. Stuart, go online and find out what jail they’re in. It has to be on the news.”
Stuart was already on his way out of the room, saying he was on it.
“Stuart’s a wizard with those kinds of things,” she said.
“What kinds of things?”
“Oh, he can find anything online.”
Debbie was one of those parents who still hadn’t quite grasped that using the Internet was not exactly wizardry, and that we could all find anything online. I didn’t say this, because you don’t want people to feel that they’ve missed something really obvious, even when they have.
Stuart came back in with the information, and Debbie made the call.
“I will get them to let you talk to your parents,” she said, holding her hand over the receiver. “They have no idea how persist— Oh, hello?”
It sounded like they were giving her a bit of trouble, but Debbie beat them down. Sam would have been impressed. She handed me the phone and retreated from the kitchen, all smiles. Stuart picked up a wriggling Rachel and carried her out, as well.
“Jubilee?” my mom said. “Honey! Are you okay? Did you just get to Florida? How are Grandma and Grandpa? Oh, honey . . . ”
“I’m not in Florida. The train never made it. I’m in Gracetown.”
“Gracetown?” she repeated. “You only made it that far? Oh, Jubilee . . . where are you? Are you all right? Are you still on the train?”
I didn’t quite feel up to telling the whole story of the last twenty-four hours, so I made it nice and short.
“The train got stuck,” I said. “We had to get off. I met some people. I’m staying at their house.”
“People?” Her voice hit a high pitch of concern, the kind that said that she suspected drug dealers and molesters. “What kind of people ?”
“Nice people, Mom. A mom and two kids. They have a Flobie Santa Village. Not as big as ours, but some of the same pieces. They have the gumdrop shop, with the full display. And the gingerbread bakery. They even have a first-generation Merry Men Café.”
“Oh,” she said, somewhat relieved.
I think my parents think you have to have some kind of moral character to be in the Flobie crew. Social deviants don’t take the time to lovingly set the tiny gingerbread men displays in the window of the bakery. And yet, lots of people would take that as a sign that someone was unhinged. One person’s crazy is another person’s sane, I guess. Plus, I thought I was being pretty crafty by describing Stuart as one of “two kids” instead of “some guy I met at a Waffle House with plastic bags on his head.”
“Are you still there?” she asked. “What about your train?”
“I think it’s still stuck. It got caught in a snowbank last night, and they had to turn down the power and the heat. That’s why we got off.”
Again, pretty clever to say “we” as opposed to “just me, wandering across a six-lane interstate during a blizzard.” It wasn’t a lie, either. Jeb and the Ambers and Madisons had made the trek themselves, just after I blazed the trail. Being sixteen means you have to be a genius conversational editor.
“How’s . . . ” How do you ask your mom how jail is?
“We’re fine,” she said bravely. “We’re . . . Oh, Julie. Oh, honey. I am so sorry about this. So, so sorry. We didn’t mean . . . ”
I could hear that she was about to completely lose it, and that meant that I would soon lose it if I didn’t stop her.
“I’m fine,” I said. “The people here are
Stuart looked up at me knowingly, as if to say, Told you.
“I don’t even know what jail they’re in,” I said. I felt guilty as soon as I said it. My parents were wasting away in a cell somewhere, and I didn’t even know where.
“Well, that’s easy enough to find out. Stuart, go online and find out what jail they’re in. It has to be on the news.”
Stuart was already on his way out of the room, saying he was on it.
“Stuart’s a wizard with those kinds of things,” she said.
“What kinds of things?”
“Oh, he can find anything online.”
Debbie was one of those parents who still hadn’t quite grasped that using the Internet was not exactly wizardry, and that we could all find anything online. I didn’t say this, because you don’t want people to feel that they’ve missed something really obvious, even when they have.
Stuart came back in with the information, and Debbie made the call.
“I will get them to let you talk to your parents,” she said, holding her hand over the receiver. “They have no idea how persist— Oh, hello?”
It sounded like they were giving her a bit of trouble, but Debbie beat them down. Sam would have been impressed. She handed me the phone and retreated from the kitchen, all smiles. Stuart picked up a wriggling Rachel and carried her out, as well.
“Jubilee?” my mom said. “Honey! Are you okay? Did you just get to Florida? How are Grandma and Grandpa? Oh, honey . . . ”
“I’m not in Florida. The train never made it. I’m in Gracetown.”
“Gracetown?” she repeated. “You only made it that far? Oh, Jubilee . . . where are you? Are you all right? Are you still on the train?”
I didn’t quite feel up to telling the whole story of the last twenty-four hours, so I made it nice and short.
“The train got stuck,” I said. “We had to get off. I met some people. I’m staying at their house.”
“People?” Her voice hit a high pitch of concern, the kind that said that she suspected drug dealers and molesters. “What kind of people ?”
“Nice people, Mom. A mom and two kids. They have a Flobie Santa Village. Not as big as ours, but some of the same pieces. They have the gumdrop shop, with the full display. And the gingerbread bakery. They even have a first-generation Merry Men Café.”
“Oh,” she said, somewhat relieved.
I think my parents think you have to have some kind of moral character to be in the Flobie crew. Social deviants don’t take the time to lovingly set the tiny gingerbread men displays in the window of the bakery. And yet, lots of people would take that as a sign that someone was unhinged. One person’s crazy is another person’s sane, I guess. Plus, I thought I was being pretty crafty by describing Stuart as one of “two kids” instead of “some guy I met at a Waffle House with plastic bags on his head.”
“Are you still there?” she asked. “What about your train?”
“I think it’s still stuck. It got caught in a snowbank last night, and they had to turn down the power and the heat. That’s why we got off.”
Again, pretty clever to say “we” as opposed to “just me, wandering across a six-lane interstate during a blizzard.” It wasn’t a lie, either. Jeb and the Ambers and Madisons had made the trek themselves, just after I blazed the trail. Being sixteen means you have to be a genius conversational editor.
“How’s . . . ” How do you ask your mom how jail is?
“We’re fine,” she said bravely. “We’re . . . Oh, Julie. Oh, honey. I am so sorry about this. So, so sorry. We didn’t mean . . . ”
I could hear that she was about to completely lose it, and that meant that I would soon lose it if I didn’t stop her.
“I’m fine,” I said. “The people here are
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