Read Online Sock it to Me, Santa! by Madison Parker - Free Book Online Page B

 
    “Come on, who is it? Is it me?”
    “Fuck off. I’m not telling.”
    “If it’s me, I want Halo 4 for Xbox.”
    I laughed at him. “Idiot.”
    “Homo.”
    “I’d rather be a homo than an idiot.”
    “Fuck that. I’d rather be an idiot than a homo.”
    Jamie Peterson glanced over at us, and I watched his lips draw into a tight frown. Shit. He probably thought we were talking about him. Of all the names I could’ve drawn for the gift exchange, why did it have to be his?
    * * * * *
    I struggled to come up with a gift idea for Jamie. I eventually gave in and asked my mom for help. She managed our local craft store and ran weekly workshops there. If anyone could help, she could.
    “What’s he like?” she asked.
    I shrugged. I didn’t know. I wished I’d paid closer attention last week during that toilet paper game. I could’ve gained some insight into his interests. I remembered Jamie saying something about the knitting club, but Mike started snickering and making fun of him, so I didn’t catch the rest of what Jamie said. Knitting club? Even I had to admit, that was pretty gay.
    “Well, tell me something , Ryan. I’m working with a blank slate here. What’s the first word that comes to mind when you think of him?”
    “Soft.” It was out of my mouth before I could reign the thought back in, and I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck.
    She cocked her head and gave me a puzzled look. “Soft?”
    “I didn’t mean soft.” I bet Jamie did feel soft, though. His long, coffee colored hair looked like silk. I bet it felt like silk, too. “I meant soft-spoken.”
    “So he’s shy?”
    “I don’t think he’s shy. I think he just keeps to himself because people pick on him a lot.”
    “What?” She stopped chopping vegetables and walked over to sit next to me at the kitchen table, a look of concern on her face. “Why do people pick on him?”
    I rubbed my forehead, searching for the right words. “He’s…”
    “He’s what?”
    “He’s…in the knitting club.”
    She bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement. “So, he’s in the knitting club and he’s soft.”
    “Soft-spoken.” I was never going to live that down.
    “Hmm. Sounds like a clever way to meet girls.”
    “I don’t think he’s interested in meeting girls.”
    “I see.” Her expression had morphed from one of concern to one of pity. “And this is why kids pick on him?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I hope you don’t take part in anything like that.”
    “No, of course not.”
    “Because I know I raised you better than that.”
    “I know, Mom. I wouldn’t do that. I hate bullies.”
    “Good.” She reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
    It wasn’t a question, but it felt like one. “I know,” I said quickly.
    She removed her hand, but held my gaze.
    Did she suspect I was gay? We’d never talked about it before, and I wasn’t ready to lay that on her now. She had enough to deal with, raising me and my little sister now that we’d lost my dad. Dakota was only five. How the heck would I explain it to her?
    “Maybe you should talk to Jamie,” Mom said. “Get some ideas for your gift exchange.”
    “That would be social suicide.”
    She gave me a stern look.
    “Mom, he knits .”
    She laughed. “I happen to love knitting. It’s very relaxing. So, he’s a boy. What is it about knitting that requires two X chromosomes?”
    “I don’t know. It’s just the way it is.”
    “Maybe the way it is isn’t the way it ought to be.”
    “Okay, fine. He knits. BFD.”
    “Watch your language,” she said. “Dakota’s in the other room.”
    “Sorry.”
    She smiled. “If you ever want to try it, I’d be happy to teach you.”
    “No, thanks.”
    “It has nothing to do with gender. A monkey could learn to do it.” Her eyes lit up. “And speaking of monkeys, I’m hosting a workshop Wednesday evening at the store. We’re making sock monkeys. Why don’t you