Page 6

Chapter 3

Decorating was in full swing the next day. Out our car window I could see ladders leaning against houses with red and green twinkle lights dangling from the eaves. Larger-than-life, green plastic Christmas trees, white snowmen, brown reindeer, and more dotted all the front yards, waiting to be put together.

This was how our town looked every year at the end of November, but something felt different this time. Bigger. Maybe it was just in my head, but I had a feeling it had to do with the competition. I smiled, excited, as Mom rounded the corner.

We were coming back from the home goods store, where we’d gotten replacement hooks for our roofline. When we’d been hanging lights that morning, we’d noticed several were broken.

I reached forward and turned on the radio, pushing the scan button. “What’s the station that plays Christmas music again?”

“Ninety-six something,” Mom said as the radio stopped on some hard rock. “Ugh.”

“You don’t like rock? Aren’t you a nineties kid?”

“No, not that. That.”

I looked up. We were on our street now, and a team of workers was in the Moreno yard. At least a dozen people. And those people had gotten a lot done.

The pine tree in their front yard was already decorated with sparkling ornaments and a silver star perched on top. Their porch pillars were wrapped in green-and-red-striped paper. And a big red bow sat on their roof like the house itself was the gift.

It really was a beautiful house, the biggest in the neighborhood, colonial style. Ages ago, Mr. Moreno’s father—Ryan’s grandfather—used to own all the land around their house, including where my house now sat. Mom told me how Mr. Moreno had sold that land to a developer, and smaller, ranch-style houses sprang up all around the grand Moreno home. My grandparents had bought one of those ranch-style houses, which was where Mom grew up. She inherited the house after my grandparents died, and it was our home now.

I was surprised the Morenos hadn’t sold their house and moved to Mountain Glen, to The Landing, where most of the wealthy families in the area lived. Maybe Ryan’s parents just liked lording their status over the mostly middle-class neighborhood they lived in.

I curled my lip. “Hiring people feels like cheating,” I said.

“It should be,” Mom agreed.

“I wonder what else they’re gonna add,” I said. “Maybe their roof will open on hinges like an actual present and money will fly out.”

Mom shook her head with a laugh while at the same time saying, “Be nice.”

“They’re not,” I muttered.

Mom pulled into the garage and killed the engine. I collected the bag of hooks and zip ties by my feet and we exited the car. When we walked into the house, Harris was crying. Momma and Marcus were standing amid a sea of boxes overflowing with decorations. Momma was frowning at a large plastic bubble; it was the life-sized snow globe I had designed a couple years ago that we displayed in our yard every Christmas. A replica of our house sat inside the bubble, with a little snowman on the fake-snow-covered yard.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harris whined. “It was an accident.”

“Whoa,” I said. “What happened?”

“It got ripped,” Momma said. I could see a long tear down one side of the plastic.

Marcus dragged a thumb across his neck, indicating the death of the snow globe. Momma elbowed him and he laughed.

Harris’s crying intensified.

“Harris,” I said, gathering him into a hug. “It’s fine. We can repair it.”

“I told him that,” Momma said. “He’s inconsolable.”

“It’s your favorite, Jasmine,” Harris said, wrapping his arms around my waist.

He wasn’t wrong, it was. But still I said, “They’re all my favorite. And I can fix it. Let’s go get some work done. We only have a few hours before the kickoff party at Mrs. O’Leary’s.”

“I don’t wanna go to the party,” Harris said.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Momma said.

“There will be cookies!” Mom added.