Clara stared out at her window, waiting. It was cold outside, but she hadn't noticed the breeze, instead watching the corner of the street. She watched the corner, without really seeing it, for her thoughts had turned inward. She sighed, and looked up at the moon, a small crescent high in the sky.
He's not going to come. She looked away from the window, and her eyes lit on the clock beside her bed. I didn't realize I'd been sitting here for so long. It's already one in the morning. I was a fool. I should have listened to Natalie when she told me Tommy was no good. I should never have thought he meant all those things he told me. He's probably laughing with his friends, telling them how fun it was to lie to me. She brushed away the tears that had slid down her cheeks unnoticed, annoyed with herself for being so upset over a boy.
Noticing that the open window had frost on one of the panes, she absently drew a snowflake, and then smiled at herself for being so easily distracted. Clara turned away from the window, and looked back as a thought struck her. There had been frost on the inside of the window. It was open, true, but as she looked she realized something else. There was frost covering exactly one of the panes in her window. She had never heard of anything like it happening. While she stared in fascination, frost appeared on the pane above it, and a picture started to appear. It was a face, with a teardrop drawn on each cheek. She watched as a question mark appeared next to the drawing, and then more frost appeared on yet another pane, as if someone was asking her a to draw on it why she was sitting by an open window and crying in the middle of the night three days before Christmas.
Half convinced that this couldn't really be happening; she wondered how in the world she could explain why she was upset through a picture. She blinked as another question mark appeared beside the face, as if someone wanted her to respond. A frown on her face, she wrote wait on the empty pane, and tried to put her situation into a picture. Finally she settled on drawing a small face, trying to make it clear it was a boy, and then drawing a speech bubble with a face through an open window. Clara looked at her picture for a minute; added an arrow pointing out the window. She sighed again.
"I think I'm dreaming. I'm talking to the frost on my windowpane in the middle of the night." She smiled wryly. "Maybe I should pinch myself to be sure."
She turned away from the window, and froze as she felt something pinch her nose. Something? Someone more likely. But who? I don't think I could have dreamt this up. If I was imagining this, I would have just pinched my arm, or maybe whoever I was dreaming about would have. I don't think I could have come up with someone invisible pinching my nose. Why would they pinch my nose, of all things? I suppose this must be real, so who is here in my room? A ghost? Why would a ghost be here? In the stories I've heard they appear to whoever they want to, besides, aren't ghosts insubstantial? A ghost wouldn't be able to pinch me. A snatch of a Christmas song ran through her head "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose…" Frost…I've been drawing pictures in the frost on my window! And of course, the pinch: 'nipping at my nose'.
Jack Frost is in my room. Her eyes widened in surprise, and a boy appeared standing in front of her. She stepped back, startled, and tripped over the stool behind her. Catching herself on the windowpane, she regained her balance, and stared at him.
"You…you're…" her mouth seemed not to want to work properly.
He grinned. "Most your age can't see me."
"So you are Jack Frost?"
"Got it in one."
She glanced at the window. "It wasn't hard, once I let myself think this whole thing was real. So the deal is I have to believe in you to see you?"
"It does work that way. Would you happen to know Jamie?"
"Oh, so that's why you're here. He's a friend of yours? He used to get a lot of teasing from the other kids because he believes in Santa and the rest."
"He was the first person to see me."
Clara looked at him, "Come to think of it, they stopped teasing him about two years ago…"
"I can only take partial credit for that. A lot happened."
"hmm. Sounds like I should ask him about his stories again."
He grinned, "I'm sure Jamie would love that."