Author's Note: Inspired by and contains texts selected from the children's book with the same name by Diane Adamson. I do not own Phineas and Ferb. To all the young children reading this, let me assure you, Santa is real; I'm just writing this story for make-believe. If you don't believe me, just ask your parents whether Santa is real.

I Believe in Santa Claus

As usual, the bus was noisy this afternoon. Everybody likes to chat and unwind after another long day of school, especially with pressures mounting to complete all our homework before next week when school gets out for Winter Break. Seated next to me, Ferb was quietly engaged in reading a book; across the aisle, Isabella and her troop were planning a Fireside Girls service project. I was simply resting with my knees up against the seat in front of us when someone poked me in the back of the head.

I turned around to see who it was. "Hey Dinnerbell," Buford said loudly, "I heard you believe in Santa Claus. Is that true?"

"Yes," I said, unsure what his point was. It seemed like an odd question. After all, Buford was there with us last year, when we helped save Christmas in Danville and saw Santa.

The bully did something I did not expect at all. "HEY EVERYBODY!" he shouted. "Phineas believes in Santy Claws!" Everyone in the rows around us swiveled their heads to face Buford and me, and they all started laughing.

"What?" I asked them, unable to shake the flustering feeling that my face was turning red. "Of course I believe in Santa, don't you all?"

That only caused the majority of the bus to laugh more. My jaw quivered in confusion. Why was I being ridiculed for something like this? I glanced at Ferb for support; all he gave me was a warning look. I turned bewildered back to the mocking faces and pointing fingers.

"What'sa matter, baby Phineas still believes in Santa?" someone in the crowd jeered. "Mommy still saying that Santa will come if you're good this year?" This caused the volume of raunchy laughter to climb a notch. Everybody on the bus was seeing what was going on, now.

"Leave him alone!" One voice rose above the din, and I instantly recognized it. "Phineas can believe whatever he wants!" My heart instantly flooded with gratitude for Isabella. What a good friend, I knew she would stick up for me!

That caused the bus to go quiet for a brief moment. "Figures you would stick up for him, Jewish girl," Buford growled. "He believes in Santa, you believe in Hanukkah, you can just be little weirdos together, believing in fairy tales!"

Isabella's face flushed an angry red. "I—you—you can't even 'believe in Hanukkah,' that's such an ignorant thing to say!" she sputtered.

"Phineas and Isabella, sitting in a tree," the kids on the bus began to chant. Isabella looked down at her shoes and retook her seat. My heart went out to her. She refused to look at me.

"What's wrong with believing in something?" I tried to shout over the noise.

"Believing in Santa is for babies!" Buford swiftly answered. The many head nods I saw told me most everyone agreed.

"How can you believe that? I mean, there have been a ton of reported sightings!" I said. "Oregon, 1978, Northern Scotland, 1954, the so-called 'Santa Cloth,' found in Istanbul, 1912… Plus, I know Santa Claus is real, because I've seen him!"

"That guy at the mall was just a fat dude wearing a fake white beard," Buford scoffed.

"I'm not talking about the guy at the mall," I replied. "You've seen him too, Buford! You saw him with us last year, when he—"

"No, no, nah, don't try to turn this around on me," Buford cut in.

"Baljeet, help me out, here!" I said, looking at my friend who was trying to appear as small as possible.

Baljeet nervously looked around before clearing his throat. "Well, if you want to think about it in mathematical terms, it is technically impossible for anyone to visit every house in the world in one night. It is a matter of logistics. Unless Santa's sleigh and all his reindeer can travel at ninety-nine percent of the speed of light, there is practically no way he can make it all the way around the world in twelve hours."

I sat there in shock. I thought for sure Baljeet would remember everything we went through last Christmas!

"Santa's not real, and you believe in him, so that makes you a baby!" Buford bellowed.

"I am not!" I stood up angrily. "Santa is real!"

"Baby! Baby!" chanted the other kids. "Baby! Baby!"

Casting my eyes around the bus and seeing all these kids I had thought of as friends, I didn't know what to do. I hadn't even realized that the bus had already reached our house until Ferb was pulling me down the aisle. Even once I stepped off the bus, I could still hear the shouting ringing in my ears. "Baby! Baby! Baby!"

Mom was at the front door, and I tried not to let her see my face. It didn't work.

"What's the matter, Phineas?" she tenderly asked.

"It's nothing," I said. The look on her face told me she wouldn't let me pass the doorstep until I expounded. "It's just that some kids on the bus were mean to me today. They were making fun of me for believing in Santa."

Her face softened. "Ferb, Phineas, there's something I have to tell you boys. Why don't you come inside, take off your snow boots, I have some hot chocolate ready for you, and let's talk."

As soon as the mug of hot cocoa was warming my hands and we were seated on the couch, Mom knelt down before us and looked me in the eyes. "Boys, I know this is going to be hard for you to take, but Santa isn't real. Your father and I are the ones who buy you all those presents every year. Santa is a story parents tell their children so that they will be good, so they will behave."

My hands went numb to the heat of the chocolate. "But—but we've seen Santa," I strived.

"The Santa at the mall was just a nice man and an actor," Mom answered.

"I know that, I meant, we saw Santa and his reindeer, last Christmas Eve! We helped him deliver his presents to Danville!" I felt Ferb give the softest of nods beside me.

"Aww, honey," Mom said, with the slightest twinkle in her eyes. "I love your imagination, but sometimes our imagination can play tricks on us. I know this must be hard for you boys, I remember it was hard for me when my parents told me the truth about Santa." She gave us a hug. "When I told Candace, she cried for two days. But you are old enough to know the facts, and I'm sorry you had to learn it the hard way from the kids at school."

She stood up and stretched. "I'll give you two some time to think about all this and drink your cocoa." With that, she left the room.

Ferb and I sat together in silence. "Could it be true?" I asked. "Could we really have just imagined it all?" He shrugged in uncertainty.

Saturday morning I awoke to the soft snoring of Perry and Ferb. The creaking of my bed as I stretched and stood aroused them, so I announced, "Ferb, I know what we're going to do today!"

Within the hour we'd breakfasted, donned our coats and scarves, and headed to the backyard to direct traffic as trucks were hauling in parts. Ferb took the welder and went to work on the frame while I used pressurized water to saw through metal sheets. Next, I drilled them together to Ferb's frame to form the exterior. As usual, we were done before lunchtime.

It was just about finished when I heard the gate open and shut, a new pair of feet crunching through the snow toward us. "Hi, Phineas," Isabella greeted. "What'cha doin'?"

I turned to her and smiled. "Oh, hey, Isabella! Ferb and I have built a flying pod." I gestured toward our creation. "We're going to the North Pole."

"Cool," Isabella said. "Why the North Pole?"

"Remember the other day on the bus, when nobody would believe me when I told them Santa was real?"

She grimaced at the memory. "I'm sorry I didn't stand up for you more," she said, hiding her hands and focusing on trying to etch a perfect triangle in the snow with her toe.

"That's alright," I shrugged. "We want to go see Santa once and for all, to prove he's real. To everyone."

Isabella gave me a funny look and put a hand on my shoulder. "Phineas," she sighed, "you don't have to prove anything to anyone. You know Santa is real, and that's all that matters. Forget about what everybody else says or thinks."

I looked her in the eyes. "I have to do this, Isabella. I have to try. I have to know. I assume you want to come? We are in need of a navigator."

"Alright," she finally agreed.

"Sweet." I glanced at Ferb. "Everything ready?"

He gave the thumbs-up.

"After you," I said, holding the pod door open for Isabella.

The frozen landscape whooshing by below was barren of all life, but it still had a sterile, austere beauty. We were too far north to see any sunlight now, but the moonlight and starlight reflected off the ice clearly enough to see landforms by. The ice caps grew more and more numerous as we approached the ninetieth degree, eventually covering the dark, salty waters completely.

"How's our bearing?" I asked my navigator.

"Keep heading due north," Isabella said. "We're almost there."

I pressed a couple buttons and hit a switch. "Ferb, handing over the controls to you." Unstrapping my seat belt to get a better view, I knelt on my seat and stared through the glass out the window. Even though it was midday, the sun was far below the horizon and it was dark as night. However, the skies were clear, the stars overhead twinkling pleasantly. We had radar scanning the area, but with my eyes adjusted to the night, I could almost see everything anyway.

"We should be coming up on the North Pole just about now," Isabella read from the control panels. "Ferb, bring her in low."

My eyes swept back and forth across the icy wasteland. There still did not appear to be any signs of life. Ferb flipped another switch, and a searchlight threw the ground twenty feet below into sharp relief.

"See anything?" Isabella asked.

"No," I responded. "Not yet."

There was a joystick I could use to maneuver the spotlight, so I scanned the area with the beam while Isabella directed Ferb to the precise location of the North Pole. Hovering just above the ground, I had a perfect view, and my gut slowly twisted itself into a knot as I continued to see nothing but ice.

"We should have seen something by now," I muttered. I don't think the others heard me—if they did, they didn't respond.

"A little to the left," Isabelle guided. "There! That's it, Ferb! The North Pole!" Ferb brought the pod to a stop, and we hovered directly above Santa's abode. There was nothing.

Ferb and Isabella didn't say a word. We all stared at the empty patch of rough ice, the location of the North Pole, together.

"Maybe these are the wrong coordinates?" suggested Isabella. She double-checked her readings, a dark look crossing her face.

"No, this is the place," Ferb merely said. I slouched back into my seat, bringing a hand up to massage my temples.

Isabella placed her hand between my shoulder blades. "I'm sorry, Phineas."

Taking a shallow breath, I tried to hide the emotion in my voice as I spoke. "We're done here. Ferb, take us home."

Without a word, he started the engine. I flipped off the searchlight. The darkness that flooded the tundra felt like the empty feeling that gripped my soul. "I just don't understand," I mostly said to myself. "Did we really just imagine everything we did last Christmas? The rest stop we built for Santa? The elves, Blay'n and Clewn't? Was it all just a figment of our imagination?"

"I remember it too, Phineas," Isabella offered. "We didn't imagine it."

"Then why can't Baljeet and Buford remember it? Why don't they still believe?"

She looked away, unable to answer.

Silence descended. I lifted my eyes to the starry sky. "Santa," I said, "if you really do see us when we're sleeping, if you really do know when we're awake…" I paused, collecting my thoughts.

"If you can hear me now, why can't we see you? All I want this Christmas, Santa, is to believe in you. That's the only thing that matters to me. I don't want anything else, no toys or video games or candy or any of those other things I wrote about in my letter. I just want to believe."

An unexpected tear rolled down my cheek. Quick as a flash, Ferb had handed me his pocket handkerchief, which I gratefully accepted.

It had been almost a week since Isabella, Ferb, and I had made our excursion to the North Pole, and Christmas Eve was upon us. This Christmas Eve, I felt like I was just going through the motions. Helping Mom and Candace bake cookies, going out to shop for gifts with Dad and Ferb, playing with Perry in a snow fort we made (built as a replica with the exact size and shape of Ferb's favorite castle, the Edinburgh Castle; and like usual Candace got really upset when it disappeared before she could play in it), it all felt superficial.

As the sun was setting, Christmas dinner was almost ready, and the aroma wafted through the house. I was resting on the couch, just gazing at our decorated and bounteously lit tree, when there was a knock at the door. "I got it!" I yelled, knowing that Mom and Dad were probably busy with the meal's final preparations.

I opened the door to a middle-aged gentleman in a shabby black coat and pointy black beard. His clothes were tattered and dingy, but he wore a kind smile on his face. "I'm sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve," he said, "but I'm afraid I'm lost. I'm trying to visit my family in Sunbridge City, I just need some directions."

Before I could answer, Mom was already standing behind me. "Sunbridge City?" she asked. "That's three hours from here."

"I was afraid of that," the man said.

I don't know why I did it, but at that moment, something came over me. "Would you like to join us for Christmas dinner?" I asked. "It's just about ready, right Mom?"

"I'm sure this man wants to see his family as soon as possible," Mom repealed, but I felt this man needed to stay with us for dinner.

"Three hours is a long drive," I answered. "At least give him something, that's what Christmas is all about, right?"

Linda shot an inquiring look at the man. "I don't want to be a burden," he asserted.

"You won't be, we always have plenty to eat." I forced the matter by getting out on the doorstep and gently pushing him inside. He took off his coat and we gathered around the table.

"Lawrence, honey, it looks like we'll need one more place at the table," Mom said. Dad quickly fetched the plates and silverware, and we all sat down.

"So, what is your name?" Mom asked while she served up the plates and Dad carved the turkey.

"A. Sal Tuscany," he said.

"And what do you do, Sal?"

"Oh, a few things here and there," Sal replied. "I clean chimneys, make toys, and sometimes taste test foods, anything really; every little bit helps make ends meet."

Mom served the plates to everyone and sat down, and we started eating.

"It is all really quite delicious, Mrs. Flynn-Fletcher," Sal reported.

"Thank you," Mom said. "The gravy is an old family recipe with a secret ingredient."

"Is it, by chance, Figgy Pudding?"

"Why yes, yes it is!" Mom said, impressed. "Mr. Tuscany, I must say, you know your foods!"

"I know my deserts," Sal corrected jovially.

The rest of the meal was all great. Sal asked each of us what we hoped we were getting for Christmas, and then we talked about lots of other random things, like lawn gnomes and petri dishes. For the first time all day, I was really able to feel the Christmas spirit. Soon, everyone was too full to take another bite.

We all arose to put our dirty dishes in the sink. "Is there anything else we can do for you, Sal?" I asked. "Before you leave to go visit your family?"

"Actually, there is one thing," he answered. "Would you let me thank you for inviting me to dinner by letting me share my favorite story with you?"

"Certainly," Mom agreed.

We all gathered together in the family room by the tree. Sal brought in a chair from the dining room to sit on, while those who fit sat on the couch and those who did not sat on the remaining furniture. Sal pulled from his coat pocket a book, one that was well worn, that he'd clearly read many times. I instantly recognized the book and knew what story he was going to read to us.

"The First Christmas," he said, "was not in a home. It was not accompanied by fancy decorations. There weren't lights strung up on the tree. It happened in a humble stable, where a poor young carpenter and his pregnant young wife stayed the night, because there was no room in the inn."

Even though I had heard the story a million times, when Sal told it, it was with a reverence and appreciation far beyond anything I had ever witnessed. The story of the Nativity felt like it came to life for me when he told it. He set up the scene with remarkable fluency, how the decree went out that all the world should be counted and taxed. Sal's imagery was beautiful as he described the babe born in Bethlehem to a virgin, who wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger. You could almost hear the heavenly chorus as angels appeared to the shepherds that night to sing praises for all mankind to hear. I could visualize myself there when the wise men came, guided by a bright, new star, bearing gifts for the precious child. It was like hearing the story again, for the first time, all the wonder afresh and the miracles anew to my eyes and ears.

All too soon, Sal concluded his story, and there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Sal stood and pocketed his book. "I thank you again for dinner, but I really must be going," he said. "I have a long journey ahead of me tonight."

We stood to see him out. "Thank you," Mom said in return, "for bringing the Christmas spirit to our home."

"My pleasure," Sal said, donning his coat. "Christmas is my favorite time of year, and it brings me great happiness to share the holiday magic with others."

Everyone waved as he opened the door and took his first step into the night. At that moment, I thought of something. "Sal!" I called, running out to meet him as he crunched through the snow. "Sal, do you believe in Santa Claus?"

He stopped and gave me a curious look. "What makes you say a thing like that?"

I shivered slightly; I had run out so fast I hadn't put on a coat, and I was only wearing slippers on my feet. "I just want to know what you believe, that's all."

Smiling, Sal bent down to meet me at eye level. "Everybody believes in Santa Claus," he said. "They just don't remember who it is that inspired all the different ways they celebrate Christmas."

That was not what I was expecting to hear. I looked away, trying to figure out what he meant, and when I looked back, Sal was gone. Somehow, he'd vanished.

Folding my arms to brace against the cold, I headed back inside, thinking about Sal's words. Even by the time I was ready to go to bed, I still didn't understand what they meant.

As soon as I woke up, one thought flashed through my head. "It's Christmas!" I exclaimed, throwing my pillow at Ferb to wake him up. "It's Christmas! Wake up! It's Christmas!"

My cheerful shouts must have woken up everyone, since Candace emerged from her room the same time we did, and Mom and Dad followed us down the stairs soon after. I ran down and stopped at the banister when I saw the tree and an ocean of presents spanning across the floor. Excitement spiked through me as I dove into the wrapping paper and ribbon-composed waters. I almost forgot about my stalking, filled to near overflowing with presents and goodies, dangling fatly from the fireplace.

"Merry Christmas, everybody," Mom called as she went to go fix Christmas breakfast.

"Merry Christmas!" we shouted back, all unwrapping gifts in a frenzy.

I paused when I found a present that did not say who it was from. It was wrapped in a different, Santa-themed paper that I didn't recognize. I tore off the paper and was surprised to find a book, crisp and clean and new. It was a copy of the same book, in fact, that Sal had read from to us last night. Still not knowing who it was from, I opened the front cover. There was a note, written in beautiful penmanship that was definitely not Mom's or Dad's.

Santa wears red,
Santa's beard is white,
Santa loves little children,
Santa comes in the night,
Santa wants us to be good,
Santa brings us gifts.
Santa is a symbol of Christmas,
He remind us of what its true meaning is.

There's someone else who wears red
And has a beard of white,
Who loves little children,
And who came in the night,
He wants us to be good,
His gift was giving his life for us.
He is the true reason for Christmas,
And why I believe in Santa Claus.

Merry Christmas, Phineas, and may this book help you never stop believing.

Your friend, A. Sal Tuscany

A feeling of indescribable peace filled my soul as I reread the stanzas. I knew already that this book was my favorite gift this year. This was the best Christmas ever! I stood up, excited to show my new book to my family.

The End

Merry Christmas! I've wanted to do this story for a few years, but it's so different from my usual stuff that I held back until now. As a bonus, if you want to really see the full message of this story, go back and reread it, replacing every time you see the words "Santa" or "Santa Claus" with the word "God" (hopefully you'll get the idea by the time this method starts failing to translate the symbolism as clearly). Thanks for reading and for another great year being a part of this fandom!