Alby knelt on the carpet in his living-room, a big cardboard box in front of him, unwrapping ornaments. His mother had called the house earlier asking him to get the Christmas decorations out from the basement. She wanted to decorate the Christmas tree with him so he set about preparing the materials and setting up the tree before she returned home from work. Of course, the tree was fake. His father didn't want pine needles all over the house so it was a lot harder than just cutting down a tree and sticking it up. He had to find each branch's match, like "A1" with "A2" and attach them across from each other to a metal pole.

After he went through about half the alphabet, the tree actually started to look like a tree. "There," he breathed, sitting back a half hour later to look at his work. A few branches were a little crooked but he figured it'd be unnoticeable once he and his mother applied the decorations. He pulled the box over and continued to go through it, pulling out self-made ornaments he had scrapped together as a 5-year-old. There were knick-knacks for the house too, mostly ones that had to do with the birth of baby Jesus. Where was the angel for the top of the tree though? Alby stared at the bottom of the box in frustration. Instead of a star for their Christmas tree, his mother preferred a glass angel but it wasn't with the decorations. Perhaps it had been put in a different box…

Alby rose to his feet and started for the basement just as the doorbell rang. A double knock followed it. He paused at the stairwell then turned to head for the front door. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered, opening the door to meet a startled blonde-haired boy with pinched red cheeks. Alby stared at him expectantly as the stranger fumbled an apology for intruding at dinnertime.

"I, uh – I was wondering if you had a phone I could use," the boy said, burrowing his face into his scarf. Alby noticed he had an accent. "I just broke mine. I –" He flinched as he shifted his weight to his other leg. "I wanted to call my mum for a ride."

"Sure." The look of relief on the boy's face was obvious as Alby stepped back and welcomed him inside. He pointed down the hall where the kitchen was. "It's on the wall right there."

"Thanks."

The boy flinched again as he stepped forward into the house. Alby glanced at his leg. "Did you fall?" he asked.

"Slipped on some ice. That's how my phone broke," the boy answered.

"You shouldn't be walkin' then. Wait here. I'll get the phone." Alby started down the hall but instead of picking up the phone, he slipped into the kitchen and opened up the freezer. Since he played basketball in school and tended to get injuries a lot, his mother had made sure ice packs were always well-stocked. He wrapped one in some paper towels so it wouldn't be too cold and snatched up the phone on his way back to the front door where the boy was now slumped against the wall.

"Here, this should help," Alby said, holding out the ice pack and then the phone.

The boy took the ice pack with one hand and then the phone with the other. "Thanks," he mumbled, his head lowered at an angle so that his blonde locks hid his face.

"No problem." Alby watched him for a moment as the boy rolled up part of his pant leg, revealing a swollen ankle which he applied the ice pack to before he wandered back toward the kitchen as the boy started to dial a number on the phone. He wanted to give the boy some privacy but it was hard not to overhear him as his voice echoed down the hall.

"Hello? Mum? Mum, where are you?" There was a moment of silence before the boy's voice grew a little louder with frustration. "Can you drive? I need to be picked up." Another pause. "It's your son, Newt. My phone broke so I'm borrowing—" He must have been interrupted because he stopped talking again. Alby had to admit, he was a little surprised. The boy's attitude had completely changed over the phone. "What? But I don't have any other way home! ... Mum?"

Alby peeked out from around the corner and saw the boy staring at the phone, listening to the dial tone before he sighed and clicked the "End" button. "If you need a ride, my mom will be home in a few minutes," he said, walking back over.

"Oh, no, I don't want to be an inconvenience," the boy, who was apparently named after an amphibian, objected. His attitude from the phone call with his mother had faded. "Thanks for letting me use your phone though."

"What are you going to do? Hop home on one leg?" Alby scoffed.

The boy's head shot up and for the first time, he looked straight at Alby. "It's not that bad," he assured.

"You wouldn't even make it down the road."

"I made it to your house."

Alby raised an eyebrow and chuckled. He didn't understand why the boy was being so stubborn. "All right, stand up and show me then."

"Fine." The boy abandoned the ice pack and used the wall as a support as he pulled himself to his feet. Alby was impressed. There was pain on the boy's face but this time, he didn't even flinch. "See?"

"You proved me wrong," Alby responded with a touch of sarcasm. "I apologize." He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to watch him. "I guess I'll be seein' ya' then."

"Uh, right." A sudden look of uneasiness passed over the boy's face. He glanced at Alby, muttered some swear under his breath and took a step toward the door. He made it three steps before a sheering pain caused him to double-over and cry out.

Alby was at his side in a second, a hand on his shoulder. "Just as I thought," he exclaimed in a serious tone, reaching for the ice pack that had been left on the ground. "It'll have to be amputated."

"Ha," the boy responded with a grunt, cringing as the ice pack was pressed back to his ankle.

"No, but seriously, you should probably have this checked out by a doctor," Alby advised. "It might be broken or you could have a sprain."

"What's your name?" the boy asked suddenly.

"Alby."

"Well, Alby, I hope you never become a doctor."

"What's your name?" Alby asked. Of course, he had overheard it when the boy had been on the phone but he didn't want to make it obvious that he had been listening.

"Newt."

"Newt? That's a winner."

"Hey, your name isn't on the top list of baby name's of the year either," Newt shot back.

"Got me there," Alby laughed.

After his laugh subsided, Alby suddenly became conscious of his hand still planted on the boy's shoulder and his other with the ice pack on his ankle. "Here," he said, giving Newt the ice pack so he could hold it before hastily removing himself and giving the boy some space just as the sound of a car in the drive way announced his mother's return. "My mom's back so she can give you a ride. She won't mind so don't worry," he told him.

Newt didn't protest. "All right," was all he said as Alby opened the door for his mother who had just reached the front steps.

"Hey, mom, my friend slipped on some ice and now it's hard for him to walk. He tried giving his mom a call but she didn't answer. Do you think you could give him a ride home?"

"Let me get inside first before you start bombarding me with questions," his mother scolded, stamping her shoes of snow before shuffling inside. "Whew, it's cold out there." She looked at Newt, who, Alby noticed, looked paler than he had been a minute ago. "Let me see that ankle of yours, dear." Newt removed the ice pack, revealing his now purple ankle which caused Alby's mother to tut. "How 'bout you stay for dinner so I can wrap that up for you and then I'll give you a ride home?"

"I—" Newt had been about to politely decline but like her son, she was persistent.

"I insist," she said, taking off her boots. "I'll go fetch the first-aid kit. Alby, you help your friend to the table and then go preheat the oven to 325."