Revamped!

[This is the Christmas chapter for this story. Yes, I know Christmas is way past over. In fact, it's so over that I'm going back to school tomorrow. Excuse me while I go cry]. [2019: I love my many mood-related author's notes. What helped is that even though it's June, I still listened to Christmas music while proof-reading].


Santa's Lap:

The streets of New York are coated with a thin layer of fresh, white snow. Again. The weather reports have been saying that the temperature has been dropping but it hasn't affected me at all. Extreme temperatures don't seem to bother me as much. Some people are double-jointed, some can burp the alphabet backwards, and some can eat crickets. My odd talent is probably stepping outside in my swimsuit during a blizzard (which I wouldn't do because I don't have a swimsuit). The warmest article of clothing I currently have is the baggy hoodie that I got from a clothing donation bin and am currently wearing.

In summary, winter hasn't harmed me like I thought it would. It's only been two days since I got here.

Nobody in New York seems to care that a twelve-year-old girl is roaming around the streets on her own, looking completely dishevelled. If people passed me on the street, 99.9% of them would not even notice me. I'm practically invisible, which in my case, is the best I could ever ask for. I don't look homeless. My hoodie is clean, my pants aren't ripped, my shoes have no holes; the only problem is my greasy hair. In case you're wondering about the smell, department stores have a wide selection of perfume and I have to accept the expensive scent since it's better than body odour.

It's almost Christmas which means that people are spending more money at more stores. Seeing people with loads of shopping bags from various stores and boutiques makes me feel iffy. It only reminds me of the life I had literally last week with The Browns. It's not like I'm complaining, I have nothing to complain about. The only thing I really need right now is food, not the latest pair of boots. What bothers me is that a piece of bread is more expensive than it should be. Jesus, I'm buying one piece, not the whole loaf.

I enter a mall expecting to receive pleasure and a bit of warmth, but my ears begin bleeding. Christmas carols blasting on repeat will soon give me a migraine which will not be good because I can't afford pain medication. I toughen up, ignore it, and begin walking. I pass by a toy store and see children begging while tugging on their parent's pant leg for the biggest princess castle or the biggest toy convertible. All the parents say in response is Santa will put it underneath the tree or in your stocking. I doubt those gifts will fit in their stocking but I don't understand 'Santa's magic'.

Don't even get me started on if I believe in Santa or not. I don't remember if I ever did but right now, after seeing my mother do all her crazy spells, you'd think that I would believe, but I don't. I mean, a jolly old man with a sleigh flown by reindeer? Give me a break.

I pass by the Santa exhibit and embrace the falseness just like at Courtney's gala. I don't get it: parents encourage their kids to be honest, but they're the ones who will pay hundreds to get the perfect photo of them on Santa's lap. I see a poor kid in a tuxedo with a bright red tie. Man, the things parents will do. One of the elves grabs my attention with his jingle bells. I stare back at him in horror.

"Would you like a picture on Santa's lap?" The elf asks me in a squeaky voice.

"No," I reply, "I'm not six."

"Come on, you'll get a candy cane." He shows me a bucket full of them.

I roll my eyes. I don't want a photo and I don't want to sit on Santa's lap but I'm starving so maybe a candy cane will be alright. I'm actually going to try and take enough that will fit in my hoodie's giant pocket. That and I get to take ten minutes off my careless walk around the city.

"Fine," I say reluctantly.

I take my bag off and put it to the side. I take heavy steps over and stop in front of Santa. Why ask a twelve-year-old to take a photo with Santa? Do I look like I'm six? I take an awkward seat on Santa's lap and am regretting this already. This is uncomfortable and embarrassing. All the other kids were in sparkles and satin and I'm in some donated touristy hoodie with the Statue of Liberty on it.

"Ho, ho, ho," Santa chants loudly as a greeting. "Where are your parents, little girl?"

I narrow my eyes. I ask the same thing to myself as to where the hell my parents are, mostly hoping that Amora is just somewhere that isn't here. Considering that Santa just called me 'little girl', either I actually look like I'm six or he's a creepy old man.

"At the toy store," I lie with some fake cheer. "They're buying some gifts."

Santa believes it so I'm good. If he were real, I'm definitely on his naughty list.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Santa asks me.

I take a breath. I never really put into thought what I wanted. I never do. Maybe that's because what I want can't be wrapped. I bet that it can't be given either.

"I just want a puppy," I say with some fake joy. That gets him laughing.

We take the photo which I look dreadful in. I tell the elf that I'll get my parents and we'll be back to purchase the picture and I reach into the candy cane bucket, shoving a bunch of them into my sleeve. That's a lie. I take my backpack and begin walking off biting straight into one of my candy canes. My stomach growls, but this is all I get to quiet it down.

What is it that I want for Christmas? It's most certainly not a puppy. I just want all of this to be over even though I know it can't be.


[That last sentence is exactly how I feel about school]. [2019: If only I could tell 2016 me that it gets better].