One of my favorite things is being asked to read my work for library or school groups. Today I was sharing with Jack's first-grade class, on the last day before Christmas break.

"I have a very special story to share today," I said, as I opened the book. "This is called The Christmas Thief, and it's mostly a true story. That means that some things in the story actually happened, and some I made up. See if you can figure out what's true and what isn't."

It was my first Christmas in Eerie, and I wanted it to be special. In fact, I had a whole list of stuff to make the perfect Christmas.

Item number one: a Christmas tree.

Simon and I dragged down the big box that contained our tree from the storage space in the attic.

"Boy, this thing sure is big," he said, as we guided the box down the stairs. "How're we gonna get it all put together by the time your folks come home from Muncie?"

"I don't know."

"Don't drop it."

"I'm not gonna drop it!"

"Maybe you should have gone in front."

"It's okay. We're almost there."

Once we had the box safely on the living room floor, we had to go back up for the decorations.

"What's a Cutty Sark?" Simon asked, toting the smaller box all by himself.

"It's a brand of liquor, I think. Mom got a bunch of boxes from the liquor store when we moved. Cause they're sturdier."

"You're sure we got the right ones?"

"Yeah, see where it says XDEC on the side there? That means Christmas decorations."

"But Christmas doesn't start with an X! Shouldn't it be CDEC?"

"Just be careful with it. Those things in there are all breakable."

We opened the box for the tree and found it in pieces that all looked the same. "How will we ever figure out which ones go where?" I asked, trying to separate out the branches by size.

Simon was looking at something on the trunk. "There's colored dots going all the way up. I think all we have to do is find the pieces with the same color on them and just fit them together."

"Okay." That made sense. "What's the first color from the bottom?"

He bent down and looked. "Dark blue."

I figured that the branches on the bottom of the tree would be the biggest ones . . . and I was right. "Here's one."

"Are all the big ones dark blue?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

We wasted no time putting all the bottom branches in place. "What's the next color?"

"Yellow."

With the color-coding system to guide us, we had the tree all put together in a short time. Now on to the decorations. We opened the box and found that more than half the lights had been broken in transit.

"Careful," I said, trying to lift out a string of broken lights without touching them. "Some of these broken bulbs are still in the sockets-"

"Ow!"

"We'll just put these aside till Dad comes home, then. Let me just go get a Band-Aid. And some alcohol. And the tweezers. I'll be right back."

"Get it out get it out get it out!"

"Hang on, Simon, I'm coming!" I found the alcohol and the Band-Aids, but the tweezers weren't in the bathroom. I tried my parents' room, but they weren't there either.

"Marshall, I'm bleeding!"

"I know! Hold on!" In desperation, I tried my sister Syndi's room, a place I was normally not allowed to go. There were the tweezers, right on the dressing table. I grabbed them and a tissue and ran back out to the living room.

"Okay, just hold still a second." I wet the tissue in the alcohol and barely touched it to the bloody spot. Simon bit his lip and tried not to cry.

"I think I got it." It took two tries, but finally I grasped the tiny piece of glass with the tweezers and pulled it out. I wrapped it in the tissue and buried it at the bottom of the trash. Then I unwrapped a Mickey Mouse Band-Aid.

"Weren't there any normal ones?" Simon asked, as I wrapped it around his finger.

"Nope. Mom must've gotten them on sale."

We stood back and looked at the bare tree.

"Could we put just the decorations up?" Simon asked. "Or do you think those are broken, too?"

"No, we have to put the lights on first. We'll have to go buy a fresh box tomorrow. We have to do our Christmas shopping anyway. Item two on the list."

Headlights splashed the living room. Mom and Dad were home. They came in and saw the tree already up, and Dad said, "Boys, I thought we were going to wait to put the tree up?"

"I wanted to surprise you," I said. "But the lights are all broken. We have to go get new ones."

"We can do it tomorrow after school," Simon offered.

"Well, all right. I'll give you the money. Did you check the decorations?" Dad went over and shook the Cutty Sark box. I could hear stuff shifting around, but nothing sounded broken.

"We didn't want to put the decorations up," I said, "until the lights were on. We've still got time, right?"

"We've got a lot of work to do this week," Mom reminded me. "We're having a big open house Christmas Eve," she told Simon. "You and your family are invited, of course."

"Yeah, sure," he said, but he didn't look too happy about it.

"Can we have a sleepover?" I asked.

"I suppose. As long as you do your fair share of the work. Why don't you invite your other little friend there, what's his name?"

"I'll ask him," I said, though I wasn't sure he'd even want to come. Then again, he had no family, so he probably wasn't doing anything for Christmas.

Besides, item five on my list was "help the less fortunate." And no one I knew was less fortunate than Dash.

The next day, Simon and I went to the World of Stuff to get the lights and the presents. I found a Stephen Hawking book for my dad, a hat and gloves for my mom, but when it came to Syndi, I was stuck.

Mr. Radford was at the counter, wearing a Santa hat and a red and green tie. "Merry Christmas, boys! What can I do for you?"

"I need something for my sister," I said.

"I know just the thing." He came around and went into the toy section, stopping in front on an antique dollhouse. "How's this?"

"I don't know. She's a little old to play with dolls."

"No? Okay, then." He looked around, and then found a set of hair curlers. "What about this?"

"I think she has that one already."

"Boy, tough crowd. Wait a minute-I know just the thing!"

He crossed the store to the book section in the back, looked up and down the stacks, and finally pulled out a slim book with a brown cover. "Quotations for All Occasions. Just the thing for the budding journalist!"

"It's perfect!" I said. "Thanks."

Simon picked up a shaving kit for his dad and a tea set for his mom. "She really needs these," he said. "Her whole set of china cups got broken last month."

"What happened? Did the shelf collapse?"

"Harley was climbing up to get a cookie, and he pulled the whole china cabinet down."

"Yikes! What are you getting him?"

"Oh, he's easy. He likes anything that makes noise."

We went up to pay for our stuff. Beside the register, in a refrigerated case, were packages of cookie dough and tubs of colored sugar crystals.

I looked at Simon. "Item three on the list is 'bake Christmas cookies.' How many do you think we'll need?"

He picked up one of the packages and looked at it. "It says this makes one dozen cookies. So if we wanted to make enough for the party . . . four?"

"Okay. We should get some stuff to decorate them with, too."

We paid for all our stuff and left, loaded down with Christmas cheer. On our way out, we passed a man who looked like he'd just stepped out of the Seventies: white disco suit, slicked-back hair and all. He looked at me curiously as he passed, but said nothing.

When we got outside, I saw Dash leaning against a mailbox, trying to keep warm. He had no hat or gloves, and only his thin trench coat to cover him.

"Hey! Dash!" I called out to him.

He looked like he was getting ready to run. "I didn't do it! I wasn't even there at the time! Whoever told you I was is lying!"

"Calm down." I put my bundles down on a nearby bench and walked over to him. "Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"Well, let me see . . . oh, I know! Santa's coming to take me away to the North Pole in his sleigh. We'll sit by the fire and drink hot chocolate and eat candy canes!"

"Seriously?"

"No! Don't be an idiot! Why would I have any plans for Christmas?"

"You do now." I smiled. "You're invited to my house for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We're gonna have a sleepover. It'll be fun."

"Really? You'd spend your Christmas with me, after all I've done to you?"

"Sure."

"I don't have money for presents."

"I'm not inviting you cause I want an extra present. I'm inviting you cause it's the right thing to do. Are you coming or not?"

He pretended to think about it for a few seconds. "Hey, why not? Not as if I got anything better to do."

"You can even make cookies with us," said Simon. "Come on."

"Cookies?"

"I'll let you keep the three best ones," I said. "Come on."

"All right, fine."

We couldn't find the cookie cutters.

"They have to be in there somewhere!" Mom said. "Did you look?"

"We looked!"

"Did you look through things, or did you just open the door, glance inside, and close it again?"

"We looked! We look looked! They're not there!"

"That's impossible, I know I put them in-"

Half an hour later, after searching every single cabinet, we finally found two cutters, one star-shaped and the other gingerbread man-shaped. "That should be enough," I said. "Two dozen stars, two dozen gingerbread men."

"Two dozen minus my three," said Dash. "Three per batch."

"Three altogether," I said firmly. "We need to have enough for the party!"

"Party's not for days! We'll make more."

"Three cookies. That's it. Till the party, anyway."

He sighed, blowing a chunk of grey hair off his face. "Fine. Let's get cutting."

"'Step one,'" Simon read off the package, "'roll out the dough.' Do we have a rolling pin?"

I held it up. "Check."

"And a flat surface?"

Dash cleared a section of the counter by sweeping everything onto the floor with his arm. "Check."

"Really?" I looked at him, and then I picked everything up and put it on a different part of the counter.

He shrugged. "Fastest way to do anything's just to do it."

"Whatever." I spread wax paper out on the cleared section of the counter so we wouldn't make too much of a mess. "Now what?"

Simon rolled out the dough, and we made . . . vaguely blobby cookies that all looked the same. You couldn't tell which ones were gingerbread men and which were stars.

"They'll look better once they're decorated," I said. "Let's make another batch and put them both in together. That way we'll be done twice as fast."

"Gimme those things." When the dough was rolled out, Dash slammed the cookie cutters into the dough so hard I thought he'd break the counter, but we wound up with cookies that actually looked like something.

"See? You leave the cutting to me, and I'll let you preschoolers decorate. Maybe we'll put gumdrops on 'em. You like gumdrops?"

"You're having fun," I said.

He looked insulted. "Don't tell anyone! I got a reputation to protect!"

We let him put gumdrops on the gingerbread men, when they came out of the oven. By the time my dad got home from work, we had all the cookies decorated and stored in a tin on top of the refrigerator. Mission accomplished.

"What's next on the list?" Simon asked.

"You have a list?" Dash looked at me funny.

"Yeah, I have a list! So we don't forget anything. Let's see . . . tree . . . shopping . . . cookies . . . four is 'sing Christmas carols.' We can do that tomorrow afternoon after I've gone around collecting for my paper route. Five we've done . . . oh, no."

"What?"

"Item six: take a child to see Santa."

"Oh no is right," Simon groaned.

"What?" Dash repeated.

"You've never met Harley, have you?"

The line for Santa stretched halfway down the mall.

"Oh, man!" Simon pouted, but never let go of Harley's hand. "We'll never make it before the mall closes!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have waited till two days before Christmas," Dash said.

"Everyone has these long lists!" Simon complained. "They're taking up all Santa's time! He'll never get to us!"

"Who's next?" someone called.

I looked up and saw that the line in front of us had magically disappeared. "I guess that's us. Come on, guys."

The mall Santa didn't look too authentic. He had a real beard, but not much hair, and what he did have was stringy and grayish. At least he didn't smell like vodka, like the mall Santa I'd visited when I was seven.

"Ho, ho, ho!" "Santa" said. "And what's your name, little boy?"

Harley stared up at that white-bearded, gray-haired visage and said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"He's never like this," Simon said. "He was so excited he was up all last night. Maybe he's tired."

"Am not!" Harley protested. He looked up at Santa and said, "My name is Harley Schwarzenegger Holmes, and for Christmas I want a Thunder Dino Megabot. The red one, with real moving parts. Not some cheap plastic knockoff. I know the difference."

"Ho, ho, ho, of course you do! And what about you boys?" he asked us. "Is there something special you'd like for Christmas?"

"Us?" I looked around, as if he might possibly be talking to someone else. "Well, um . . . I could use a new telescope. The Stargazer 5000. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"I want Monsters Illustrated," Simon said. "The really cool leather-bound edition."

"What about you?" Santa looked at Dash. "Is there anything special you'd like for Christmas, son?"

Dash looked away. "All I want is my life back. I want what was taken from me. I want to know who I am again. Can you fit that in your sack?"

"Okay, time's up," the elf in charge said, hustling us out.

"What?" Simon was outraged. "But everyone before us took forever!"

"Yeah, well, the mall's closing. Pose for your picture and hit the road."

"Jeez, who crawled up your chimney?" Dash muttered.

Fortunately the photographer was in better spirits. "Push together a little more, boys. Okay, now everyone say 'Jingle bells!'"

"Jingle bells!" we chorused, as the flash went off, blinding me. Just before it did, I saw that Seventies guy again, just on the edge of the crowd. Then everything went white.

By the time my vision cleared, we were at the mall exit, and my mom was there to pick us up.

"Did you see Santa?" she said, all excited.

Harley nodded, the picture of innocence. "Uh huh! We got our picture taken! Santa looks different than he did last year."

"Well, you know those are only Santa's helpers," she said. "Because Santa's busy at the North Pole making the toys."

"Besides," I said, "the real Santa can't be photographed."

Simon gave me a look. "We'll see about that!"

Everything was ready for the big party. It wasn't even on the list, but it should have been.

I looked at the Christmas tree. The new, unbroken lights were really nice. Most of the ornaments had survived the trip; right there was the one I'd made for my mom in kindergarten.

Mom came downstairs, in her robe. "I'm going to take a shower and get dressed," she said. "When everyone gets here, it's your job to take their coats and hang them in the closet. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, Mom."

She smiled. "I know the move was hard on you, Marshall, and you're still adjusting, but I really want to make a good impression on the new neighbors. You're not wearing that, are you?"

I was still in my favorite Giants sweatshirt. "Um, no?"

"You're darn right, no. Why don't you wear the nice slacks and shirt Grandma sent you?"

Inwardly, I groaned. "Nice" meant I would look like a dork, in front of all the neighbors, or at least those who showed up. But it was Christmas, and you don't wear sweats at Christmas. "Okay, Mom."

I wore the shirt untucked so it didn't look too dorky. By now it was six-thirty. Syndi was mixing the punch, Dad was going around lighting candles and wondering aloud if our homeowners' insurance covered accidental candle fires, and all that was left was for the guests to arrive.

At six-forty-five, the doorbell rang. It was Simon, all dressed up in a red and green sweater vest, with Harley in tow. Harley was carrying a big plastic bucket that looked like it was full of small objects.

"Where's your mom and dad?" I asked.

Simon grimaced. "Plumbing emergency. Let's just say that something got flushed that shouldn't have been."

Harley grinned, sat down in the middle of the living room, and dumped out the plastic bucket. It turned out to be action figures-nice ones, too. He had Batman and Superman and Spider-Man and Godzilla and a couple of Star Trek characters and even some that looked Japanese.

"Why don't we bring those upstairs to my room?" I said. "Once everyone gets here, there's not gonna be a lot of room to play."

Harley ignored me, slamming two Army guys together over and over and making explosion sounds.

"They're gonna get stepped on," said Simon. He bent down and started scooping up toys back into the bucket. Harley grabbed it and dumped it out again. "Fine, but when they get broken, don't come crying to me. I tried to help."

The doorbell rang again. "You watch him," I said. "I'm on coat duty."

"Yeah, okay."

I opened the door to find Dash there, shivering in his big black coat. "Hey," he said.

"Merry Christmas," I greeted him. "Glad you could make it. May I take your coat?"

"Take it," he said, thrusting it at me. "This thing's worthless anyway." I hung it in the closet and came back just as the doorbell rang again.

It was that way for the next hour or so. When we ran out of room in the closet, I brought the coats upstairs and piled them on my parents' bed. I'd have to go up and bring them down again at the end of the night, but I was ready for that.

Almost the whole neighborhood was there. The King dropped by and sang a few Christmas songs for us. The Wilson twins brought their super-secret peppermint cocoa recipe. Even the mayor stopped in for a few minutes on his way to another party. He didn't stay long, which was probably a good thing.

We got to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas and A Charlie Brown Christmas before the adults came in and kicked us out to watch some football game. We retreated to the kitchen with cups of peppermint cocoa.

"To us," I said, raising my mug.

"To Christmas," said Simon.

Dash grinned. "To surviving another year in this crazy town."

We clinked mugs and drank.

Eventually we left the kitchen. Simon had to take Harley home and pick up his video camera, which I warned him again was a waste of time. Dash mostly wandered around picking up presents and shaking them.

By the time Simon came back, Dash and I were in our pajamas and watching Christmas specials while eating leftover party snacks. It was barely ten o'clock, but it felt like midnight. Yet we weren't tired at all.

"Oh, good," Simon said, seeing that we were both still awake. "You can help me set up the camera."

I resisted the urge to tell him one more time that it wasn't going to work and instead connected cords and set the timer.

"Aren't you afraid Santa will see that and know what you're up to?" Dash said mockingly.

Simon was oblivious to his tone. "We'll move the tree slightly in front of it like this." He started to slide the tree over, and it swayed dangerously.

"Maybe we shouldn't move the tree," I said, catching it before it toppled over.

"But we have to hide the camera somehow!"

"Gimme that." Dash took the camera and turned around, trying to find the perfect hiding spot that also allowed perfect visibility. He ended up sticking it behind the poinsettia on the end table, after checking to see if it had a good angle on the fireplace. "There. You're welcome."

"Let's just go to bed already," I said. I shut off the TV and turned down the covers on the couch bed.

Dash looked at it skeptically. "Are we all gonna fit on that thing?"

"Sure we will. It's big enough for two full-grown adults, so there should be plenty of room for the three of us. Simon, you're in the middle."

"Great," he moaned. "I'll get squashed!"

"No, you won't. It'll be fine. I don't move around a lot in my sleep."

Simon looked at Dash, who shrugged. "I can't say the same. I have yet to wake up in the same position I went to sleep in. But I'll try not to roll over on you, squirt."

"Okay," he said. "Night, Mars."

"Night, Simon. Night, Dash."

"Night, dweebs. Don't steal my covers!" He rolled over so his back was to us.

Oh, well. I settled in and turned the light off, closing my eyes. I didn't expect to fall asleep right away. I never did, on Christmas Eve. But at some point, the line between sleeping and waking blurred, and I slipped into dreams.

I woke up once while it was still dark, realized it couldn't be morning yet, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again, the sun was up.

I rolled over to see if the others were awake yet. Simon was still sleeping, his head pressed into my shoulder. Beyond him was an empty space. Huh. Where was Dash?

Probably in the bathroom, I decided as I got up. It was then that I found the other big mystery of that Christmas morning.

There were no presents under the tree.

The bell rang. "Uh oh," Miss Willis, Jack's teacher, said. "That's the lunch bell. We'll finish the story when we come back, won't we, Mr. Teller?"

"Uh, sure," I said, wondering how I'd cram the whole day's events into the forty-five minutes we'd have left in the school day. There was a lot to cover . . . and if the first part had been strange, the second was even weirder. I wasn't sure the kids would believe me.