As the pageant progressed, Michelle was surprised by how quiet Tommy was. At least, for a little while.
He was quiet for a good twenty minutes, much longer than she had expected, before roughly elbowing her. She dutifully ignored him, leaning further forward in his seat to watch the dancers. When he kept doing it harder and harder, until she actually yelped quietly, she decided to humor him.
"What do you want, Tommy?" She refused to look at him, her attention still on the stage.
"Play I Spy with me?" suggested Tommy.
"No! Can't you see I'm watching?" She leaned even further forward, grateful that the music had gotten louder.
"But it's so boring," complained Tommy. "How can you watch this stuff? It'd put anyone to sleep."
"Then go to sleep," suggested Michelle.
Tommy ignored her. "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with C."
She tried to ignore him, but winced when he poked her. Hard. When he continued poking and pinching and elbowing her, she sighed. She'd have to humor him if she didn't want a bruise.
"Chocolate?" she suggested, deciding to just name random C words.
"No. There's no chocolate here," noted Tommy.
"Cat?"
"There's no cat here, either."
"Candle?"
"Now you're just guessing."
"I'm supposed to guess," Michelle pointed out, her eyes still glued to the stage.
"But you're not guessing right," protested Tommy. "You're not even looking around."
"You never play right," retorted Michelle.
"It's curtains."
"Really?" Michelle was surprised. That was a rather normal thing to spy. The last time, he had picked something far more insulting.
"That was obvious." She could practically see him rolling his eyes. "You're so dumb, Michelle. Now your turn."
Without getting into the I spy part, she simply said, "D." She was going to think of something more insulting, but decided if Tommy could spy something normal, she could too.
After a brief pause, Tommy said, "Darkness?"
"No."
"Dancing?"
"Close."
"Dance?"
"No."
"Dancers?"
"Yes."
"Now my turn!" Michelle was determined to ignore him this time. She had humored him enough. She didn't care if she got a bruise.
She tried to ignore Tommy's pokes and prods, but then heard him say something different. "Alright, enough playing. Can you tell me more about Harry Potter?"
Michelle paused. Her love of Harry Potter outweighed even her excitement for this pageant, but she could read the books or tell Tommy about them any time. She couldn't watch this pageant any day.
"No. Maybe later, okay?" she offered.
"How much later?" whined Tommy. "The pageant's so long! I'm going to explode if I have to sit here the whole time!" Michelle cringed at how loud and shrill his voice got at the end.
His voice caught the attention of their mother, who turned to look at them. "What's wrong, Tommy?"
"He won't let me watch the pageant!" interjected Michelle before Tommy could say anything.
"Michelle's being mean!" protested Tommy. "I just want her to talk to me, but she won't."
It didn't surprise Michelle when her mother said, "Surely you can talk to your brother for a little while, Michelle. The pageant won't end any time soon."
Michelle groaned quietly. She knew she had to obey her mother or she'd get an earful. She turned to an excited Tommy, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss came over..."
Despite her annoyance, she couldn't help getting invested in the story as she continued explaining. Harry Potter had that effect on her. Tommy's eagerness to listen was also endearing to her. Michelle didn't realize how much fun it was to explain the books to someone who had never read them before instead of rereading them herself. She even did different voices for the characters and actions with her hands for what happened.
After a while, she realized she still had a pageant to watch. She returned her attention to the stage, noticing it was close to the finale of Act One. She quickly blocked Harry Potter from her mind and focused on the dancers.
She applauded as the rest of the audience did when it ended, waiting for Act Two to start. To her surprise, Tommy didn't bug her for the rest of the pageant, though she did occasionally hear him humming Let It Go to himself. Last time, he hadn't stopped bugging her and asking her to talk to him, and she had constantly told him to stop, at one point causing a scene.
As they exited the theatre, Michelle put her winter clothes back on. She and her family had taken them off when they were inside. It was such a stark change to go from the toasty theatre to the chilly indoor air. It was even chillier outdoors.
As they walked back to the car, her parents chattering amongst themselves and Michelle thinking about the vastly improved pageant, she was abruptly taken out of her thoughts as she felt something cold and hard hit her—again. Thankfully, this time it was on her coat instead of her face.
She saw Tommy giggling, but knew she couldn't retaliate, as much as she wanted to. Her parents would just scold her again. She brushed the remains of the snow off with her mittens and walked steadily on.
After a while, she yelped as she felt another snowball hit her, this time on the skirt of her dress, which was uncovered. She groaned as she wiped it off, her bare legs feeling even colder than before even though they were underneath. She walked faster to reach the car.
Spotting Tommy constructing yet another snowball near a streetlamp, she started walking even quicker, and then started jogging. Her gaze was focused on Tommy so she could avoid him, so she squealed in surprise as her feet slipped on the wet pavement.
She slipped, wildly waving her hands with no success, and fell face-first down on the cold, hard pavement. A sharp pain flared in her face. A very familiar pain.
Oh, yeah. This happened last time.
She heard Tommy and her parents cry out her name. The next second, she felt her mother's arms dragging her upright. Michelle groaned, leaning into her mother, one hand reaching up to her face which was bursting with pain.
"Michelle, you're bleeding!" exclaimed Mrs. Webster in concern.
"Don't worry, it's not bad," added Mr. Webster. "Just a little from your nose. Here." He removed his scarf off and held it up in front of her hand.
Michelle wanted to tell him to take the napkins from her handbag, but she didn't care much at the moment. She removed her hand from her face to accept the scarf and pressed it against her bleeding nose. Her father was right, it wasn't bad. When she pulled the tissue away, she saw a blood stain about the size of a fingernail. She could've sworn from the pain that it was worse.
Her father had already run to the car to take some bandages. He held one up to her nose and pressed it firmly on. Michelle winced slightly, but could already feel the pain fade. Her mother held her tighter.
"There, that should do it," decided Mr. Webster. "Just be more careful next time."
Michelle rolled her eyes at the comment, but didn't reply. Tommy did, however.
"It was my fault."
The now relatively mild pain she was in was nothing compared to the shock of hearing her brother say those words.
Her parents must've felt the same, turning to Tommy in confusion. "What do you mean, dear?" inquired Mrs. Webster.
Tommy bit his lip, like he did when he was nervous. "I was throwing snowballs at her. She was running to avoid them, and then she slipped." He lowered his head.
"Oh, it's not your fault, sweetie," assured Mrs. Webster, turning her concerned gaze to Tommy as if he was the one bleeding. "You were just having some fun."
"That's right," agreed Mr. Webster. "Don't feel bad about it." He turned sternly to Michelle. "Michelle, you shouldn't have been running on the wet ground like that. That's very dangerous. Unless you're trying to avoid an angry mob or something, you should always walk."
Michelle bristled at the scolding, but couldn't help smiling a little at the angry mob comment. Still, where was the scolding Tommy got for throwing snowball at her? She had gotten one for throwing them at him, but had he?
As Michelle settled into the car, she was pretty happy with how the pageant had turned out. Aside from her little fall that she had forgotten about, she had had a fairly good time. She hoped that when she went to sleep, she'd at least wake up the next day, or, better yet, when she was fifteen. But if she didn't, she didn't think she minded too much. Trying to fix her past Christmases was actually kind of fun.