Margaret comes in happily about half an hour later with a semi-large package and a couple of bags in her arms. The snow has made her cheeks bright red but she is smiling all the way. "Look what I got us."

Mitchie and I get up from the bed to investigate Margaret's gift. It's just a box with a picture of an evergreen tree on the side and the words: "Miniature Christmas Tree." Christmas tree? In Havenwood, Christmas sure as hell was no happy affair. We spent most of the day atoning for our sins in the High Chapel and then fasting, only to have a massive feast at the end of the day. But the feast was never worth all the beating I got for not being able to sit still for nine hours.

"Margaret... what's a Christmas tree?" Mitchie asks as I start to play around with the box, reading all of the descriptions I can find.

She puts the bags down with a grunt and then looks at Mitchie. "Y'all didn't have Christmas trees back at your old place? Thought it was religious and all."

"Christmas was a day of asking for forgiveness from Jesus," I explain. "We fasted and prayed and got our asses beaten to the ground for most of the day. I hated it."

Being who she is, Margaret promptly ignores every uncomfortable detail we present about our previous situation unless we continue to push the subject. I think that she realizes we want to be treated like normal, happy people even though we're clearly fucked-up-beyond-belief, depressed people. At least, I am most of the time. Because of Max. If it weren't for him, I would... I would be normal. It swings my mind back around to the dream again, to the things that I can't change. And how much I would love to throw Justin's guts through a blender at this very moment (Margaret told me about blenders, but has stated that I can never go near them).

"Well, here Christmas is the happiest time of year. Y'all don't know 'bout Santa Claus, do you?" Margaret asks excitedly. It almost breaks my heart to tell her that neither of us have any idea what she's talking about. And her face falls about three inches. "I really should've met you kids when you were younger. You're too old to believe in Santa Claus, but there's this whole story about him. He rides down on reindeer and magically gives presents to kids all over the world and there's this whole internet thing- man! I miss believing in something!" She intends that to be a lighthearted comment, possibly even funny, but it strikes a chord in Mitchie. I've never believed in anything, but she definitely has some faith in something. And right now, it looks shattered beyond repair. I reach out, running my hand up and down her arm in what I hope is comforting and not creepy manner.

"Me, too." I think it must be Max's death that has finally pushed whatever faith she had over the edge. I've never realized how much of a spiritual person Mitchie and just how much of religion she believed in. I make a mental note to ask her later.

"So what do Christmas trees have to do with all this?" I sense that Christmas- for reasons unknown- is a very special and happy time for Margaret, and I don't want to ruin it for her. Interestingly, she seems to take a ridiculous amount of joy in sharing her traditions with us. I'm probably just not that type of person- I suspect that Mitchie would be the same way, after how she lit up with the simple pancake story.

"That's where Santa puts the presents," Margaret explains. "He leaves the presents under the tree on Christmas Eve night and then all the kids wake up on Christmas morning to find them and you unwrap them. It's great." She's laughing like hell now, really invested in her childhood memories.

A thought strikes me, making me incredibly giddy at the prospect. "Is Santa the only one who gives presents at Christmas? Well, it's not really Santa, but do you give gifts to your friends and stuff?"

It's Margaret's turn to be absolutely giddy about this whole deal. "That's a brilliant idea! Why didn't I think of that?"

"So friends don't give each other presents? Was that a strange request?" I'm kind of confused by her reaction to that statement.

She laughs again, looking at both Mitchie and me. "No, no; it's totally normal. But I just never realized you girls would be into that."

"I am- even though I don't have any money to buy anything," I say. Which is too bad, because I have a perfect idea for Mitchie's gift. And I'd have to get something for Margaret, because she's been so great to us this entire time. Even though I don't know what to get her.

Mitchie smiles widely at Margaret, but also slyly as though they're sharing a secret. I don't like that. "We could always make each other something," she suggests with a giggle.

"What?"

"I was just imagining what your artwork would look like." I am shocked that she would say such a thing, considering that she's so, you know, nice.

But I have to admit that she's right. "It would probably be black because I'd just mix all the colors together."

"They actually turn out brown when they mix them all together," Mitchie informs me and I nudge her on the shoulder.

"Shut up. Even though you're right. My art skills were never developed properly."

"I know. It's been a source of great tension in our relationship, but I've gotten over it." We've never really done any of this before- it seems kind of like a more, laid-back version of the courtship rituals we had at Havenwood to "attract mates" or whatever it was we were supposed to be doing. Only our version of it tends to make me actually want to continue dating Mitchie. I'd probably want to continue dating her even if she whipped out one of the Havenwood courting statements, actually. But that's just a testament to how much I love her, because I'd knock the shit out of anyone else if they tried that.

Margaret smirks at us in such a motherly way, it's weird. Probably just because I've never seem my mother make a similar face. "You girls are so cute, with your flirtin'."

"What's that?" Mitchie wonders, suddenly embarrassed by our display of affection. Her mood swing about this is certainly understandable, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the effects. Jesus Christ, I can't wait to kill Rodney.

"Flirtin'?" Once again, Margaret is surprised by our lack of knowledge. "It's what y'all were just doin'... I don't really know how else to say. Maybe, like, the way you talk to someone you're interested in?"

At this Mitchie goes into a full-on, red-faced blush. It's so cute. Her feminine charms are very disarming to me, I realize. "We'll try to keep it to a minimum in front of you," I say with a smile.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it." She turns to face Mitchie directly as she drawls, "I think it's adorable."

Mitchie buries her face into my chest, which would concern me, if I couldn't feel her smile against my skin through the fabric of my T-shirt. "I think you're hurting her feelings."

Margaret agreed to take us shopping and steal some of Tom's money to let us get Christmas presents for each other. So that we don't know what the other's getting, I'm going with Tom and Margaret's going with Mitchie. Apparently she thinks that Tom and I will connect better, which is probably true because she and Mitchie were discussing dresses on the car ride to the mall.

The mall, by the way, is even more impressive than the hospital. And more impressive than Target, too. It's like a bunch of mini-Targets all clumped together... I can't even describe it. I mean, one of the stores there sells only chocolate. How on earth do they get by on that business? But apparently it's quite a good business since it has more people than a lot of the other stores.

And speaking of people, there's a lot of them. According to Tom (who likes to spew off random facts), today- Christmas Eve- is one of the biggest shopping days of the year, after something calls Black Friday. He thinks that any descriptions of Black Friday might fry my brain, though, so he hasn't said much on the subject. I'm OK with this, because there's so many people here today. Since this mall is tinier than most, he considers this a small amount of people. I can't get past the concept that there can be so many people in one place, not really knowing each other, not really interacting. Everything I've ever been brought up to know states that we interact and be all friendly with our neighbors. Back where I'm from, everyone knows everyone else. It's kind of strangely relieving to live in a world where I can be who I want to be without worrying about everyone's eyes following each step I take.

"So what do you want to get Mitchie?" Tom asks after he's finished explaining all the stuff about malls to me.

"I want to make her pancakes," I reply in a determined voice.

Tom eyeballs me. "Look, kid, I know you're kind of new to the whole romance thing, but pancakes? That's kind of like a breakfast-in-bed, anniversary, get-well-soon sort of present. Not Christmas."

"I didn't understand half of what you just said," I confess, "but this is a childhood memory for her. Like, a good childhood memory. God knows we could both use more of those. Her parents used to make her funny shaped pancakes on Sunday mornings."

I hope he comprehends the significance of this memory. He'd better; it's kind of like his job to search through dysfunctional childhoods. "Well, we could get her pancake batter...? I don't really know much about the art of pancake making. These pancakes. Were you planning on cooking her some?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "Her parents used to make them into letters and shapes, and I want to do something with that, but I honestly can't think of something that doesn't sound wonderfully cliched."

He just laughs at that. "Mitchie's definitely the type of person who would enjoy something cliche."

"How do you even know that? You don't know her at all," I point out.

Tom shrugs and steers me into a store called Trevor-Dunman Co-op. "It's my job to read people, get to the heart of their troubles. Plus, I've dated enough girls to recognize certain types."

My mind is once again totally blown- by both Tom's statement and the variety of items stocked upon the shelves of the Trevor-Dunman Co-op. "What do you mean you've dated lots of girls? Don't you have to make it official or something- can't you only date one person of your choice?"

Now he's staring at me like I've grown an extra head. "What? No. You can date whoever you want, though dating more than one person at the same time is generally frowned upon. Is that the way it was at Havenwood?"

"It was horrible. Plus they only even told us that we could be... straight? I think that's the right one," I say.

Tom makes a face. "It's a good thing you busted out of there."

"Yeah..." I'm remembering Max again, his smiling face popping into my mind. On one hand, I'm happier than I've ever been out here in the real world. On the other, I would still have my little brother if I had just stuck it out for another night or two. Things would have been so different...

"Here. This is the best pancake mix I have ever tasted. Probably what you need... Alex? Alex?" I hardly register what he's saying, my mind a swarming cloud of black dust. How could I be so selfish?