A/N: Thanks for the reviews and follows, everyone! "We're a Couple of Misfits", lyrics by J. Marks, from the Rankin & Bass animated "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer".

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Joe hadn't felt this light and bouncy in a while, especially not at Christmas. The next day, he walked with Kris to her Special Ed math class, to give Tina the snowman tin filled with Aunt Gertrude's cookies, while Kris gave Tina one of the finished salt-dough angels ("and I'll bring the rest over after school, okay?"). When he left, Tina was sharing the cookies with everyone else in the trailer and chattering about the green cow that "s-s-silly J-Joe" had done for her Nativity scene.

Joe also made a point of checking on the other retarded kid, Danny, to make sure he wasn't being forgotten for Secret Santa, even though Danny was in eighth grade. But Danny had a funny little elf-ornament strung on his wheelchair; Joe saw a "From Santa" tag, so he was probably okay. Still, he'd ask around; Callie might know who it was. It couldn't hurt.

Joe barely made it to math class ahead of the bell, scowling at the empty seat next to him where Kris usually sat. Mr. Gregory hadn't wasted any time getting Kris into remedial math, that was infuriatingly obvious. Kris wasn't that bad at math. She'd been behind, but Frank had been helping her, and she'd been catching up. True, she was slow, but the kids flunking this class were still here, so that shouldn't have been a problem.

"What's the matter, Joe, missing your little dummy girlfriend?" Angie said behind him, as others laughed. "Or you want to go to the retard's trailer, too?"

"What's the matter, Angie, can't find any more little kids to ruin Christmas for?" Joe snapped.

Of course, right at that moment, Mr. Gregory walked into the classroom. "Mr. Hardy," he said, "keep your girlfriend troubles out of my classroom. Page sixty-eight, problems one through four, on the board, please. Volunteers for problem five?"

Just great. But Joe didn't care. He scratched the problems out — correctly — in record time and flopped back down at his desk, ignoring Mr. Gregory's glare. Joe managed to keep his attention on the lesson the rest of the class, but after the bell rang, Tony Prito caught him just outside the room.

"Wow, Joe — keep razzing cheerleaders like that, you'll never get a girlfriend. What happened?"

Joe gave him a look. Boy-girl stuff was bad enough without adding Angie into it, but lately Tony had been finding it fascinating. He was one of Joe's and Frank's friends, a cheerful dark-haired boy. Joe glanced; Angie was still in the math classroom, chattering with Lisa, and the other kids were pushing past him and Tony…but a few others lingered close by, obviously listening in.

Fine. "You know that poor retarded kid, Tina?" Joe didn't bother to keep his voice down. He wanted everyone to hear this. "Angie told her she wasn't going to get anything for Secret Santa — Angie told her to her face that she wasn't going to waste money on a 'retard'."

Tony blinked. "She did what? You sure?"

"Ask Miss Hawkins," Joe said fiercely. There, let 'em try to call a teacher a liar! "She was there. Tina was crying in Special Ed yesterday. Angie's ruining Christmas for that poor kid."

Now Tony was scowling — his baby sister had been brain-damaged at birth, and Tony was real over-protective of her. "But Tina can't help she was born like that. I see her all the time when Mama takes Anna in for therapy."

"Tell me about it." Joe started walking towards his locker. "So me and Frank are adopting her. Kris and Sharon, too. We're all gonna be her Secret Santa."

"I want in, too." Tony scuffed at the floor. "But I don't have much allowance."

"Make her cookies or something. Tina told us all she wanted for Christmas was pretty rocks." Joe snorted. "Yeah, like that's a real waste of money for poor rich Angie — rocks."

Joe pulled open his locker door, and stopped. Another gift sat on the shelf, different wrapping paper than the last one (red foil-paper with green holly), with the tag handwritten in fancy, curly script: "From Santa".

Dad hadn't had a chance to get new locks yet. Joe stared at the present, then grabbed it and tucked it in his book-bag; it rattled a little. It'd wait until he got home, so Dad could see it.

English class was boring, as usual; Joe fidgeted all through Miss Hawkins reading "A Christmas Carol". He went outside for morning recess, despite the cold, and promptly got into a snowball fight with all the rest of the boys and a couple girls who'd dared brave the cold. The gym teacher, Mr. Kennedy, took one look at his red-cheeked, snow-soaked class and decided to warm them up with dodge ball. Angie was in the same gym period, and Joe made certain he was on the other team with Tony. They both targeted her over and over, something the rest of their team picked up on — though they didn't know why — and gleefully turned the dodgeball game into "kill the cheerleaders".

"Joe, stop it!" Angie whined, after the tenth hit. "You're breaking the rules! Mr. Kennedy!"

"It's dodgeball, Thompson," Mr. Kennedy said. "That's the point. Dodge it."

Joe grinned; so Angie couldn't take what she was dishing out. In science class, Tony claimed the seat right next to him and high-fived him. Sharon and Kris took the seats right behind them for a change, which meant that there were now four people group-glaring at Angie. Joe couldn't help noticing that Iola sat next to Angie.

"Look, what is your problem, little boy?" Angie said to Joe, and the girls with her giggled.

"We don't like snots who ruin Christmas for handicapped kids," Tony said loudly, and the entire classroom went silent.

"Especially when the handicapped kid only wants pretty rocks," Joe added. "What's the matter, Angie, your daddy can't afford a rock?"

Kris stared at them, as if Joe and Tony had grown extra heads. Next to Angie, Iola looked about to cry.

"She spends it all on lip gloss," Sharon piped up. "That's why she smells like cheap bubblegum all the time."

Angie rolled her eyes. "Whatever, weirdos." She went back to whispering furiously with her friends; Iola was scowling towards Joe.

Then Mr. Mack came in, and raised an eyebrow at seeing Joe's neighbors. "Just for the record, girls, if you're going to copy off Joe, make sure you correct his spelling, okay? I go through too many red pencils as is."

The class laughed, and settled into Santa's compost problem from yesterday.

"Joe told me about Tina," Tony said to Kris, after the bell rang and they were clumped in the hall, by Joe's locker. "Maybe we should talk to Iola or Chet, see if they'd invite Tina to the party on Saturday, too."

Kris stopped.

"Party?" Sharon said.

"I'm not going," Kris said, at the same time, turning red. "I'm…um…busy."

That was news to Joe — Frank had told him about the cake that Chet's mom planned, and Kris hadn't said anything to him and Frank about not going. What had happened? Joe pulled his Scooby-Doo lunchbox out of his locker. "You were looking forward to it yesterday."

"I said I'm busy!" Kris snapped, and Joe recoiled. Kris pulled her locker open, and stared. "Joe. There's two gifts."

Oh no. Joe looked. Neither of them matched the wrapping paper of the one he had stashed in his book-bag at the moment, but one did match the wrapping paper for the Old Spice: green with red holly berries.

"Don't open the green one," Joe said. "That's what the Old Spice was wrapped in. I think the blue one's safe…" He glanced at Sharon, who nodded behind Kris's back, "yeah. It should be safe. Want me to keep the other one in my bag? We'll let Dad open it."

Staring at the gifts, Kris was trembling.

"It's just Angie being rotten," Joe said. "Let me take it."

"But it wasn't there this morning!" Kris almost wailed. "And you and Frank were with me, so you know it wasn't…and…"

"I know." Joe looked over her locker door. Nothing looked forced, no scratches, nothing bent or broken. "Look, I know who your Santa is. I'll ask them if it was in there when they dropped their gift off."

Behind Kris, Sharon was scribbling something in a notebook. Kris let Joe take the green-wrapped gift, took the blue one for herself, and grabbed her Monkees lunchbox. Head down, wiping at her face, she hurried down the hall towards the cafeteria.

Joe caught up. "Hey, Tag, c'mon. Your Santa wouldn't do anything mean. I know they wouldn't. They're really nice."

Sharon had also caught up, showed Joe her notebook where Kris couldn't see. Right after homeroom, it read. Not there.

Okay, that narrowed it down some. But the halls were crowded in between classes, and Joe and Kris had somewhat different class schedules; the person pulling this was taking a big risk in getting seen.

"I'm okay," Kris muttered. "Really."

"You don't sound it," Sharon said.

"Tag, c'mon," Joe said. "Like my dad says, you can't let them get to you. That's what they want."

"Easy for you to say," Sharon said.

"It's the truth. Bullies look for easy victims. You act like one, they'll jump all over you."

Sharon stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Try being on this end sometime, Joe Hardy. You're popular. You parrot that stupid 'don't let it get to you', and all you're really doing is blaming us for getting hurt. Like we're at fault because we dare show it because, oh my gosh, you might have to do something about it."

"Sharon," Kris whispered, "don't."

"I do do something about it," Joe shot back. "Ask Tag. Me and Frank help her, we're helping Tina —"

"Yeah, you're a real hero." Sharon shook Kris off, glared at Joe. "I bet you would've totally ignored Tina if Kris hadn't told you about it."

"Because I didn't know her Secret Santa was like that!"

"I'd love to live in your world," Sharon said. "People are always 'like that'. You've never had a whole class laughing at you every time you talk, or tripping you whenever you walk by, or stealing your stuff. You ignore them, they just get worse. So yeah, I let it get to me."

Joe stared as she walked off. What had he said? He was only trying to help.

"Wow," Tony said. "What put the bee up her butt?"

"What she said." Kris wiped at her face again. "You get so used to people being mean, so when they're nice, you think it's a trick…" Her voice faltered when Tony and Joe looked at her. "Sorry."

"No, Tag, I'm sorry," Joe said. "It's just hard, thinking like that."

"Maybe if Sharon wasn't so weird," Tony said, "people would like her more."

"That's it." Anger rose in Kris's voice. "That's exactly what she's talking about. Why's being weird an excuse to be mean? You don't have to like us, but you don't have to be mean about it. I mean, Rudolph was weird and everyone thinks he's cute."

"We're a couple of mis-fits," Joe sang under his breath, and suddenly Kris giggled and started singing along, off-key and out-of-time, as they walked to the cafeteria. "What's the matter with misfits, that's where we fit in…"*

"You guys are weird," Tony said, grinning.

"Thanks, big brother," Kris said, to Joe. Then, shyly, "You really do have a nice voice."

Then she ran off after Sharon.

Joe rolled his eyes. Girls. But then Joe spotted Frank sitting with Chet and Phil, and made his way over, Tony at his heels. "Tag got a hate-gift," Joe said to his brother as he sat down. "Same person, I think."

Frank looked up. "Tag okay?"

"Yeah." Joe brought the wrapped box out, set on the table between them; he'd wrapped it in his handkerchief so it wouldn't spoil any fingerprints. "I'm going to let Dad open it."

"Good idea," Frank said. "Anyone see anything?"

Looking around to make sure Kris wasn't near, Joe shook his head. "Sharon put her gift in right after homeroom. She said it wasn't there then."

"Huh." Frank touched the box with a tentative finger. "You?"

"Yeah, I got something, too, but I don't think it's the same." Joe brought the other box out.

"Put that one up." Frank pushed the green-wrapped box back towards Joe, and Joe shoved it back in his bag. "Keep it with you. I wouldn't put it past whoever did this to try to take it back, if they realize Dad's on their tail." He chewed on his bologna sandwich thoughtfully. "There's something about that wrapping paper. I've seen it before."

"Hate gift?" Chet said; he was a roly-poly boy, with brown curly hair and glasses.

Frank and Joe looked at each other, then Joe told Chet, Phil, and Tony about yesterday's gift in his locker and the message with it.

"That wasn't from your Santa," Chet said.

"How do you know?" Joe said.

"I…uh…overheard them talking." Chet's face turned beet-red. "Go on, open that one. It's okay."

Joe eyed Chet, a horrible suspicion forming in his head. Not that it would be any surprise, the way Iola had been trying to get his name from whoever had it, but still, Chet should've been a good friend and told Joe, instead of the Apocalypse just dropping down on his head out of nowhere.

Frank glanced at Chet, and grinned. "Yeah, Joe. Go on, open it."

Great. Just great. Joe was never going to hear the end of it, if it was something girl-ish like chocolates or flowers. Joe sighed and carefully undid the wrapping paper; if he didn't rip it, he could use it again for Tina. Something glittery like this would be a huge hit.

"You know I don't like your little weirdo," Phil said around a mouthful of peanut butter. "But that's just above and beyond mean, especially with Tina. Kris got any more trailer classes today?"

That was unexpected. "No. But she's got math first period, if that helps." But then Joe got the paper undone without a single rip, and sat back. A black box, bright orange lettering: The Amazing Aladdin's Cup And Balls Trick!

Frank burst out laughing.

Joe opened the box, just to make sure. There, three red plastic cups and four fake plastic walnuts, with the little instruction booklet in English, French, and Chinese. It was one of the cheap kid's kits the Houdini Store in Boston sold, but now Joe was grinning, his heart rising. So his Secret Santa wasn't bad, after all.

"Looks like Tag took you seriously about learning magic," Frank said, as Phil got up and headed over to where Kris and Sharon were sitting.

"It's not her," Joe said; Chet was smothering a grin. "She's got Sharon." Joe saw Phil pass a couple large candy canes to Kris; she looked surprised.

Phil came back, saw the others looking at him. "Don't start. My folks pitch a fit if I bring home any Santa stuff. Better for the crybaby to give Tina those candy canes than for me to sit through another lecture on why we don't celebrate Christmas."

"That really sucks, Phil," Frank said.

"It's worse, since we're in the middle of Hanukah right now." But then Phil looked thoughtful. "You know…I could use that to get Tina something. We have tons of Hanukah gelt right now."

"Gelt?" Joe said.

"Those gold chocolate coins," Phil said. "It's some custom about giving money to kids."

"Your parents can give me money any day," Chet said. "I won't complain, no matter what holiday it is."

"You'd be a Hidden Hanukah Herald," Joe said to Phil, "instead of Secret Santa."

Phil aimed a mock-slap at Joe's head; Joe ducked. "How about I drag you in for one of those lectures? I'd be taking Jesus's name in vain all through it, if we believed in Jesus. Which we don't, as I've been told over and over."

"You could still do it," Frank said. "You just wouldn't get in trouble for it."

"Wanna bet?" Phil said.

The last two periods flew by; today was music period instead of art, and fat Mrs. Callahan (in her usual colorful mu-mu, a gaudy red-and-green poinsettia-pattern with gold sprinkles) was making them learn songs for the school Christmas program. Finally, it was over and they were free, and…and…Joe sighed, trudged down the stairs; Frank and Kris were already waiting for him outside. It was only Tuesday, after all. Solving the bookstore mystery wasn't until Friday, almost a whole week away, still.

"Cheer up," Frank said, after Joe had groused for several minutes. "Aunt Gertrude was getting the Christmas ornaments out of the attic this morning, so we're decorating the tree tonight."

"We're doing that, too," Kris said, "so it's ready for Charlie. Mar'll be up at Logan early Thursday morning to pick him up."

"They ought to let you out of school so you can go with her," Joe said.

Kris made a face. "They'd add another trailer class if I did that."

"Probably. Need help taking the Nativity stuff to Tina?" Joe turned his face up; snow was falling thick and heavy again — if they were lucky, maybe they'd get a blizzard a couple days right before break, and get snow days.

"Shimá's driving me over. Mrs. Collins invited us over for dinner, but Shimá said not tonight, because of getting ready for Charlie. I think they're coming back over Thursday night, though, so we can finish it."

"Who's that?" Frank said.

In the middle of the Mountainhawk's yard stood a big snowman — which hadn't been there that morning — and a craggy mountain of a man was slapping more snow onto it.

All three halted in the middle of the sidewalk, and the man noticed he had an audience. He crossed his arms, eyeing them with an impassive face.

Enlightenment dawned. "You're Charlie!" Joe said. The man looked like a real Indian warrior, even though he was in a khaki-green coat and jeans, not feathers and paint.

The man raised an eyebrow. "I could've sworn Mama said you were a girl, shi deezhí, but maybe I misheard."

"Um…I'm not…I mean, she is," Joe said.

Frank nudged Kris forward. "I think that's your real brother."

Kris's eyes were round. "You're big!"

The man burst out laughing. Then Mar came out onto the porch, saw the three, and smiled. "Come on over, kids. Kris, this is your brother, Charlie. To you, he's 'shinaái'. Charlie, the two boys are Frank and Joe Hardy, our next door neighbors."

"We're her…shi…shinaái, too," Joe said proudly. He hadn't even had to ask Mar to repeat it. "Yá'át'ééh." That meant "hello" in Navajo; Mar had assured him his pronunciation was good, for a non-Navajo.

"Yá'át'ééh," Frank echoed, a half beat behind Joe. "I'm Frank, that's Joe."

Charlie raised an eyebrow again. "Settlers bothering to learn the tongue of the Holy People? The world'll end."

"You just called yourself your own older brother," Mar said, smiling, to Joe. "For third person like that, use ánaaí. Frank would be shinaái to you. And before you ask," Mar went on, to Frank, "you would call Joe shi tsíłí."

"Even she said 'silly Joe'," Frank said, and ducked Joe's mock punch.

Kris still hadn't spoken, staring at Charlie.

"She's shy," Joe said to Charlie, as Frank nudged Kris again.

"Yá'át'ééh, shik'is," Charlie said solemnly, coming to loose attention and looking down at the three from his full height, then spoke a long string of formal-sounding Navajo.

Mar started laughing. "You've done it now, my son. Joe'll stick to you like a thistle-burr."

"Um." Joe looked from Kris to Mar and back to Charlie. "I'm not that good. I only know a few words."

But Frank had been listening with his head cocked. "I think…were you telling us what your clans are? I heard Mar's clan in that."

Charlie grinned. "Good ears, kiddo. That's more than most white folks catch. Okay, in English…'Hello, my friends! I'm First Lieutenant Charlie Mountainhawk. I'm from the Near Mountain clan, I am born for the Chiricahua Apache, my maternal grandpa is from the Big Medicine people, and my paternal grandpa is also from the Chiricahua Apache. That is how I am a man." He squatted down to eye-level for Kris. "Do you have a hello for me, my new little sister?"

"They're still debating whether to let her claim Near Mountain," Mar said. "One of us Injuns adopting a settlers' kid and the white courts agreeing to it? Tribal Council had a collective conniption."

"Yá'át'ééh, shinaái," Kris whispered.

"There you go," Charlie said. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"We don't have clans like that," Joe said to Charlie. "I mean, we're Irish and Scottish, and Gramma Kelly says we come from the old kings, but I don't have all that stuff memorized."

"Everyone should know where they're from," Charlie said. "Otherwise, how do you know where you're going?"

Joe eyed him suspiciously. That didn't sound Indian. That sounded like a quote from one of the classics that Mom had loved reading.

"But I thought you weren't coming until Thursday!" Kris said.

"I got lucky. They found room on an earlier flight. I didn't have time to call, or I would've let you know sooner." Charlie grinned again. "My official leave doesn't start until Friday, though. They don't count travel time."

"Boys, go get your stuff put up," Mar said. "It's too cold for us to stand out here like this."

"Yeah," Frank said, with an exaggerated sigh, "I guess you savage Injuns can't handle the snow like us Hardy white folks can…hey!"

Charlie nailed him square in the chest with a snowball. Soon all three book bags were dumped on the shoveled-off porch; the battle ranged all over the front yard, and Charlie's aim was killer.

It was Aunt Gertrude who called a halt, after coming out to see what all the noise was…and returned Charlie's sneak-attack snowball (Charlie yelling a war-cry that was a dead-on Tarzan imitation) with a dead-center-chest one of her own.

"Wow," Charlie said, brushing snow off, "the settlers' women are even tougher than the menfolk. Now I'm really impressed."

"You can kidnap her, if you want," Joe offered. "We won't mind."

"Homework," Aunt Gertrude said, to Frank and Joe. "Mar, I know you got interrupted to go get your young hooligan there. Would you and your family like to come over for dinner? It's pot roast and mashed potatoes."

"Definitely, Gert, and thank you," Mar said. "I got corn bread done, at least, so we won't eat you out of house and home."

"Pot roast? And Mama's corn bread?" Charlie looked towards the sky. "Okay, I believe in the white heaven now. Satisfied?"

"Your brother's cool," Frank whispered to Kris, as they got their book bags from the porch.

The invitation resulted in Kris bringing her books over, and Frank helping her with math, all three of them lying in front of the fireplace. Dad had thrown in several cinnamon pinecones, so the house smelled of cinnamon, pot roast, and corn-bread. Joe could barely concentrate on his homework, what little there was of it. But when he was shoving his textbooks back into the book bag, he saw the green-wrapped package. He took it downstairs — the adults were in the dining room, talking over coffee, Charlie shaking his head over the latest news reports from Vietnam.

Kris had seen the package, had gone pale, but Joe set it down on the table, in front of Dad and Mar. "Kris got this in her locker right before lunch. It's the same wrapping paper as the other one."

Frowning, Dad sat back; a serious look went around the adults, including Charlie — Mar must've told him about the other one.

"I already talked to her Santa," Joe went on, "and they said it wasn't there when they left their gift, after homeroom. The locker hinges weren't forced, Dad — I didn't see any scratch marks or bent metal."

"I checked, too," Frank added. "Nothing."

"What'd you get for your Santa gift, squirrel?" Mar said.

Kris mumbled something at the floor, then ran back out to the living room, coming back with a little white box filled with spun-cotton. Inside, a small blown-glass dragon, wings tinted red and gold leaf tipping its horns.

"Oh, that's lovely," Aunt Gertrude said.

"I'd say your Santa likes being nice to you," Mar said, and Kris turned red.

Dad frowned at the green-wrapped package, then went into his office and came back up with a pair of latex gloves, a large handkerchief, and the X-acto knife. He handed it all to Joe. "Here. Go ahead."

Dad trusted him to do it? For a moment, Joe was caught by surprise. Then he shook himself, and carefully opened the gift with the knife, using the blade to cut away at the tape with minimal damage to the paper and potential fingerprints.

"I checked with Joe's Secret Santa and their parents," Dad said to Mar. "Most definitely not that person."

Mar glanced at Kris. "I figured."

Frank had come over to watch as Joe worked on the paper. "Wow," Frank breathed, as the paper fell away from the box. "That's weird."

"Frank?" Dad said.

"That's a gift box from Peterson's Café," Frank said. "The place right next to Bell Book and Candle."