The Twelve Dates of Christmas (15 page)

“Er, good afternoon, Miss Michaels,” Principal Jamison stammered, his startled gaze wandering briefly downward before snapping up to my face again. “We're, uh, here to surprise you with the news that you've won the Simpson Scholarship this year.”

It worked. I was
definitely
surprised.

Actually, to say I was surprised is an understatement. Stunned was more like it. The gawky kid with the camera had looked kind of bored when I'd opened the door. But now his eyes were practically bulging out of his face. He lifted his camera and quickly snapped a few shots. That jolted me back in action.

“Stop that!” I blurted out, ducking behind the door.

“Sorry.” He smirked. “Just doing my job. I'm with the
Claus Lake Courier
.”

Mrs. Simpson was peering at me through her spectacles. “Perhaps we should come back at another time, my dear,” she said in her quavery voice.

“No, wait!” I said, not wanting to give them the chance to change their minds about that scholarship. “Um, wait here a second. Please. I'll be right back.”

I swung the door shut behind me and raced for the coat closet, almost tripping over my own feet in those stupid spike heels. Flinging open the closet, I grabbed my dad's oversized camo-print hunting coat. When I shrugged it on, it came down past my knees. Perfect. Wrapping it around me until nothing showed south of my neck, I headed back toward the door.

“Um, okay,” I said, stepping out onto the porch and hoping my face wasn't as crimson as it felt. “Sorry about that . . .”

I'm not sure how I survived the interview that followed, though I do vaguely remember promising the young reporter-photographer to e-mail him a picture of me wearing normal clothes. I tried not to think about where those photos he'd taken of me might end up, but made a mental note to stay off the Internet for a few days just for my own sanity.

We were all still there on the porch when Cam's car pulled into the driveway, right on time as always. He looked confused
as he climbed out and took in the sight of me in the camo coat and Mom's heels. “Er . . . Lexi?” he said uncertainly, coming closer.

“Hello there, Mr. Kehoe.” Principal Jamison seemed a lot more comfortable now that I was no longer dressed like a stripper. He sounded downright jovial as he greeted Cam. “We're just here bringing Lexi some good news. She's this year's recipient of the Simpson Scholarship.”

Cam smiled up at me from the bottom of the porch steps, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Congratulations, Lexi,” he said. “I knew you could do it. Um, and maybe I should come back another time to, you know . . .”

“Thanks, Cam.” I could only watch helplessly as he gave me a wave and then turned and hurried back to his car.

“What about Sugarplums?” Nick said, glancing across the street as he emerged from the steamy interior of the local dry cleaner's shop. “I know we just picked up pledge forms there last week, but they always get a ton.”

“Good call.” Allie stepped around a
slushy puddle on the sidewalk. It had been a sunny and relatively warm day, and some of the snow that had fallen earlier that week had melted, but now the sun was setting, the wind was picking up, and the slush was starting to harden into ice once again. “Plus while we're there, maybe we can stop and have a hot chocolate or something. I'm freezing!”

I switched my backpack over onto my other shoulder. It was getting heavy. The three of us had been assigned to walk around Claus Lake's main business district that afternoon and pick up the pledge forms that people had been leaving at all the shops and restaurants. The Christmas Eve Costume Ball was a charity event, and in addition to buying tickets and contributing at the Ball itself, townspeople could pledge additional money while they shopped or ate at sponsoring businesses throughout the holiday season. And people seemed to be in a giving mood, judging by the number of pledge cards we were collecting. With less than two weeks to go until Christmas Eve, Claus Lake was reaching a fever pitch of festive spirit, as usual.

But I couldn't seem to focus on any of
that. Not this year. Ever since that embarrassing moment on my front porch the other day, I had been fighting a sense of impending doom. It seemed that every time I tried to win Cam back, something got in my way. And even though I'd never put that much stock in Allie's theories before, I couldn't stop thinking about the Dozen Dates Theory. What if it was true?

I was busy pondering that for the fifty-millionth time as we crossed the street to Sugarplums, the town's most popular ice cream and sweets shop. In fact, I was so deep in thought that I bumped into Allie as she came to a sudden stop in the doorway.

“Hey, what's wrong?” I gave her a poke in the back. “Keep moving—my frostbite is getting frostbite out here.”

“Um, I was just thinking.” Allie turned and pushed me back a step or two. “I'm not really in the mood for hot chocolate after all. Maybe we should go over to the diner instead.”

“What's the matter with you? You love hot choc—” I stopped short. I'd just gotten a look past her at the interior of the sweets shop. Cam and Jaylene were seated at one of the tiny round tables for two, their heads
close together as they dug into a shared ice cream sundae.

Their backs were to us, so they didn't see us. While we stood there gawking, Jaylene reached up and wiped something off Cam's cheek. He smiled, and she leaned her blond head against his shoulder for a moment before continuing to eat.

Nick grabbed me by the arm. “Come on,” he said. “Allie's right. Suddenly the diner looks like a much more appetizing idea.”

Soon the three of us were down the block at the Elf Street Diner, sliding into our usual booth, me on one side, Allie and Nick on the other. My mind was still whirling with what we'd just witnessed.

“If I'm counting right and haven't missed anything, that's date number eight they're on right now,” I said. “I've been trying to figure it out mathematically. At the rate they've been going, there's a high probability that the Ball will be date number twelve.”

“Oh, Lexi.” Allie's expression was anxious and sorrowful. “I wish I'd never even told you about that theory. It's making you too crazy.”

“Yeah. Since when do you believe in her
nutty theories, anyway?” Nick said. Shooting Allie a glance, he added, “No offense.”

The waitress approached at that moment bearing menus. “We don't need those,” Nick told her. “We'll just have three hot cocoas and a basket of fries.”

She shrugged. “You got it, hon.” After quickly scribbling a note on her pad, she bustled off again.

“Anyway,” Nick said to me, “no matter what Allie says, there's nothing magical about date number twelve. It's not like Cam's going to turn into a pumpkin or something.”

“I know.” I ran my hands through my hair, not even caring for once about Bozoing myself up in public. “I know that. Of course I know that. But it's not really the point, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Allie asked.

I stared at her. “Twelve dates, thirteen . . . at some point, that theory of yours is going to be right. They're going to be a real couple, and it'll be too late for me to get him back.” I bit my lip. “And then I may spend the rest of my fabulous, exciting, big-city life wondering if I let my one true love get away.”

Allie and Nick exchanged a glance. “Look, Lex,” Nick said. “There's a really easy solution to all this angst.”

“Don't tell me to just talk to him,” I warned.

“But you have to!” Allie cried, leaning forward over the table. “Just tell him the truth already. What's the big deal? You've always been honest with the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Nick added. “Even when we didn't ask for it. Like when you made me get rid of those ratty old cargo pants I used to wear all the time.”

“Or that time back in middle school when you were the only one who told me my new haircut looked terrible and I should get it fixed,” Allie put in. “I was kind of hurt at first, but you were sooo right, and I would've been way more embarrassed if I'd walked around like that for weeks without realizing the truth.”

“Oh, and then there was the summer after sixth grade when you convinced me to confess to breaking old Mr. Miller's window,” Nick said. “Yeah, he was mad at first, but he was so impressed with the way I took care of his lawn to pay him back that he hired me to mow for the next
three summers. So you were right to make me 'fess up.”

I held up both hands as Allie opened her mouth again. “Okay, enough. I get the picture. Honesty is the best policy, blah blah blah.” The waitress was returning with a tray of water glasses by now, so I paused until she'd set one in front of each of us and then hurried off again. “But this is different,” I went on, wrapping both hands around the cool, slick surface of my water glass. “I've dug myself in too deep already. If Cam and I
do
get back together, he can never know what a devious psycho I truly am.” I stared at them both. “That means you guys can never tell him either. Promise?”

“Whatever you say, Lexi.” Allie sighed and tugged at the loose strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.

“Yeah, Scout's honor and all that.” Nick lazily crossed his heart with one finger. “But if you're not going to tell him the truth, how exactly
are
you planning to win him back?”

“Good question.” I gulped down half my water, then set down the glass and tapped my fingers on the table, thinking
hard. “I definitely can't just beg him to give me another chance. Way too random and pathetic, especially after I spent so much time practically shoving him at Jaylene. No, getting back together has to seem like
his
idea.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nick shook his head. “That sort of thinking is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place, remember?”

But I barely heard him. What I'd just said had sparked something. Not a real answer, not quite . . . but the feeling that an answer was just around the corner somehow.

“Throwing myself at Cam isn't going to work,” I mused aloud. “I had to practically staple Jaylene to his lap to get him to break up with me.” For the first time in, oh, about five or six dates, I felt a flicker of real hope and confidence. “After all, I convinced Cam to decide to break up with me when you guys swore it couldn't be done. It can't be impossible to convince him to decide he has to have me back. All I need is the right plan. . . .”

We were halfway through the basket of fries before I finally hit on a promising idea. “It was one of your theories a while back,” I told Allie. “Something about being jealous—Jealous Jumping Beans or something?”

“You mean the Jealousy Jump-Start Theory?” she guessed.

“That's the one. It was something about how a guy who's on the fence about asking a girl out is more likely to do it if he thinks another guy is about to swoop in and snag her.”

“Yeah, that's basically it.” Allie licked some ketchup off her fingers.. “But that theory is really meant for new couples, not
your kind of situation. Plus Cam isn't the competitive type like a lot of guys.”

Nick nodded. “True. Otherwise he would've decked his buddy Bruce long ago for slobbering all over you every chance he gets.”

“That's different,” I said. “Cam knew I never had any interest in Bruce. But think about it. It took me seeing him with Jaylene to truly realize what I was losing when we split up. Maybe if he sees me with another guy—a
real
guy, a hot, mysterious guy, not anyone like Bruce or Andrew—he'll have the same kind of epiphany.”

“You know, that
almost
makes sense.” Allie sounded dubious, but there was a hint of interest in her voice too. “I guess it could work. Maybe. It would definitely be an interesting expansion of that theory.”

“Kind of sucks for your decoy boy if it does work, though,” Nick put in. “Are you really going to use some poor dude like that, Lex? Get him all hot and bothered over you, dump him like a bad potato, and then go running back to Cam?”