Page 1 of The Grumpiest Elf

CHAPTERONE

Dylan

Stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner,I have to stifle a groan as I settle on the couch in my parents’ living room next to Shane, my older sister’s husband. Dad pats his belly in the armchair adjacent to the couch, picking up the remote and turning on the TV so we can watch the football game.

But before Dad even finds the right channel, my eight-year-old niece Sophie lets out a squeal and comes racing into the living room, making a beeline for my brother-in-law, my sister Sarah hot on her heels. “Shane!” Sophie shouts, giggling. “Help! She’s gonna get me!”

Grinning, I watch Shane scoop her up and plant her on the couch between us. Sarah stalks closer, tiptoeing up to us like a cartoon villain, her hands up and prepared to tickle.

“Sneak attack!” I yell, then turn and tickle Sophie’s sides, sending her into paroxysms of giggles and more high pitched squealing. She squirms away from me, scrambling over Shane and burrowing into the corner of the couch, using his body as a shield to block her from Sarah and me.

But Dad reaches over from his spot in his recliner and manages to tickle her back. She screams, arching, messy braid flying as she shakes her head and tries to dig farther behind Shane.

Mom comes in, a look of indulgent amusement on her face at our antics. “So this is what all the noise is about. You three leave poor Sophie alone.”

“Grandma!” Sophie shouts, climbing out from behind Shane and causing him to grunt and “oof” a few times as she gets tender spots with her elbows and knees, running to Mom and throwing her arms around her waist.

Mom reaches down and pats her. “You’re safe now. I won’t let them get you,” she reassures Sophie, as though we’re all ravenous animals trying to eat her. She whispers something else to Sophie, who then scampers away behind Mom, heading for the kitchen.

Straightening, Mom spears us all with a glare. “Now. Olivia and I got the leftovers put away, and Ty is getting started on the washing up. I expect the three of you to get up and help him in a moment.” She points between Dad, Shane, and me. “But first, we need to discuss the schedule for ChristmasFest.”

“I’ll get started helping Ty,” Shane says, standing as Olivia, Ty’s girlfriend, appears in the opening to the living room. “Since I’m clearly not needed for this.” Shane’s a PE teacher and head football coach at the local high school. Olivia gives him a sympathetic grimace and heads back into the kitchen, like she’s as happy as he is to avoid this discussion. They’ve never had to be part of the ChristmasFest schedule discussion, since they get to go and just enjoy it like normal people. Unlike my family who founded the thing, so my siblings and I have been roped into participating our whole lives.

Mom and Dad always play Santa and Mrs. Claus—Dad’s already got his beard in and ready, though he’ll add the wash-out white hair color to make it uniformly white instead of the varying shades of gray he’s currently rocking—and I’ve been an elf since infancy. Of course, I was more of a prop at that point, but when I turned fourteen, I got put to work alongside Ty and Sarah, my older siblings, and Nora, the youngest, joined us as soon as she was old enough, though Ty was done with college and working by then.

Sarah got out of the elf gig when she became the manager of the Christmas Emporium—the store my parents opened before I was born and the sponsor of the ChristmasFest—and bossy as she is, I’d rather work with her in the store than be an elf anymore. I’m a senior in college, and I’ll be twenty-two in a few months. I’m ready to hang up my uncomfortable elf costume and embarrassing elf name once and for all.

Mom gives Shane a warm smile. “Thank you, Shane. I’m sure Ty will appreciate it.”

“I’ll head in for that, too,” I say, moving to stand. Maybe if I make a quick escape, I can avoid getting roped in. “I’m sure the three of you can handle whatever the Fest throws at you.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sarah objects. “Where do you think you’re going? And why don’t you think the schedule affects you?” Too late. And of course it’s Sarah to drag me back in. You’d think she’d have some sympathy, since she’s had to do the same thing—she was Sassy Tinselbottom for years, after all—but no. Sarah’s far more interested in bossing me around than extending sympathy.

Big sister’s prerogative, I guess. It’s been her favorite pastime since we were kids. When I was like three or four, she treated me like a doll she could dress up, and when I got too old for that, she’d just make me do anything she could.

I make a face at her. “I have to go back to school in a couple days, so I’m not sure how it does?”

Dad snorts, chuckling. “Nice try, kid. Sit down.”

While he sounds jocular, I know when I’ve lost before the battle’s even begun.

“I have you on the schedule in Santa’s Workshop for a few hours tomorrow and Saturday,” Mom says, completely ignoring my obvious attempt at getting out of this.

I groan. “Seriously, Mom? Isn’t it about time I retired my elf costume? What if I have other plans?”

Mom gives me a stern look. “If you had other plans, you would’ve told me already. And since the store and festival pay for school, you can hang up your tights when you start paying for everything yourself. I’ve given you a few days off after the end of the semester, but after that you’re on the schedule regularly until ChristmasFest is over.”

I bite back the sigh that wants to come out at that bit of news. “Why can’t I just work the Christmas Emporium with Sarah? You know she’ll make me work extra hours there too.”

“I have you scheduled in December already as well,” Sarah chimes in. “But I’m nice and figured I’d let you sleep in tomorrow and only work as”—I mentally block out her use of my dreaded elf name, imagining a record scratch taking its place—“on Black Friday. You’re welcome.”

I scowl at her. “Shut up. You know I hate it when you call me that.”

She just smirks. “Aww, poor Dylan,” she says in a condescending baby voice. “How tragic for you to still have to be called your elf name.” She scoffs. “Get over yourself. Mom gave all of us elf names. You’re the only one who has a problem with it.”

“That’s because I’m the only one who gets called it in public every damn year,” I mutter.

“Language,” Mom scolds. “And that’s enough, you two. Dylan, you’ll be working as an elf, and that’s final. If you really don’t want to work, I’m sure you’ll be happy to find yourself another job that pays just as well and also handles your rent and incidentals for the remainder of the school year.”

---