Page 30 of The Grumpiest Elf

“Thank you, kind sir,” I say, equally solemn, though I can’t fight back the grin. When we’re like this, the prospect of being trapped here until at least morning doesn’t seem so bad. But morning’s still a long way off.

He makes grabby motions at the box of crackers, and I pass it to him. After setting a handful on his paper towel, he opens the packages of cheese and lunch meat, placing them between us so we can each grab what we want.

“Honestly,” he says after a moment, “the catered dinner wasn’t too bad, but this hits the spot even better.” Then he frowns. “I just wish there were something to drink.”

“Oh!” I hold up a finger and rummage through my box, producing the bottles of water and passing one to him.

“Yesss!” He takes his and cracks it open, then holds it aloft in the universal gesture of a toast. “To the best scrounged-up second dinner we could ask for while trapped in the snow.”

“Here, here!” I tap my bottle to his and we both drink deeply, his eyes dancing merrily as he watches me.

Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all.

* * *

“You getting tired?” Dylan asks, checking his phone, his back leaning against the counter in the employee breakroom. It’s almost eleven now, but I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. We’ve finished our snack and returned to the break room to put the cheese and lunch meat back in the fridge.

“Nah. I’m kind of a night owl.”

He nods, surveying the space. “Me too,” he says absently, moving closer to the one cup coffee maker. “How about some hot chocolate before we settle in for the night?” He holds up a box of Swiss Miss and wiggles it back and forth.

“That actually sounds really good.” I start opening and closing cabinets until I find some paper cups we can use, and Dylan dumps a packet of hot cocoa mix in each one.

The silence stretching between us feels more oppressive by the moment. It’s not so bad when we have something to do—eating, finding something to sleep on, loading the truck, even him driving us here doesn’t seem like doing nothing in the same way that standing here waiting for the coffee maker to splutter hot water into our cups does.

“We should play two truths and a lie,” I blurt out, causing Dylan to glance at me in surprise, his eyebrows high, but his lips twitching in a way that makes one of his dimples pop.

Then he crosses his arms, leans against the counter, and squints up at the ceiling, his face screwed up in thought. “Okay. I’m studying architecture, I hate the color green, and … I like to go parasailing every summer.”

Squinting at him, I consider his answers. “I know the first one is true, because you’ve mentioned it before …” I shake my head. “You don’t hate green. It’s probably your favorite color.”

He makes a buzzer sound. “Sorry. Wrong answer.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously? How can you hate green? What’s wrong with it?”

He holds up a finger, like he’s about to count off his reasons on his hand. “Ever heard of baby poop green? Isn’t that answer enough?”

“Fine, that shade of green is gross, but what about forest green?”

He shakes his head, his hand dropping. “If I were a tree, it’d be fine, but I’m not. And anyway, d’you know why trees are green? It’s because that’s the only color of light they can’t absorb, so they reflect it back. Which just goes to show that there’s something wrong with green. Plants don’t even want to convert it into energy. It must be gross.”

I’m laughing at that reasoning. “Is that actually true?”

He nods, grinning, and I can’t be sure if he’s telling the truth, so I narrow my eyes at him. He raises his hands defensively. “I’m serious!” he exclaims in the face of my disbelief. “That’s why plants are green. It’s the only spectrum of light they don’t absorb and photosynthesize. My high school biology teacher was a plant nut, and she told us all kinds of random facts like that. That one stuck with me.”

“You really go parasailing every summer?”

He nods. “Since I was fifteen. I went with a friend the first time because it seemed scary and daring.” Shaking his head, he gets a little wistful. “It’s not, though. There’s an adrenaline rush when the wind first catches you and pulls you up, sure, but after that it’s remarkably peaceful, like you’re just floating along in the air, getting to look at everything. It’s really cool. You should try it sometime.”

I look at him thoughtfully. “Maybe I will.”

He swaps the cups under the coffee maker, stirring up the first one and glancing at me over his shoulder. “Alright. Your turn.”

Crap. Okay. I need to come up with something good. “I’m not going back to school in January, salmon is my favorite food, and my best friend from high school is still my best friend now.”

Eyes narrowed, he turns to survey me. “You’re going back to school after the break,” he says definitively, and something about the way he says it makes my heart quail a little as I shake my head, even though I really shouldn’t care what he thinks.

My dad hasn’t been able to get me to change my mind. Why should I care if Dylan’s upset about my plans? What right does he have to be upset anyway?

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