Page 33 of OMG Christmas Tree
Megan
“Megan, over here!”
Whoever was calling my name had to mean another Megan. Calling out Megan in a bar was like asking for an Emma in a kindergarten class.
My brother, Derek, stopped walking and looked straight ahead. “I think that table knows you.”
In the middle of the restaurant, I saw him. The one not shouting or waving. Nick. Beside him, Ethan from the tree lot, a guy I didn’t know, and two college-aged girls who were probably hanging off the arms of Mr. Mayor’s Son moments before.
I held up a tentative hand and waved back. I jacked Derek in the ribs. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
Derek slipped his phone into his coat pocket. “Yelp says this place has good chicken wings. More importantly, it’s open.”
“We have food at the house.”
“Mom wants us to live our young lives, bonding as only siblings can.” He flashed a teasing smile. “Are you going to say hello to them or what?”
I whipped around, turning my back to the table. Who knew what Nick had told his friends about me since this afternoon. “It’s a trap. We—me and Nick—didn’t leave on good terms.” I scoffed at my own statement. “I mean, there isn’t ame and Nick. I met him yesterday and Mom forced us to buy a tree stand and have coffee together.” And I continued to help him, but that was beside the point.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Looks like they have room at their table.” He angled past me.
I watched, jaw open, as my brother completed his betrayal. Fists were bumped, table space cleared, and just like that, Derek was absorbed right into the group.
I gritted my teeth and walked over.
“We don’t bite, I promise,” the guy beside Nick said.
Nick abruptly stood, knocking his barstool into the person behind him. “Sorry.” He scrambled to adjust the stool. “You can sit here. I mean, if you want.”
His friend had a grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s. “Or you can have my seat and sit by Nick. I’m Austin, by the way.”
Introductions flew and I found myself sitting in Austin’s place as he circled around to Kelsey, the cutie in the UIC sweatshirt. I pointed to her shirt. “Hey, great school.”
“Do you go there?”
“Uh, no. I live in Chicago, though.”
“Oh, awesome. Are you alumni?”
I shook my head no, my grin frozen. Not even close. Community college for me, and I couldn’t even finish that. I mean, I could have gone into debt for a generic humanities degree I didn’t care about. Dad was fine with my slow-track degree plan. Stay at home, work, and take local classes. Then I had the zany idea to move to the city with a friend and take time off from school. Gain life experience. And once Dad was gone, going back to school never felt important.
“Megan lives in an amazing apartment in Chicago,” Derek said, offering me cool points, which was possibly the nicest thing he’d said about me to other living humans. “It’s above a bike shop.”
“Like motorcycles?” Austin asked.
