Page 1 of The Holiday Exchange
1
KAYLA
“And since Mrs. Casey will be out on maternity leave for the rest of this year, we’ll need someone else to take the reins on the Christmas program. Do I have any volunteers?”
My hand shoots up so fast I nearly dislocate my shoulder.
“Thank you, Ms. Wright.” Mrs. Landry aims a brief nod of acknowledgment toward me before continuing with the agenda.
“Why did you do that?” Annie, my best friend and fellow second-grade teacher, whispers with a poke to my side. “Did you lose control of your limbs?”
“Because someone needs to do it and I have the time. Plus, I need to impress Mrs. Landry and get back on her good side.”
I kind of got off on the wrong foot with our principal last year when I locked my keys in my car and showed up late for the very first day of school. Like, my very first dayever,both at this school and as a teacher. Since then, I’ve sort of felt like Mrs. Landry has been keeping her eye on me.
Annie and I are both still newbies, with only a year and a half of teaching under our belts. Do I still feel like I need toprove myself? Maybe, but I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. Sometimes you have to take one for the team to earn the respect of your peers.
Hence me volunteering just now to coordinate and direct a Christmas program for all the second and third graders. In five weeks.
Have I ever done anything like this before? No, I have not. Hence Annie’s look of incredulity right now. I ignore her and pretend to focus on Mrs. Landry’s monologue about the importance of clearing out the fridge in the teacher’s lounge regularly.
A million ideas flit through my head like hummingbirds, circling but never quite landing. I’ll need to find a script and music, assign parts, design and build a set, order or make costumes, oversee rehearsals…
It’s a lot of moving parts, but I push that thought away with a mental shrug.
I can do this.
When the staff meeting ends, Annie follows me out into the hallway and we walk together toward our neighboring classrooms. Annie glances around to ensure no one is close enough to overhear. “You just can’t keep your hand down, can you?”
“Come on, it will be fun. It’s something new to try.”
“That’s what you say every time you volunteer for something. Are you sure you have the time?”
“I can make time. I might be a little extra busy for a few weeks, but then we’ll have Christmas break. I can recharge then.”
“It’s your schedule.” Her words say it’s my decision, but her face says she disapproves. I know she only wants the best for me, and to be fair, I do have a history of over-commitment. One semester in college, I couldn’t decide which classes I was most interested in so I signed up for the maximum number of hours allowed and then petitioned the dean of the English departmentto let me enroll in an extra American Lit class, citing my excellent grades as proof that I was up to the challenge. The dean reluctantly agreed, and it would have been fine if it had ended there, but I also joined a student chorus, a classic books club, and agreed to tutor incoming freshmen.
That semester is basically a blur in my memory. I made it through without destroying my grades, but just barely.
I just get so excited about activities, groups, and causes that it’s easy for me to go overboard. But like I just told her, this is a short-term thing. I can do anything for five weeks.
2
TREVOR
Ipull on the green apron designating me an employee of Harvey’s Hardware and tie the strings behind my back. Any moment now the store will open and the normal Saturday morning flood of weekend warriors will fill the aisles. They will have questions. So many questions.
I stifle a sigh. Most of the time, I really like my job managing the store. But it’s been a long week and we’re down two people thanks to a bug that’s going around. That means I’m going to be out and about today, pitching in wherever I’m needed and helping customers find exactly what they think they need for their weekend home improvement projects.
It’s not that I mind helping. It’s just that being around people is exhausting. I can handle the customers who ask a simple question and nod quietly as you tell them which paint is rated best for indoor/outdoor use. What drains me are the Chatty Cathys of the world.
Grabbing my thermos of coffee, I take a long pull to fortify myself as I walk toward the front of the store. I’ve never been good at small talk or connecting with people. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only reason I got the job as store manager is becauseno one else was remotely qualified when it came time to replace the previous one. It certainly wasn’t because of my eloquence or dynamic personality. Being a kid with a speech impediment taught me a long time ago to keep most of my thoughts to myself. Even though I can speak clearly now, it’s a hard habit to break.
I straighten a display of wrench sets, strolling along aisles and generally keeping an eye on things. On my second pass through the lumber department, I notice a young woman studying the plywood section. My pace slows a bit as I take in her skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a black leather jacket that contrasts with her blonde, shoulder-length hair. She tilts her head to look at a label and I get a better look at her face. She’s cute and, judging from her perplexed expression, probably clueless about lumber.
I glance around, checking to see if any of my associates are available to help, but I don’t spot anyone. I walk toward her, willing my gut to unclench and my shoulders to relax. She’s just a regular person, no need to be anxious.
“Can I help you find something?” I ask once I’m a few feet away. She turns to me and smiles, the impact of her attention like a punch. She looks like a fairy princess with her delicate features and big brown eyes.