The
day I finally recovered was on Christmas.
It
kind of sucked, wasting the first five days of winter break. Jefferson High let
out school later than others—on the nineteenth—and we started back up third of
January, so it wasn’t as if I had an unlimited time of freedom before school
began, along with the stress and work and lack of social life (not that I had
one, anyway). So, while all normal kids out there in the world were celebrating
because there were no classes, I was lying in bed.
Well,
at least I had plenty of time to finish Macbeth.
Anyway,
so Christmas finally rolled around. I was never a big fan for holidays—being a
part of a typical Greek family, my many relatives were invited over to the
house for a party. By many, I mean a lot.
My mother was the youngest of six kids, and my father had three siblings.
Each sibling of my parents were married and had anywhere from three to six
kids. Throw in a few grandparents, a few great aunts and uncles, and some
second cousins and cousins twice-removed as well, and that meant there were at
least forty people coming over. That meant that my parents spent hours in
preparation and needed Jake and me to help out as well. The guests would be
over at dinner, so that meant that cooking started as early as ten. I hated
working and my extended family was freaking loud,
so holidays were never my thing, but as soon as my eyes popped open at
precisely nine in the morning Christmas day, I was in a surprisingly good mood.
“Calista!
Are you awake now?” Jake’s voice called out to me. He poked his head through
the doorway to check up on me, hair still stuck up at all different angles in a
messy bed head. “Are you still sick?”
“Nope!”
I said, jumping right out of bed and stretching my aching limbs. My muscles
felt tired and sore, as if they hadn’t moved in days (which they hadn’t), but I
had a surprising amount of energy. “What’s up?”
“Mom
and Dad need you to run out to buy some stuff.” He held up a sheet of white
paper, with several items scribbled on it. I grabbed it from him and scanned
it. Plastic cups. Plastic spoons. Plastic
forks. Napkins. Butter. Peppers... “That is, only if you’re feeling well
enough to.”
“Tell
them I’ll be down in a minute. I just need to get ready, and then I’ll go
shopping.”
Jake
nodded. “All right.” As soon as he left, I picked up my phone and turned it on,
sending Melodie and Emilia the same messages—can you guys come tonight? I brushed my teeth and washed up, and changed
out of my pajamas, throwing on a pair of warm leggings and oversized
sweatshirt. With my hair tied into a messy bun, I couldn’t have been less
bothered with trying to look nice. That would have to wait till later.
Already,
right as I stepped out of my bedroom, I could hear the clamoring of pots and
pans banging into one another, as well as my mother calling out to my dad, “Honey!
Where’s the oven mitt?”
“Good
morning,” I said, entering the kitchen. The thick smell of homemade cooking
filled the air and made my mouth water.
“Calista!
I need you to—”
“I
know, go shopping. I’m on it.”
Without
another word, I left to hurry out to the car. The only store that was open
Christmas day was a huge supermarket that was a quick drive. Just as I was getting
in, my phone rang. It was a text from Melodie. Sorry, can’t make it. Hanging out with the family.
Not
long after, while I was scouring the aisles for a bag of white bread, did I
receive another text, from a different person but saying basically the same
thing. I’m so sorry, but I can’t come!
Emilia wrote. My grandparents are coming.
I
sighed. I guess I’ll have to put up with
my crazy Greek family alone...
But
it’s funny, because fate—I don’t know what else I’d call it, because I wasn’t
quite sure if you’d call it luck—seemed to like to play at the most random
times. Even at a stupid supermarket that didn’t have any white bread.
=End of Preview=
Hmmm. Who do you think it is? Obviously it has to be one of the boys. Which one? :D
Which one should I make it?
Mwahahaha.
