Page 14 of Falling Like Snow

“Oh god. No, thank you. I’ll tell you just so I don’t have to eat something you’ve baked.”

“Jerk.” I squirt red glitter glue onto his bulb.

“Hey!” he says, trying to swipe it off with his sweatshirt sleeve but only making it look worse.

“That’s what you get for being rude.”

“It was rude of you to offer me your baked goods.”

I scowl at him. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He sits back against a shelf of books, stretches his long legs in front of him, and blows on his ornament to dry the glue.

“What’s that supposed to be, anyway?” I ask, pointing to his purple-and-silver design.

“That grape-flavored soda drink we had at the carnival over the summer. The one with ginger ale and lemon wedges. You can’t tell?” he asks, pretending to be offended.

“Must be that random red spot that threw me off,” I tease. “But why the grape drink on a Christmas ornament?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to do something related to my favorite part of the past year.”

“And that drink was it?” I don’t remember it being that phenomenal.

“Sort of. That night was, at least,” he says, his eyes fixed on his bulb.

I think back to the summer carnival, trying to figure out what could have made it his favorite part of the year. The blinking lights were bright and colorful, the music was loud and whimsical, the food was deep-fried and sugary, and the air was hot and sticky. It was the perfect summer night.

We bought hand stamps for unlimited rides and walked around with Hannah, Preeti, and some friends from drama club, spending too much money on rigged games and cheap souvenirs. Then Asher and I broke off from the group to ride the Music Express. We laughed until our stomachs hurt as we rode in circles, me being squished between him and the side of the cart as he tried to fight against the velocity forcing him over. Only then did we realize we should have swapped seats since he weighed so much more than me. When it finally came to a stop, we crawled out of the cart, and I puked all over his shoes before we even made it to the exit.

Barefoot, Asher found the grape concoction at one of the food trucks and bought it because he hoped the ginger ale would settle my motion-sickened stomach. It didn’t, but it was delicious. We ended up leaving the carnival early and walking around town beneath the sky of silver sequins, sipping our drinks and getting mosquito bites.

That night was no different from any other night we hang out, except for the vomit.

“Weird,” I finally say.

He lets out a half laugh and grabs his phone. “It’s almost nine. You ready?”

I hold up my bulb with its sloppily written numbers. “I don’t think this has much hope of looking any better, so sure.”

We put our damp coats back on, collect our supplies, and make our way back outside, where it’s still drizzling and the temperature has dropped.

“I’m hungry,” I say as we cross the street. “I don’t know why you didn’t come prepared with Pop-Tarts in your pockets.”

Asher chuckles. “You’re right. What sort of friend am I to have not thought of that?”

“A neglectful one,” I sigh.

Asher pulls a bag from his pocket and dangles it in front of me. “I did, however, bring trail mix—or M&M’s with obstacles, as you like to call it.”

“What?” I squeal. “I knew I was friends with you for a reason. Hand it over!”

I stuff as much of the art supplies as possible into my pockets, then grab the bag from him and tear it open. Asher holds out his hand, and I share before dumping some directly into my mouth.

We traipse through the slick grass, eating our sweet-and-salty snack, and join the rest of the Bramble Falls residents congregating around the tree.

“Shoot. We didn’t do our Winter Wishes,” Asher says. “Do you have the papers or should I grab some?”

“Oh yeah, I have them. Just forgot.” Probably because I don’t have a wish. Not a realistic one, at least.