The Santa Clause Act (Completed)

❄I

❄ One

            “Here, have some more fruit cake,” Ms. Merry tsks, grabbing a plate of said fruit cake and scrapping it onto mine.

            I stare at the brown lump with assorted fruit jelly sticking out.

            “Erm, thanks,” I mumble, slouching lower in my seat.

            Somewhere in the background, holiday music rings out, the words Christmas and Merry repeating over and over again.

            Mrs. Merry smiles at me, leaning back in satisfaction as I take a bite of the cake, chewing quickly.

            Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.

            I take a swig of my milk, bearing the slimy texture of the cake.

            “You’re so sweet Noel. Hardly anyone comes to visit me anymore,” Mrs. Merry laughs, gathering the plates. “They obviously haven’t tasted my famous fruit cake.”

            More like infamous fruitcake, I think to myself.

            I smile brightly at her, gingerly setting my fork down. “No problem. The cake’s delicious.”

            Mrs. Merry smiles even wider, her eyes brightening.

            “John,” she says, nudging her husband. “Did you hear? My cake’s delicious.”

            Mr. Merry opens his eyes, his tone bleary with sleep. “That’s wonderful dear.”

            Ms. Merry sighs in content, straightening her Christmas cardigan. “I will win the annual fruit cake award in the festival this year.”

            I make a small noise of agreement, surreptitiously glancing at the door.

            Standing, I pull on my backpack. “Thanks again for the food Mrs. Merry.”

            “Thank you for shoveling out our porch,” she says cheerfully, shoving a small container of fruitcake into my hands.

            Waving my goodbye, I zip for the door, knowing that with every passing second, the chances of Mrs. Merry finding something else to talk about increased.

            The bitter, chilling wind hits me as soon as I open the door. Particles of snow slapping my face, making me freeze in frigid preparation.

            Okay. The walk home was approximately ten minutes. I could do this.

            With that little pep talk, I shut the door shut and take off sprinting.

            Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize just how stupid I look, prancing in the snow.

            I kick my knees up high, trudging through the snow.

            So much for all my hard work. I had spent the entire day shoveling snow out the front lawn of Mrs. Merry’s house and the snow was already collecting again.

            Thirty bucks and a fruitcake wasn’t even enough pay for standing out in the cold with wet socks and clothes.

            I tighten my scarf around me, holding the box of fruitcake against my chest as I kick snow off my boots.