11:53 p.m. Christmas Eve, 2006. I'm rather impressed with myself for finishing this up on time! No time to edit, though, so I apologize for typos and inconsistencies.
Dedicated to Jo-chan, who gave me the idea.
Happy Holidays, lovely readers! May you receive your hearts most desired wish.
Jolly old Saint Nicholas, When the clock is striking twelve, Johnny wants a pair of skates;
Lean your ear this way.
Don't you tell a single soul
What I'm going to say;
Christmas Eve is coming soon;
Now, you dear old man,
Whisper what you'll bring to me;
Tell me if you can.
When I'm fast asleep,
Down the chimney broad and black,
With your pack you'll creep;
All the stockings you will find
Hanging in a row;
Mine will be the shortest one,
You'll be sure to know.
Susy wants a dolly;
Nellie wants a story book;
She thinks dolls are folly;
As for me, my little brain
Isn't very bright;
Choose for me, old Santa Claus,
What you think is right.
Choose for Me, Old Santa Claus
Part One
Alicia Blade
"You want shoes for Christmas?"
"Yes. What's wrong with that?"
"Normally I would say nothing, but you want cheetah-print peep-toe pumps with fire-engine red, four-inch stiletto heels."
"Well when you say it like that, Mako-chan…"
"Mina, you said it like that."
"Not with such disdain."
Makoto rolled her eyes and leaned back in the café booth, her gloveless hands warm against a mug of hot cocoa. "Where would you ever wear shoes like that?"
"Where wouldn't I? Size seven-and-a-half narrow, by the way. Ami, write that down."
"Got it. So Mina wants $200 dollar shoes, Mako wants a $130 stainless steel fondue fountain, Rei wants $160 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and I would like a $250 digital camera," said Ami, reviewing her notes.
"Who would have thought that of all of us, Ami would be the high maintenance one?" Rei asked with a smirk, dunking a cherry into the mound of whipped cream slowly melting in her own mug.
"So far we're all spending nearly $150 apiece, and that's not including whatever it is Usagi wants. Has anyone talked to her about her wish list yet?"
"No, but I think we need to cap her off at $40. You guys are going to break my bank account," Minako said, grimacing.
"You're one to talk, Miss Cheetah-Print Pumps."
"Where is Serena, anyway?" Rei asked, checking the clock on her cell phone.
"Late, as usual."
Rei glowered at her drink. "Tardiness is one thing but it's been forty-five minutes."
"Maybe we should buy her a GPS tracking system for Christmas," Ami joked, motioning to the waiter to bring another round of hot cocoas.
There are few things in life for which pleasure does not diminish as one ages. Childish things that get even better as the years pass, simply because they are childish. Miniature marshmallows in your hot cocoa are one of these things. As is making an honest-to-goodness wish on a falling star. Or jumping in slush puddles—so long as your shoes came with a price tag well under $200.
Usagi Tsukino, fourteen-going-on-fifteen, was at that peculiar age when she was realizing that these things no longer brought about a sense of enchanted delight, but rather reminded her of that enchanted, delightful feeling from years past. Which was almost better.
She had discovered another one of these life pleasures while walking to the café that Saturday morning: catching snowflakes on her tongue. She had stuck out her tongue almost without thinking and soon felt the unique sensation of one small snowflake there, crisp and fresh and instantly melting. The sheer nostalgia of it made her stop in the middle of the sidewalk and look bewilderedly up at the light gray sky. The feathered flakes drifting around her sparkled and wafted and filled the city with something similar to peacefulness. Serenity. Charm. Closing her eyes, Usagi opened her mouth as wide as she could and stuck out her tongue, waiting. She caught another snowflake and the feeling was the same, the taste was unforgettable.
For a moment she felt like a child again, and it was this acknowledgment which made her realize that in order to feel like a child again, one must have—somewhere along the line—stopped being a child to begin with. She must now be a young lady with an adulthood before her, a childhood in the past.
The realization was shocking, and frightening, and so very exciting, so that when, two blocks later, she came to a small public park, she simply had to fall onto a meadow of six-inch snow and open her mouth to welcome the snowflakes, and the reminiscing, in.
Really, who could blame her for losing track of time with such a momentous, landmark occasion as this?
Then there are other things in life for which pleasure does diminish as one ages. Christmas carols are a good example—to the young they are fanciful and symbolic of a whole month full of joy and gift-giving. But as one ages, and the same songs continue to repeat on the airwaves of every store, restaurant, and radio station during the month of December, they become tiresome. Irritating, even. And completely unavoidable. Another thing that loses its magic with time is the act of choosing a Christmas tree. No longer is the trip fun and full of optimism, but rather a chore that must, one month later, be followed by the chore of disposing of the Christmas tree.
And of course, there's always Santa—perhaps the ultimate in enchantments that maturity must eventually take away.
Chiba Mamoru, feeling ancient at the age of seventeen-going-on-eighteen, had forgotten the magic of all these things by the time he was nine. However, he may be a poor example, as he had also forgotten the magic involved with marshmallows, falling stars, and slush puddles, if he'd ever found magic there to begin with.
This is not to say Mamoru was unhappy. He was simply… logical. And rational. With his feet firmly planted in the ground at all times.
So when Mamoru came across Usagi that snowy afternoon doing something purely childish and silly and altogether magical—as she often did—he stopped in his tracks, feet firmly planted. She lay spread out on a snow bank, bundled up in a light blue peacoat, a matching set of pink gloves and a knee-length scarf (the scarf almost as long as her twin blonde pigtails), and jeans tucked into yellow galoshes. With her eyes shut tight and her mouth wide open, her tongue out seeking for stray snowflakes, she looked utterly ignorant of anything else in the world. She was unaware of responsibilities, hardships, and the logical, rational man staring at her and shaking his head because he could never, ever understand her.
But the second he felt a smile creeping up on his lips, he turned and quickly walked the other way. He was all too aware that, when it came to retaining his composed, rational senses, Tsukino Usagi could be very, very dangerous.
"Usagi-chan! We were beginning to think you'd gotten run over by a reindeer!" called Makoto, waving her arms at Usagi, who stood in the café's doorway dusting snow out of her hair.
"I'm not that late," she said with a mild pout, scooting into the booth beside Ami.
Rei rolled her eyes and made a show of checking her watch. "She's right. An hour and fourteen minutes is practically early according to Odango time."
Usagi scowled but Ami thrusting a list under her nose stopped her from making any snide remarks.
"This is what we've all decided on. Do you know what you want yet?"
Pursing her lips, Usagi took a moment to scan the list. "Wow. You guys are expensive."
"Quality gifts for quality girls!" Minako cheered. "Usagi, you look freezing. Let's get you some hot cocoa." She happily waved over the handsome waiter behind the counter as Usagi passed the list back to Ami.
Usagi rested her elbows on the table with a sigh. "Do any of you feel like we're getting too old for Christmas?"
Four sets of eyebrows shot up.
"She didn't actually just say that, did she?" Rei muttered, and was met with three stunned nods.
"Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. We're fourteen. We're asking for bed linens and fondue fountains instead of Barbie dolls. We haven't gone trick-or-treating in three years."
"Wrong holiday, Usa."
"I was making a point."
"What's wrong, Usagi-chan?" Ami said sympathetically, placing a hand on Usagi's forearm. "Aren't you in the Christmas spirit?"
"We could go caroling," Minako suggested.
"Or go back to my apartment and roast chestnuts and drink cider," added Makoto, who had lived alone since her parents had died just over a year ago.
"That's not it, guys, but thanks. I'm completely in the Christmas spirit! In fact, I just spent half an hour eating snowflakes, I'm so in the Christmas spirit."
"So the truth comes out," Rei muttered with an unhappy snort.
Usagi grimaced. "Sorry, Rei. I'll try to be better about not being late next time. But anyway, that's really what brought on this whole thing. See, I used to catch snowflakes on my tongue all the time when I was a kid, but this is the first I've done it in years. And that got me to thinking that… maybe I'm growing up. Maybe we're all growing up."
"Wouldn't the fact that you were late to a date with your friends because you were too busy eating snow lead one to the conclusion that you're most certainly not growing up?"
Usagi stared at Makoto uncertainly, finally mumbling, "I'm not sure I follow."
"I think what Mako-chan is trying to say," began Ami, "is that of any of us, you are still... um… a free spirit, Usagi-chan. You're still very imaginative, and delight in the simplest of things."
"In other words, you are way too easily amused and have the attention span of a goldfish."
"Rei, you're not helping."
"Fine, fine, I get what you're saying," Usagi said, defensively holding up her hands. "It was just a thought I had. After all, Christmas is so geared toward children these days."
"But you're never too old to enjoy spending time with loved ones."
"And bestowing them with lavish, expensive gifts," said Minako, batting her eyelashes at the waiter who showed up at their table with five new cups of steaming hot cocoa. He smiled uncertainly back before quickly scurrying away.
"And eating gingerbread men and drinking hot chocolate," concluded Makoto, lifting up her new mug.
"I'll drink to that!"
The girls grabbed up their drinks, laughing and clicking the mugs together—a toast to the Christmas spirit.
"You're all right," Usagi said, beaming with a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. "Besides, I still believe in Santa Claus. How old can I possibly be?"
"Well, in that case," said Makoto, good-naturedly grabbing the list from Ami's hand. "I guess you don't need us buying you anything for Christmas!" She went to scratch out Usagi's name from the bottom of the list, but with a squeal the blonde snatched it away.
"No way! I'm leaving the important stuff to the big guy, but you guys are getting me that ruby moon pendant we saw at Osa-P last week."
"Goodness, I hate to know what the important stuff is."
"Oh, you know. World peace, true love, a never-ending supply of chocolate ice cream. The usual." Usagi grinned cheekily, but the others just shook their heads.
"You sure know how to keep the big guy busy, don't you?"
"Nothing he can't handle, I'm sure."
"That's him?"
"Yep. That's him."
"But he's so old."
"Mistle, please. He's only seventeen."
"You know what, Toe? Seventeen is old."
Mistle and Toe watched from the rooftop across the street as the tall, black-haired boy in the green blazer hurried through the snowdrifts, finally disappearing through the rotating door of his apartment building.
"Okay, I know he's slightly more mature than our usual clients."
"Slightly."
"But he's not a legal adult yet, which means…"
Mistle scrunched up her nose, pink from the cold. "Which means he's still a kid."
"Right. And if he's still a kid, that means…"
She sighed. "That he's still in our jurisdiction."
"Exactly."
"But Toe, it says here in his file that he stopped believing in Santa Claus when he was eight."
"Well yes, that's true. But when you take into account the deaths of his parents two years prior, followed by two Christmases in an orphanage where his only gifts were the same candy cane and gender-neutral sweater that all the other kids got, you can hardly blame the poor chap for losing his faith so young."
"You're hardly boosting my confidence, you know that?"
"I'm just trying to give you a feel for what our obstacles are going to be."
"An orphan with ten years of anti-Christmas baggage is more than just an obstacle. It's like trying to induce the Christmas spirit into the Grinch, or Ebenezer Scrooge."
"Which, if you'd been watching your daytime television Christmas specials, you would know was hardly an impossible task."
Mistle folded her arms and pouted. "Fine," she finally conceded, though not terribly happily. "Do we have any objectives?"
Toe took the file from her and flipped through some pages. "Yep. Right here: 'Best Christmas Ever.'"
"Helpful," Mistle drawled sarcastically, tucking a red ringlet of hair behind one pointed ear. "And do we know what he wants for Christmas?"
Teetering from foot to bell-tipped foot, Toe hummed thoughtfully for a moment, before finally conceding, "Not really, no." He grimaced as Mistle threw her hands furiously into the air. "But we do have this!" From the file he whipped out a small white envelope.
Grabbing the envelope from Toe's hand, Mistle read the address on the front with a glare. "'Santa Claus, North Pole.' Original little tike, wasn't he?"
"He was seven when he wrote that. Give him a break."
With a sigh, Mistle pulled out the letter within, yellowed from time.
Dear Santa,
My name is Chiba Mamoru and I live at the Strawberry Fields Orphanage in Tokyo, Japan. I think that I have been very good this year and have some things I would like to ask for this Christmas. I know that you're very busy so I've made the list short. If you could please get me even just one thing I would be very, very happy. I would like: 1. World peace Thank you and Merry Christmas,
2. A life supply of chocolate ice cream
3. Someone who loves me
Mamoru
"Well," Mistle said, slipping the letter back into its envelope. "Not only do I think you're insane for trying to accomplish this impossible task, but now I'm also depressed."
"Come on, it's cute!"
"Cute? Eight year old boys are not supposed to be asking for someone to love them! Besides, how do you plan on accomplishing this?"
"Well, we only have to get him one thing off this list."
Scowling, Mistle muttered, "And I suppose that's not going to be the ice cream?"
"Honestly, Mistle, what would a grown man do with a life supply of ice cream?"
"Ha! You do agree that he's too old!"
Met with Toe's bright green eyes glaring coldly, Mistle's quietly returned to sulking.
"We're going to find him somebody to love, and who loves him," Toe said with determination. "And we're going to do it by Christmas."
"That's all well and good, Toe, but we're Christmas elves, not… not Cupid!"
Sticking his small, pointy nose haughtily into the air, Toe proclaimed, "Yes, but Cupid was really just a glorified elf. Come on, we better get to work." Without waiting for further protests, Toe whipped his bright red cape around him and disappeared in a flurry of snow.
Mamoru put the filter in his coffeepot, filled it with fresh grinds from the café down the street, and turned it on. His late-afternoon cup of jo had become somewhat of a ritual on cold December days—something to look forward to as he trekked through the snow and desperately tried to keep his hands warm in his jacket pockets. Plus, the caffeine would give him just enough of a perk to get him through the last 100 pages of War and Peace, which he'd been reading diligently for two hours every evening for weeks.
As the coffeepot set to burbling and hissing, Mamoru retreated from the kitchen. He took a moment to survey his living room: black bookshelves brimming with novels and reference books of every shape and size, some well-loved, some hardly touched; a modern black leather sofa and matching recliner set around a not-so-modern cedar coffee table; blinds on the windows but no drapes; one contemporary painting above the brick fireplace that he had purchased in an attempt to add character to the space, but instead had only set him back $400 for a canvas that he was sure he could have painted himself.
It wasn't much, but it was his home. It was warm—he'd left the heater on all day. It was quiet. And it was his, to share with no one else.
His eyes fell on the corner between the fireplace and the sliding glass doors that led to the small balcony. He had cleared the corner of a stack of magazines and an underused end table over a week ago with the intention of eventually filling it with a Christmas tree. But since then the days had come and gone and Mamoru had begun to wonder—what's the point? After all, he would be the only one who would see it and he didn't even like Christmas. That much. Plus, he would also have to buy lights and ornaments and a big star or something, and it all started to sound like a lot of time and money and work. So the corner continued to be empty.
"Next year," he told it, with a reassuring nod, just as the coffeepot made its telltale gurgling, alerting him that the coffee was done.
He filled himself a cup with the tiniest splash of milk and made his way to the sofa and Tolstoy. But no sooner had he sat down than his eyes made their way to the glass door, spotting the drifting snow outside. It reminded him of seeing Usagi earlier that day, sprawled out on the snow bank, focusing so intently on catching the errant flakes on her tongue. Looking so joyful, so angelic, so terribly Christmasy.
Standing, he carried his mug to the door and slowly opened it. A blast of cool air hit him, blowing the steam from his coffee back into his face. He stuck his head outside, not daring to venture onto the snow-covered patio in his slippered feet. The snowflakes were instantly clinging to his hair, his shoulders, his eyelashes. Slowly, he parted his lips and let his tongue snake outside. Closing his eyes, he waited, feeling the tips of his ears already beginning to numb. Soon, he felt the melting, feather, almost nonexistent touch of a large snowflake melting on his tongue. Startled, he jerked both his tongue and his head back inside. His coffee splashed up over the edge of the cup and he quickly set to licking the drips before they could splash down on his carpet. When the coffee was secure, he looked out the window again. The snow kept falling, ignorant of Mamoru at his window, watching.
With a sigh, Mamoru shut the door. He understood that there was something special about catching snowflakes on your tongue, he just didn't understand what that something was.
"Toe, why are we in here?"
"Research."
Mistle looked around her in quiet speculation. "What are we researching, plush toys?"
Toe simply shushed her and continued to peer out the glass walls of the arcade crane game. With a sigh, Mistle slumped back against a Mickey Mouse doll, inches taller than her current form, and let her eyes wander over the other imprisoned toys. Just as she was admiring a handsome doll wearing a cape and top hat, Toe grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her toward the glass.
"There he is!"
Indeed, Chiba Mamoru had just entered the arcade and was making his way casually toward the counter at the back, his eyes scanning the room as he did so.
"Okay. We've concluded that he likes to spend time at the arcade—like every other seventeen year old boy. Can we leave now?"
"You're missing the point. Listen," Toe whipped out Mamoru's file from beneath his short, pointed hat. "Mamoru comes in here almost every afternoon and orders a either a milkshake or a cup of coffee—and sometimes onion rings—and either reads or talks to the clerk behind the counter, Motoki, his best friend."
Mistle yawned.
"That is, until they come in."
Looking down, Mistle looked at the paper Toe was pointing at. It held a photograph of five teenage girls, their names listed below with arrows indicating who was who. All five girls were smiling, and pretty, and wearing Santa hats.
"Not following," she said with a shrug.
Toe rolled his eyes and slammed the file shut. "Whether he has to wait for five minutes or five hours, Mamoru will sit at that counter until these girls show up. When they do, he will get up, go to their table, and…" Toe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Mistle wiggled hers back, for no other reason than to let Toe know how stupid he looked when he did that.
"And flirt!" he finally concluded, throwing his arms into the air with irritation.
"He flirts with five girls at once? And we're supposed to believe that he's looking for the one right now?"
"No, he flirts with two girls. These two." He pointed at the two girls standing at opposite ends of the picture, one with long, silky black hair, and the other with long yellow-blonde hair tied back with a red bow. "Rei and Minako. He talks to these two." He tapped the photograph where a girl with short blue hair stood, and then the tallest girl with her brown hair back in a loose pony tail, stood. "That's Ami and Makoto."
"So what does he do with this Usagi girl?" Mistle asked, pointing at the girl who stood glowing in the center, with her impossibly long golden hair done up in two ball-shaped buns, the tails dangling down out of the picture.
Toe sighed sadly. "He teases her."
"Teases her?"
"It's strange—he's really just about the nicest guy, except around her. He's always making fun of her for something or other. But then, she teases him right back. Suffice to say they truly despise each other."
Wrinkling up her nose, Mistle closed the file in Toe's hands. "So what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that our best bets will be either Rei or Minako, since there's already attraction there. Specifically, I think we should try to hook him up with Rei. She's smart, elegant, and hard-working. I think they'll be a perfect pair."
"Okay…" Mistle drawled, feeling oddly unsettled, though she knew she had no reason not to trust Toe's judgment. He obviously knew a lot more about Mamoru than she did. "And how are we going to hook them up, exactly?"
Before Toe could answer, the doors to the arcade slid open and Toe launched himself at the glass. "There they are! Now watch."
The five girls from the picture strolled into the arcade, instantly filling the place with giggles and chatter. The heads of every teenage boy whipped around to watch them as they claimed their favorite booth—ignorant of the attention they were receiving.
The head of every teenage boy—except Mamoru. He had only straightened his back as he heard them enter, and taken a long, slow sip of his coffee.
"I'm going in," Toe hissed, before turning and pushing his way through the sea of stuffing and faux fur.
"Wait! What do I do?"
"Stay here and watch," Toe instructed. "Take notes. Brainstorm."
Mistle glowered at the backs of his pointy ears until he had disappeared down the drop chute, before crossing her arms and unhappily watching the scene from within her glass box.
Minako was already ordering a round of milkshakes from Motoki as he set five glasses of water down on their table, while Usagi mimicked one of her least favorite teachers. Watching her, Ami and Makoto were gripped with laughter—Ami had tears running down her cheeks and Makoto was beginning to complain of a side ache through her gasps. Though Rei, who went to a different school, didn't quite understand the jokes, she couldn't help but smile and chuckle when Usagi gave her rendition of the teacher's last lecture—beginning with a monotone explanation of photosynthesis and ending with loud snores.
And just as Usagi fell onto Makoto's shoulder and was beginning to drool, Mamoru appeared beside their table, just as Toe had predicted.
"Odango Atama," he drawled, his lips pulling up into a smirk, "how did I know you would be a drooler?"
Her impersonation instantly over, Usagi shot up and fixed a seething glare on the man. "Mamoru-baka," she spat, "it looks like you're the one who's been drooling. How did you dribble that water all down your shirt like that?"
Frowning, Mamoru glanced down at the front of his shirt—finding it perfectly dry. "Odango, what are you ta—" He yelped as Usagi took her glass and threw a splash of water onto his face. Sputtering, Mamoru wiped the water away from his eyes with his sleeve and gawked at Usagi's very proud grin. The other four girls in the booth shrank away in embarrassment.
"Oops?" Usagi murmured innocently.
Before Mamoru lost his cool—which was evidently about to happen very soon—Rei reached for a handful of napkins and thrust them at him, letting him wipe off his face and neck while she gingerly dabbed at the front of his shirt. "Honestly, Usagi, do you have to be so immature in public?"
Usagi scowled. "He started it."
Mamoru grabbed the napkins from Rei, thanking her quietly, and turned his attention back to Usagi. She met his stare with confidence and sass, his lips turned up just enough to drive him batty—from anger or something else he was never sure.
"I think you look very suave like that, Mamoru-san," said Minako before Mamoru could speak. "That wet, slicked look makes you kind of look like a surfer. Or a supermodel. Or a surfer-supermodel."
Slowly sliding his eyes to the perky blonde at the edge of the booth, Mamoru forced himself to smile. "Thank you, Minako." He returned his arrogant grin to Usagi. "See that, Odango? You've improved me. I guess I should be thanking you."
She rolled her eyes. "It's twenty degrees outside, baka. Once you've turned into a human icicle I will agree that you've been improved."
"Five milkshakes for the ladies," said Motoki, saddling up to the table and unloading his tray. "What happened to you?" he asked, noticing Mamoru dripping beside him.
Forcing himself to smile, Mamoru shrugged and answered, "I'm trying out the surfer-supermodel look." With one last glance at Usagi's beaming face, he turned and sauntered back to his coffee at the counter, unable to ignore her snickering behind him. He recalled the days when he was able to win almost every one of their spats—always have the last word, the last laugh. But more and more often it seemed that he was losing his touch. Or maybe she was just getting better at the game.
"Ho ho ho!"
Mistle gasped and spun away from the scene, turning toward the arcade doors with her jaw agape. The rest of the arcade patrons followed suit, staring with mute astonishment at the red-suited man standing amid a flurry of snow. Mistle pressed her hands and nose to the glass, gawking at the big guy himself. He was unmistakable, with his rosy cheeks, his cherry nose, his droll little mouth drawn up like a bow and his beard as white as the snow, and all the rest of it just as Mistle knew and loved. Santa ho-ho-ho'd again and clopped into the arcade, stomping snow off his boots as he went.
"I come bearing gifts for all the good little boys and girls," he said, swinging a brown sack off his back and letting it drop unceremoniously to the linoleum floor. Mistle couldn't help but frown, knowing that this was certainly not Santa's style. Furrowing her brow, she scanned the arcade, noticing the speculative looks being exchanged amongst the customers (most of whom were speculative adolescents rather than enthusiastic children). She turned back to Santa and cocked her head to one side as the rotund man began ruffling through his pack, then she gasped as she spotted the tip of his ear jutting up beside the pointed, fur-lined cap. He had pointy ears—elf ears!
It wasn't Santa at all, but just Toe, larger now and all dressed up!
Leaning against Sponge Bob, Mistle wasn't sure if she should be offended at not being included in this scheme, or grateful that Toe hadn't asked her to be Mrs. Claus.
After a moment of ruffling through his pack, Santa emerged victorious with a long-haired Barbie doll and passed it to the nearest girl he saw—in this case, a twenty-seven year old waitress. She took it uncertainly, looking somewhat less than thrilled. Distressed, perhaps, but not thrilled.
After Toe-posing-as-Santa had handed out two Tonka trucks, one Tickle Me Elmo, and three Harry Potter Lego sets, he held up a couple of green paper slips with an overly jolly expression. "And what do I have here?" he bellowed, though his audience was beginning to lose interest and drift back to their game machines. "Why—here in my hand are two tickets to tonight's Christmas Extravaganza at the Broadway Theater!"
Squealing, Usagi shot her hand up and waved and wiggled to get Santa's attention. Of all the arcade's patrons, she was one of the few who seemed tickled and delighted by Santa's appearance. "Pick me!" she squealed, loud enough to be heard, but restrained enough to not seem too pushy.
Toe stalled and blinked at her hopeful expression. His green eyes—another clue that he was only posing as the twinkling-blue-eyed Santa—slowly scanned over the other four girls in the booth, watching Usagi with bemused expressions. He glanced at Mamoru, who was watching Usagi with stifled laughter.
Slowly, Rei raised her hand and smiled becomingly at Toe. "We would really love to go to the show," she said, and it was obvious that she was only saying it to appease Usagi, who was now beaming with so much joy Toe felt his knees shaking.
"Why…" he muttered, stooping down and ruffling through the bag some more, "what do I have here, but…" He counted in his head. "…but six tickets to the Christmas Extravaganza!"
Usagi bounced happily in her seat as five of the tickets were passed between each of her friends. "Now… make sure you sit in the exact seat indicated on your ticket," Toe warned, waggling his finger. "Because there's going to be a drawing, by seat number, and it would be bad luck to swap seats, you understand?"
Usagi nodded without question, even though the other girls were peering suspiciously at each other. With a shrug, Rei smiled at Toe and thanked him politely.
"My pleasure, dear! Now, who would like this sixth and final ticket?" Toe practically shouted, even though the question went unanswered as he spun on the toes of his black boots and caught sight of Mamoru watching the scene from the counter. "You, son! You look like you would love to go to the Christmas Extravaganza!"
Mamoru guffawed and held up his hands in defiance as Santa approached him with the sixth ticket. "No, thanks, I'm fine," he said in a rush, the mere thought of sitting through such a show making him cringe. Reaching out, he grabbed Motoki by the apron strings and pulled him between Santa and himself. "But I'm sure my friend Motoki would love to go. Right, Motoki? It's really much more his type of gig than mine."
Shrugging off Mamoru's hand, Motoki retightened his apron strings and smiled crookedly at Santa—who he thought had maybe been hired by his manager as a way to liven up the place, unbeknownst to his employees. "Sure, I'd like to go! You girls don't mind if I join you, do you?"
"Not at all!" the girls in the booth chorused with ear-to-ear grins.
Toe stared at Motoki from beneath his glue-on bushy eyebrows, his mouth hanging open in surprise beneath the snow-white beard. He stuttered and stammered and refused to let go of the green ticket even when Motoki reached for it curiously.
"Um…" Santa coughed, then suddenly brightened. "Ah, what do I have here?" He let Motoki have the ticket and a moment later was rummaging through his sack again. "Why—it's a seventh ticket! There, now you can all go to the show. Oh, but uh…" He looked at the ticket in Motoki's hand, snatched it away, and replaced it with the new one. "You have that one. Here you go, son." Toe gave the other ticket to Mamoru and before there could be any protests, he slung the pack over his shoulder and scurried from the arcade, leaving the small crowd gawking after him.
Embarrassed, Mistle hid her head in Miss Piggy's feather boa and prayed that Santa—the real Santa—would never find out about this.
They were in the fourth row of the Broadway Theater—which was a really excellent row to be in—and seated according to the numbers on their tickets, as follows: Minako, Rei, Mamoru, Usagi, Ami, Makoto, and Motoki. Though Usagi had grimaced and sulked after being seated next to Mamoru, she refused to allow anyone to rectify the situation—after all, Santa Claus had said it would be bad luck to change seats.
Although the audience was still streaming in through the theater doors, two ushers stood at the back of the aisles interested only in the people seated in the fourth row.
"Maybe it's just me," Mistle drawled, in a tone that left no room for question that it was not just her, "but I'm not seeing any sparks here, Toe."
Toe wanted to say something profound and educated about the rules of Homo sapien flirtation devices, but he couldn't. Not just because he wasn't all that well-read on the subject, but more because he agreed with Mistle—which he really hated to admit. The chemistry between Mamoru and Rei seemed practically nonexistent now that he got to really see them together. Friendly, yes. Polite, always. And he thought there must be some attraction there, though it seemed more on the part of Rei than Mamoru and even she didn't seem all that attached. Still, they had two and a half hours of Christmas joy to watch, seated right next to each other—knees and elbows rubbing. Surely, if anything was going to happen, it would happen here.
"Give it time," he told Mistle reassuringly. She just snorted, took her program, and walked away.
As he watched, trying to think of some way to bring Mamoru and Rei closer together, Toe saw an elderly woman and her grandson heading to their seats in row three. He was hardly the only person to notice them as the child took his seat in front of Mamoru and the lady, with her hair done up in an extravagant beehive fashion, sat in front of Usagi.
Short little Usagi's jaw dropped. Though the show had yet to start, she spent the next five minutes squirming and swaying from side to side, lifting herself up with her hands on the armrests, ducking down next to Ami to see over one shoulder, more cautiously ducking beside Mamoru to see over the other. Nothing worked.
"Usagi, what are you doing?" Mamoru hissed, knowing that he'd never be able to enjoy the show with her fidgeting next to him.
"I can't see over her head!" Usagi whispered back. The old lady didn't seem to hear her, though part of Usagi wished that she had.
Mamoru rolled his eyes. "Do you want to trade seats?" The head of the kid in front of him barely peaked over the seat at all.
"Absolutely not!" Usagi declared, as if offended. "Remember? It's bad luck to trade seats."
"Oh, please. You don't believe that rubbish, do you? My seat has just as much a chance of winning this raffle as yours does."
Usagi glared at him, wondering if he was right or if Santa had been trying to tell her something when he'd handed her that one specific ticket. But once the emcee stepped onto the stage and was instantly hidden behind the woman's massive 'do, she knew she had no choice. "Okay, fine, let's switch."
From afar, Toe watched as Mamoru and Usagi swapped seats, and Mamoru was no longer next to Rei, True Love Option A. He wished he'd had enough forethought to place Minako on the other side. He sighed as Mistle rejoined him in the aisle.
"Well. Now what?" she asked, not quite as harshly as Toe was expecting.
"Do you think he and Rei have any chance at all?"
"Honestly? I think Donder has a better chance of leading the sleigh this Christmas Eve."
Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Toe had no choice to concede. "Okay. On to Girl B."
And way down in the fourth row, with her seat with the perfect vantage point, Usagi spent the next two and a half hours enthralled by the show. She loved every song, every choreographed dance, every comedian, and every skit. By the time the performers were taking their final bows she felt bubbling over with the Christmas spirit.
Beside her, Mamoru found it amazing he was able to pay attention to the show at all. Not because of the beehive now planted firmly in his line of sight—he hardly noticed that. But rather because from the corner of his eye he could see Usagi's elated smile throughout the entire show—and it almost made him feel just as merry.
After the performers had deserted the stage for the final time, and before the audience could begin rushing for the doors, an usher in a red suit with gold buttons skipped onto the stage. Usagi perked up, instantly noticing the pointed ears emerging from the girl's curly red hair.
"Ladies and gentleman, before you go, we have some raffle prizes to give away. We will be drawing seat numbers. If that seat is yours, please come to the lobby with your ticket stub to claim your prize." First she gave away a nicely decorated gingerbread house, followed by a gift basket of chocolates and cookies, and a set of four Christmas dessert plates. "Our last two prizes are complimentary passes for one free ice skating session at Sprinker's rink. And the winners are Seat 4A—"
Mina gasped. "That's me!"
"And 4D. Congratulations!"
A moment later, Usagi was turning an ice-cold glare on Mamoru. "Rubbish, huh? That was my seat!"
Mamoru, who hated ice skating almost as much as he hated Christmas shows, was just about to suggest that she take the pass when he realized that that would be just what she wanted—and since when did he give her anything she wanted?
Turning to her, he tilted his chin up so that he was smirking down his nose in the most aggravating, haughty manner possible. "How ironic, isn't it? But don't worry, I'm sure Minako will bring you back a souvenir."
"Oh, don't be silly!" Mina said as they began standing up from their seats and drifting toward the lobby with the rest of the crowd. "It wouldn't be any fun without you all. Sure, Mamoru and I got free passes, but it's only, like, five bucks for a session. You should all come!"
As the girls excitedly agreed, Mamoru quickly found himself wishing that he'd just given up his pass in the first place.
The problem with ice skating was that at 6 foot 4 inches, Mamoru felt like he just had so far to fall. Not that he ever did fall, mostly because he never went ice skating. He honestly had never felt as if he was missing out on much, and still didn't as he made his third loop around the rink with his hand firmly attached to the safety rail. Ahead, he could see the rink's exit and was just beginning to psych himself up for a nice cup of coffee (only fifteen yards to go), when he was smacked harshly from behind.
Yelping, he felt his feet beginning to slide in opposite directions. Squeezing shut his eyes, he grasped the handle bar as tightly as he could and was able to keep from doing the splits—yeouch!—on the ice below. With a grunt, he pulled himself back up on the wobbling blades and turned to glare at his attacker.
"What are you doing?" Usagi asked from a few feet away, posing with her feet set up in a T and her hands on her hips. Even though the skates gave her an extra two inches of height and made her slender legs look impossibly long beneath a short pink skirt, Mamoru still towered over her. He hardly felt strong and powerful, though, as his hands started to ache from gripping the railing so tightly. Seeing him struggle, Usagi tilted her head to the side. "Don't tell me that the perfect Chiba Mamoru doesn't know how to ice skate!"
He felt his stomach tighten—partly in embarrassment, partly in attempt to keep his eyes from drifting down to those legs again, and partly in envy. Usagi had been flitting around the rink since they got there, going frontward, backward, and sideways, and interspersing her directions with little twirls and skips. Here was the klutziest, most uncoordinated girl Mamoru had ever known, and she was making this look easy.
"Give me a break, Odango Atama. This is only my second time on skates."
She furrowed her brow in confusion, before laughing. It was a lilting, charming sound that made Mamoru's stomach flip before he tightened it again. "But Mamoru-baka, this is only my first time on skates!"
His stomach plummeted. "You're kidding."
"Nope!" To prove her point—although it certainly didn't prove anything—Usagi did a couple little spins.
Mamoru snorted with contempt. "Well at least I can walk without falling down."
But Usagi didn't take the bait, too deliriously happy was she to have discovered something that she could do better than Mamoru. Instead, she strolled up to him and—surprise of surprises—wrapped her fingers around his wrist. He began to stumble away from her and just barely kept from falling down by slamming his back against the wall, both hands firmly on the rail again.
He gawked at her.
She gawked back. "What was that all about?"
Taking his eyes off of her, Mamoru scanned the crowd of cheerful skaters spinning around the rink again and again. "Uh… I slipped?"
Rolling her eyes, Usagi skated around so that she was positioned behind him, or what would have been behind him if he'd been facing the correct direction. "Okay, Mamoru, I'm just going to give you a little support. But first you have to let go of the rail."
"You know, Odango, that's okay. I'm fine, really. I'm just going to make my way to the exit and go have some coffee and wait for you guys to finish the session, okay? You go skate around. Do pirouettes or double-axles or something. Go on, go."
In response to Mamoru trying to shoo her away, Usagi just placed her hands firmly on her hips again. "Mamoru, you are at an ice skating rink. Here, people ice skate. Which means you are going to ice skate. Now stop being such a baby and let me help you."
Before Mamoru and his bruised ego could retort, Usagi was standing before him and holding out her hand. "Come on, take my hand. I'll teach you."
Mamoru looked at her outstretched hand, the fair skin of her palm half-covered by the too-long sleeves of a white cashmere sweater, her rounded nails shining with a pale pink polish, a constellation of freckles clustered just above her thumb. It all nearly made his heart stop.
"Well? Now what's wrong?" she asked impatiently.
Gulping, Mamoru turned his eyes back up to hers, licked his lips, and replied, "What if I fall and crush you?"
Usagi heard him and wanted to laugh, but something about the worry in his tone and the intense, honest concern in his impossibly blue eyes kept the laughter back. Instead, she smiled the warmest smile she could. "Then it would be payback for all the times I fell and nearly crushed you. Come on, Mamoru, it's fun. And… well, I was going to say that I won't let you fall, but I guess I don't have much control over that. Still, even if you do fall, it isn't the end of the world. You just have to get back up and keep going."
"I have a lot farther to fall than you do, Usa," he said with a cheeky grin, and nervously took her hand in his.
From the café, Mistle and Toe watched with unspoken confusion.
"I thought you said they despised each other."
"Well…" Toe coughed. "They do."
"Yes. It's so obvious."
"Hey, you saw them at the arcade yesterday. They fight like cats and dogs… most of the time."
Mistle quirked an eyebrow, unconvinced. "And where is Girl B, pray tell? I don't see her out on the rink at all."
With a sigh, Toe slumped down in his chair. "Minako is over there," he thrust is thumb over his shoulder. "Flirting with the concessions stand clerk."
Shaking her head, Mistle took a sip of her lukewarm cocoa. "That's going well then, isn't it?"
"Okay, evidently Minako flirts with every guy, not just Mamoru. But that's okay, we still have two perfectly charming girls with soul mate potential."
Looking out at the skating rink again, they saw Usagi and Mamoru slowly making their way around the rink, their fingers laced as Usagi tutored him on the art of ice skating, one awkward, bumbling step at a time. It wasn't long before Ami and Makoto joined them, cheering Mamoru along. And when he did stumble, Makoto was the first to lend him support. Though Mamoru looked slightly embarrassed, he also looked grateful. And maybe even like he was having fun.
"The brunette is Girl C, I take it?"
Toe nodded. "Makoto. She's strong, she's generous, and she has excellent culinary skills."
"Match made in heaven," Mistle pretended to agree, her eyes locked on Mamoru and Usagi's intertwined hands.