Christmas Criminal

3. Noelle

3

NOELLE

Sunday, December 1st

W hy am I suddenly looking forward to community service?

Probably because the guy I'm stuck doing community service with has a charming smile. A stupidly nice personality. A trustworthy vibe that has me itching to divulge my high school trauma because something about him tells me he's a black box. A safe space to store those old memories that pop up when you're having an otherwise nice day and crumble that strong facade you've been crafting since they happened.

When I get to the high school, he's sitting at the front desk again, his feet up and crossed on one side and his head in a book. I know before he looks up that he's going to push those glasses up on his head and his hair is going to stick out a little wildly around them. He's going to raise his eyebrows and smile kindly at me, like maybe it's a nice surprise to see me or I'm his regular Sunday morning date.

The thought sends a little jolt down my spine. His Sunday morning date. Like maybe instead of meeting each other at the local high school-slash-prison, I might turn over, pulling the sheets from between us, and nestle my face into his bare chest. Like he might kiss my head while I'm still groggy and read in bed while waiting for me to become a real human.

I find myself wondering if he has chest hair. What color his sheets are. Whether he drinks coffee or wakes up naturally this chipper.

"Good morning," I say, approaching the front desk.

And he does the whole thing. The glasses, the slight smile. His feet drop to the floor and he stands, stretching in a way that highlights his pecs through that stupid Snow Falls High School T-shirt he's wearing. God, does he have any other clothing?

"Good morning, Noelle."

Every time he grins, it reaches his eyes, and it seems so genuine. Like he doesn't give smiles without a good reason, but he always has a good reason.

I take a deep breath to calm the butterflies rioting in my stomach.

"I have something fun for us today," he says, watching my face as we walk the halls.

"That makes me nervous," I say.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I feel like teachers don't know what fun is. Like, every time a teacher has ever said that to me, I think I've had possibly the opposite of fun. God, group projects? Pop quizzes? That time Mr. Carmichael brought a tarantula into school? Not fun. Nope. Do I need a doctor's note?"

Nick laughs. "To be fair, I think in most cases when a teacher says that to their class, they mean it's going to be fun for them."

" Ah, there's the context I've been missing."He stops in front of a very familiar door, and I raise my eyebrows. "What do you have up your sleeve?"

He pulls a key out of his pocket and opens the door, holding it so I can go in first.

And to be fair, this is one of the few places I don't have bad memories.

It still smells the same. Old books with a hint of something a little bit stale. I swear, I can smell that old-lady perfume Mrs. Nguyen uses, like maybe she actually doessleep under her desk.

"So I talked to Mrs. Nguyen, who remembers you fondly by the way," he says. My face heats, because for some reason this arbitrary judgment from my high school librarian turns me back into that validation-seeking teenager I once was. "And she was thrilled to learn that despite your criminal tendencies, you're doing well. And she said that if we were searching for a community service project to take part in, she could really use some help in updating the software on the computers. And if we wanted to sort out the holds for the week and shelve some returns while we were here, that would be a great help."

"I can't believe you're going around telling my old high school librarian that I'm a criminal."

He shrugs. "To be fair, she said your dad deserved to be egged."

A disbelieving snort jumps from my throat. "Oh."

"I guess you're not the only one who's done with his bullshit."

That feels kind of good. Vindicating, really.

My dad’s the kind of person who can charm people easily. Always grinning or laughing. Usually drinking. It’s a special kind of torture to have someone look at you in confusion when you mention your dad has trouble showing up to holidays or school events. To have people discount your experience of your own family based on their own arbitrary interactions with them.

All that to say, it feels good that Mrs. Nguyen saw right through that. Like she’s on my side.

A little drop of optimism blooms in my chest. Maybe she always was on my side.

I shake the thought away as Nick leads us to the bank of computers set up in a semi-circle in the middle of the library. Around us are rows and rows of books, filling up the first floor, with several stacks stuffed into the balcony above us.

I've always loved how libraries are set up. Endless words and information at your fingertips surrounding you like a threat but whispering with invitation. The ability to learn or read almost anything. Stories and characters you'd never otherwise experience. Hobbies that are completely foreign to you until you flip through a few pages of a book.

We sit side by side at two computers and power them up with the login information Mrs. Nguyen left with Nick.

We could zip through them, bounce from one seat to another as the updates plod through, clicking 'Next' as soon as the button pops up on the screen.

But instead, we sit and wait, angled toward each other like the purpose of the day is us and not the computers.

He gives me a soft grin. "So are you ever going to tell me what your dad did to deserve The Great Egging?"

I purse my lips, clicking through another few prompts before turning to him. "He didn't care."

Nick’s brow furrows. "What does that mean?"

I let out a long breath. "He never really cared, honestly. When my sister and I were in high school, we found out he had a second family. One that apparently means more to him than his first. He left us to go live with them. Ironically, he had two little girls. Two new ones. Shinier and brighter than me and Christina."

"Wow, that's messed up."

“Yeah. Not exactly a fun holiday season, that one. Luckily, it was my sister’s senior year so she was leaving anyway. A year later, I followed her. Got my GED while living in her spare bedroom. I think we all needed that space, honestly. My sister and I needed to be away from him, and I think my mom needed some alone time to grieve her relationship and pull herself together. He was never there for her much, but I think there was a part of her that never gave up on having her big, happy family.”

Nick nods. “I feel for her. That must have been hard.”

“It was. I still don’t know why she stays in this town. The last thing I need is to run into my dad or his new family. And I can only imagine it’s worse for her.”

“You don’t talk to him at all now? Or… them?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I met them once when I was in high school. But otherwise, I don’t come back here. I don’t talk to him or them at all.”

He nods. “Well, I guess I can understand the egging.”

"Oh, that's not why he got egged." I sigh. "My sister is kind of my opposite. God, I love her to death, but she keeps trying to be a family with him. Like, always forgiving him for what he's done. And if that's what she wants to do, that's fine. But after Thanksgiving this year, she went over to his house to bring him a pie. She wanted him to feel like she was included. Turned out, they weren't home at the time. I think they were visiting the harlot's parents–"

Nick's eyebrows jump up.

"Sorry, that's what we've always called her. She's actually a very nice woman and we eventually found out that she was as oblivious as we were to the whole arrangement, but you know, the nickname stuck."

I take a deep breath, clicking into the next screen. "So they weren't home when my sister went over, and she figured she would leave the pie on the doorstep. No biggie, right? Well, when she left, she slipped on a patch of ice in the driveway and went down hard . Called my mom to come get her and take her to the ER because she heard a snap and, sure enough, she had broken her leg."

"Ah," Nick says. "It all comes together."

"I was still at my mom's because I refused to take part in bringing him a pie. He can suck my dick, you know? So my mom and I went over to get her together, picked her up and took her to the hospital. She got a cast and everything, and she's looking at a full recovery so no big deal."

"And that's why you egged his house? Because she tripped?"

I shake my head. "No. Not at all. I mean, ice happens, you know? I egged his house because she called him first. My sister called our dad for help, and he said he couldn't leave right away. They were in the middle of Thanksgiving dessert."

Nick presses his lips together. "Oh."

"I don't think I've ever been so angry with someone in my life. You can disrespect me. You can tell me you don't care about me in as many ways as you want. But you do not fuck with my sister."

He rubs a hand over his chest, shaking his head. "I didn't expect to be so angry when you finished that story."

I laugh. "What, you didn't think I'd have a good enough reason to egg my own father's house?"

He shrugs. "I don't know what I expected. But I have to say, if I were you, I wouldn't be sorry either."

I nod. "I don't regret it. Even if that means I'm back here in this stupid town in this hellhole of a school, it was all worth it. Honestly, I wish I would have done worse."

" Two dozen eggs?"

"Exactly."

By the time we're done updating the computers, we're only about halfway through our day, so I take some time to run a defrag while we're there. If I had to take a guess, these old computers haven't had a bit of optimization since they were installed years ago, and I show Nick quickly how to do the same so we can do two at a time.

"And she's a computer whiz, too," he comments, as I show him the last button he needs to click and the computer goes through its process. "This won't hurt the computers, will it? You're not setting me up to take the fall when all of the computers are wiped and the kids turn them on to find only a video of you cackling maniacally, are you?"

I snort. "No. If I wanted to do that, I'd at least start in the rooms where there aren't cameras."

He raises his eyebrows. "That answer came to you entirely too quickly, and it's starting to make me wonder whether I should be alone with you."

"Always be on your toes, Mr. Monroe." I shoot him a quick grin. "No, this won't hurt the computers. All it does is move pieces of the hard drive closer together so things run a little faster. You might not even notice it, but my hunch is that these computers will be here until they don't work anymore. This might preserve their life a little bit."

He grins. "Look at you helping the kids."

I glare at him. "I'm helping the computers ."

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Okay, computer genius. How'd you learn to defrag a hard drive?"

"Google?"

"Oh." He's quiet for a second. "Well, I guess that makes sense. You had a slow computer, I take it?"

I shrug. "One of my employees did, actually."

He cocks his head to the side. "Your employees?"

I swallow. "I run a little web design business. It's a small thing. But one of my people was having a lot of trouble with an old machine–I started out with a group of freelancers who originally worked off their own equipment–and that was one of many things I tried to help her with before I ended up buying her a computer."

He nods, digesting this. "So you're the kind of smart that gets bullied in high school and ends up being everybody's boss later in life?"

I shake my head. "No. I never intended for this to happen. I just… I guess after college, I realized I had a talent that I really enjoyed. So I figured out how to talk to people and sold, sold, sold, until I realized I had too much business to conceivably do myself. So, I had to hire people. And now, I guess I own my own little boutique web design business."

He stands, moving to the next computer down to start another defrag. He clicks through the prompts quickly as I take the next computer after his, doing the same.

"That's really cool," he says, turning to face me. "You could probably teach me a thing or two, huh?"

"I don't know about that."

He cocks his head to the side. "Why aren't you more proud of yourself?"

I let out a breath. "It feels a little bit like too little, too late. Like I struggled and failed in high school, did moderately okay in college, and afterward it was like everything clicked into place, and sometimes I don't really believe it's real."

He nods. "So you know not to take it for granted. You can still be proud of all the work you've done."

"I guess. I just… it's not something I talk about much and it's not something I bring back to this town with me. My life in the city is my life. And I don't let anyone screw with that. Especially considering the person I shrink into when I'm in this town, I just… need to keep things separate."

His brow furrows as he nods.

The word vomit comes too easily. "I've done a whole lot of making myself smaller so other people can feel big, and that started here. And I'm not really interested in boosting lackluster egos anymore."

"Ah," he says, as if every piece is clicking into place. "The dudes can't handle it."

I shrug. "A lot of people can't really handle a young woman doing her own thing. But I'm good at this. And it's taken me a long time to trust myself in spite of everyone else."

He raises his eyebrows. "How big is this company of yours?"

"How big is this dick of yours?"

He nods. "Touche. You leave it in the city." He's quiet for a few moments. "But for what it's worth, anyone whose first inclination isn't to respect the hell out of what you did and what you continue to do is a complete and utter jerk." He shakes his head. "And I really hope you never shrink yourself again. You're too cool for that."

I raise my eyebrows. "The math teacher thinks I'm cool?"

He shrugs. "I mean, you're alright."

"The math teacher thinks I'm cool," I say, in a singsong voice.

He rolls his eyes. "Alright, forget I said anything."

I grin. If I knew him better, I'd take his face in my hands and plant a big old kiss on his cheek.

That is, if he's the sort of person who can put his money where his mouth is. There have been far too many guys who have given me a similar speech but haven't been able to back up their words with actions.

We spend the rest of the day hopping between computers, filling our silence with easygoing chatter as we knock out one computer after another. When we're finally done, Nick signs my timecard with a flourish as we walk out of school together.

Although I'm excited to be back home with my sister, there's a part of me that's dreading leaving. I tell myself it's the three-hour drive home.

"So, I meant to tell you earlier. Next weekend the theater kids are going to be in school for dress rehearsals for the winter play. I didn't know if that would bother you, but I wanted to give you the option to switch up days if it does."

I purse my lips, debating this.

It doesn't exactly sound like my idea of fun.

But maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing to actually have a few days off. As much as I appreciate Nick being willing to work with my weekend schedule, I'm realizing that doing this and signing in for work over the next five days is a little rough.

I let out a long breath. "Do you want to do a week of nights, maybe? And if there's no one here the weekend after, we can try for that?"

He nods. "Sure. That works for me." He leans against the side of my car as I fish my keys out of my purse. "I'll have to dream up some fun weeknight community service activities we can get into."

I laugh, mirroring his pose and leaning against my car. "Whose definition of fun are you using?"

He winks at me again, and my throat goes dry. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

I find myself wishing for the kind of fun we could have without any clothes on. The kind where his stubble scrapes against my skin and his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass.

"So you'll text me what sort of schedule works for you?" he asks.

I nod, knowing I should be opening my car door and slipping inside right about now.

But this moment feels like the end of a first date. That nervous dance when you're trying to figure out if the other person wants to kiss you or not. He's standing close enough that I can smell him–that smoky s’more scent that has my mouth watering.

He clears his throat, and something about the way he takes a very intentional step back from me tells me that he feels this tension, too.

"Well, drive safe," he says, patting the roof of my car.

"Yeah, I will."

He nods, turning on his heel and heading straight for the only other car in the parking lot.