Emily glanced around for Mrs. Meriwether, but she had vanished. She might as well have left Emily alone with four rabid, unleashed dogs.
“And you better leave us the hell alone, Santa,” Sophie rasped in a low smoker’s voice.
“Yeah, we have a good thing going here,” Heather growled. “So don’t screw up our shit. Got it?”
“Got it,” Emily whispered.
The elves laughed raucously, linked arms, and sashayed away in a booze-smelling cloud. Emily’s heart sank to the soles of her black Santa boots. What had she gotten herself into? There was no way she could infiltrate the elves. It made breaking into Ali’s clique in sixth grade look easy.
Chapter 4
Elves Have Feelings, Too
The following day, Emily was on her Santa chair again, greeting kids with deep ho ho hos. About a half hour into her shift, she heard the whispers.
“That one’s totally going to puke on her. He ate a whole bucket of Chick-fil-A while waiting in line.”
“I should tell that girl in the Dora the Explorer T-shirt to pull her beard.”
“I should tell her that there’s no such thing as Santa Claus.”
“Girls?” Mrs. Meriwether’s meek voice sounded from behind the camera. “Can someone please man the register?”
The four elves emerged from behind a large Frosty statue, pushed around a mother and two children in line without bothering to say excuse me, and slumped against the register. A man and two kids Emily had just visited with were waiting there. The man cowered a little when he saw the elves, drawing his children in closer.
“That’ll be $19.95,” Cassie said in monotone, looking at the man’s photo order.
“Happy holidays,” Heather said in a hissing voice she might use to deliver a ransom message.
“Actually, can I get their picture in that frame?” The man pointed to a silver frame mounted on the wall behind the register. It was the limited-edition Santa Land collector’s item that cost $79.95. When Mrs. Meriwether worked checkout, she was always pushing people to buy it.
Sophie gazed at the frame and scrunched up her face. “Uch, that means we have to find it in a box in the back.”
“It’s really ugly up close,” Cassie told the man. “And it’s not real silver. It’ll turn your fingers green as soon as you touch it.”
“And it was probably made in China,” Lola added righteously. “By a little girl in a sweatshop who gets paid a penny a day.”
“Daddy?” The littler of the two boys gazed worriedly at him, looking like he was about to cry.
The man nervously tugged at his collar. “Okay. Just the regular photo frame, I guess.”
The elves grumbled as if even this was too much effort. Cassie swiped his credit card, the bell on the end of her hat jingling.
Mrs. Meriwether stifled a sigh and scampered toward Emily. “Any luck?” she whispered.
Emily stared at her. It had only been twenty-four hours, and the elves had barely spoken to her. Everything she did seemed to amuse them—and not in a good way. “I’m trying,” she said.
After the elves rang up the man, practically shoving the frame at him and shooing him away, they all collapsed on the plushy reindeer sofa next to the gingerbread house as though they’d completed a twenty-four-hour shift in the emergency room.
“I think it’s time for Starbucks,” Cassie announced breathlessly. “I don’t know about you guys, but my head’s about to explode from all of this Christmas music.”
“Agreed,” Lola said.
The four girls grabbed their bags from behind a snowman-shaped podium and let themselves out through the white picket-fence gate.
“Guys, wait,” Emily protested, hating how whiny her voice sounded. “We have more customers.” She gestured to the huge line of kids waiting to talk to Santa.
Lola glanced blankly at the customers, as if she’d just noticed them. Heather and Sophie continued walking. “Oh well,” Cassie said, linking elbows with the other girls and pulling them in the direction of Starbucks.
“Why don’t you ring them up, Santa?” Heather called over her shoulder. “Mrs. Meriwether would love you for that.”
“Santa and Mrs. Claus, sittin’ in a tree!” Cassie trilled.
They burst into giggles and skipped away, taking a moment to knock over the giant inflatable bottle of AminoSpa vitamin drink that stood in front of the kiosk in the middle of the promenade.
Emily pressed her fist into the Santa throne, hoping one of the giant foil stars that hung from the mall’s ceiling would fall on the elves’ heads. How was she going to befriend these girls? What would Ali do in this type of situation? Play by their rules? Make herself invaluable? Then again, Ali would never get in this situation.
Sighing deeply, she beckoned the line of kids to move forward. A little boy and girl climbed on Emily’s lap and looked up at her with hopeful expressions. “And what would you like for Christmas?” Emily asked them, trying to sound chipper.
“I want to see the silver panther show in Atlantic City,” the boy piped up. “It’s supposed to be really, really awesome.”
“And I want to go to Atlantic City to gamble,” the girl added, pronouncing it as one word, LantiCity.
“I think you’re a little too young to gamble,” Emily said, eyeing the kids’ mom, who was typing obliviously on her iPhone.
The little girl’s mouth made an upside-down U. “I’m not too young! My mom said I could play the slots!”
The line slowly dwindled and the elves returned from Starbucks. Not that they did any work. Heather slipped a pair of Bose headphones over her ears and ate a couple of candy canes out of the wicker basket on the checkout counter. Sophie chatted with one of the Aéropostale workers. Lola slipped around the corner of the gingerbread house to take a phone call. “So you’re going to be gone for four days?” she said to someone on the other line. “No, it’s fine, Mom. I said it’s fine. It’s just, like, I think there’s something wrong with the car, and . . .” She trailed off. “No, I understand. Rocco needs you. I got it.”