Ann Martin: Here Come The Bridesmaids

"Three small things," I replied. "I'm eleven years old. I'm a girl. And I'm black. Remember?"

"So?" Claudia said. "I'd do it if I could."

I raised my eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Right."

I should mention that when my family first moved to Stoneybrook, we felt like aliens.

Some people did not accept us at all.

"You shouldn't think about race," Claudia went on. "Kids aren't prejudiced the way grown-ups are."

"Besides, who says Santa can't be black?" asked Shannon.

"That’s true," I said. Besides, / always liked seeing African-American Santas in Oakley, New Jersey, where I grew up. Sure, that was a racially mixed town compared to Stoneybrook, but why shouldn't children of color here have someone to look up to? Not necessarily me, but —

"So you'll do it?" Stacey asked.

"I didn't say that!" I protested.

"Come on . . ." Shannon teased. "Think of those kids."

"It'd be fun," Mary Anne said.

It did sound like fun. Sort of.

I shrugged. "I don't know . . ."

"Yes!" Kristy shouted. "I knew she'd do it!"

"Wait!"

Too late. Stacey called back her mom, who said I should go for a fitting after the meeting.

Feeling numb, I called my dad and told him what had happened.

He roared with laughter. "That’s something I should be doing!"

"Would you?" I asked hopefully.

"I don't have the time, sweetheart. But I'll take you to Bellair's, if that’s what you want."

And that is how I, Jessica Ramsey, became a department store Santa Claus.

I arrived at Bellair's by 6:21. Mrs. McGill met me and took me to a locker room area. There I met a woman named Ms. Javorsky, who was in charge of fitting me.

She did not pass out when she saw me. She didn't even laugh. In fact, she seemed thrilled.

"You are a life saver, my dear," she said to me. "You have no idea how happy we are."

"You don't mind that I'm not . . ."

"A roly-poly old man with a beard and a jolly laugh?" Ms. Javorsky laughed. "Do you know how hard it is to get someone like that to volunteer on a weekend during the holidays? Last year's Santa was a high school boy with an earring and hair past his shoulders. He kept saying, 'Yo, what's up?' to the kids, instead of 'Ho, ho, ho.' "

"And you didn't mind?"

"Not at all. He was so charming, and the children adored him," Ms. Javorsky gave me a reassuring smile. "If the little ones see through the disguise, they just make up their own explanations — you're Santa's helper or something. And the big ones already know the truth anyway, so it doesn't matter who you are."

"I guess ..."

"Don't you worry. Now, up up up!"

She gestured to a small stool. I climbed it and she quickly took my measurements with a tape.

When she finished, she shook her head and chuckled. "Well, I'll be doing a lot of hemming. And you'll need plenty of padding. Okay, let's work a little on the delivery."

She pulled a fake beard and a hat off the shelf. I put them on and tried to jut out my belly.

I felt like a fool.

"Um, what do I ..."

"Hi, Santa!" Ms. Javorsky blurted out. "I'm so happy to meet you!"

"Uh, ho ho ho! What would you like this year?"

"Well, a Porsche would be nice," Ms. Javorsky replied with a grin.

"I'll have a little trouble getting that down the chimney," I said, stroking the beard. "How about some socks?"

Ms. Javorsky burst out laughing. "Perfect!"

"Really?" I said. "That’s all I need to do?" With a big grin, she held out her hand.

"Welcome to Bellair's, Santa!" That did it. I was psyched. Bellair's was

going to get the best Santa Claus they'd ever

seen!

Chapter 4.

Mallory.

It started out so innocently.

I was at Ben Hobart's house that Saturday. Ben's sort of my boyfriend. I mean, we don't exactly call each other boyfriend and girlfriend (I'm not sure why). But we do hang out and go to school dances together. And you know what? I even turned down a date with a really cute fifteen-year-old guy this past summer because of Ben.

If that's not boyfriend and girlfriend, I don't know what is.

Ben has a medium-size family. Well, to me it's medium. You might think otherwise. He has three younger brothers: James is eight, Mathew six, and Johnny four. All the Hobart boys have reddish-blond hair, round faces, and freckles.

You know what the cutest thing about them is? Their accents. They were born in Australia, and they say things like "hoi" for hi, "g'die" for good day, and "jumper" for sweater. Ben calls me "Mel-ry."

Anyway, we weren't doing anything special, just talking in the kitchen. Mr. Hobart was in the basement repairing something, Mrs. Hobart had gone off to do some errands, and Ben's brothers were running in and out of the house.

It was cloudy and pretty warm for a winter day. Even from the kitchen, I could hear neighborhood kids playing outside.

"Ben and Mel-ry sitting in a tree ..." James sang as he darted out the rec room and toward the back door.

"Watch it!" Ben shot back. "If you want anything for Christmas."

James turned and smirked at him. "You can't fool me with that anymore!"

He had this funny look on his face. I recognized it. It was saying, I know there's no Santa Claus, but I'm not going to say it, because my little brothers might hear. (As you might guess, I see this expression in my family a lot.)

"Yeah?" Ben said. "Well, don't forget, I buy presents, too, for people who deserve them."

James's smirk disappeared. "Sorry."

As he slunk out the door, Ben sighed. "Do you get presents for all your brothers and sisters?" '

I nodded. "I buy things here and there, all through the year — little things. Last year I got Claire a hole puncher and it was her favorite gift."

"Yeah?"

Johnny barged inside, screaming. Behind him was Jamie Newton, another four-year-old

who lives in the neighborhood. Jamie was making these timid little roaring noises and giggling.

A moment later, Mathew walked in with Myriah Perkins from next door. They were gabbing about some video game.

Ben and I tried to move away from the kitchen, but we couldn't. The kids kept asking for juice, snacks, and all sorts of things they couldn't reach.

Finally Ben suggested, "How about a big pot of hot chocolate?"

"Yeaaaaaaa!"

Ding-dong. As we were assembling the ingredients, the front doorbell rang. Mathew, Myriah, Johnny, and Jamie all ran to answer it.

It was Charlotte Johanssen and Becca Ramsey (Jessi's sister). "Hi, guys!" Becca called out. "Where's James?"

James ran in from the back, followed by Jake Kuhn. "Hi!" James greeted them. "Me and Jake found a birds' nest!"

"Let's see!"

The kids stampeded toward the back door. There they practically collided with Mr. Hobart, who had clomped up from the basement. "Well, well," he exclaimed. "Welcome

to the circus. Do your parents all know you're here?"

A chorus of yeses rang out.

"What about the hot chocolate?" I asked.

A door slam was my answer. Mr. Hobart shrugged and said, "Leave the window open. Soon as they smell it, they'll come running back."

He was right. And when they returned, Nina Marshall had joined them (she's four).

Now I felt at home. Nine kids.

You should have seen them. You'd think they hadn't eaten or drunk in weeks.

"Me first!"

"Give me some!"

"Quit pushing!"

Ben finally boomed, "Wait a minute! I'll serve whoever's sitting down!"

Zoom. Musical chairs. James, Jake, Johnny, Becca, Nina, and Myriah grabbed the six. kitchen chairs. Mathew scrambled into the dining room and dragged in two more chairs, while Charlotte got the piano bench for Jamie.

Ben thought this was hilarious. As he ladled the hot chocolate, he began singing, "Deck the halls with boughs of holly." (Ben loves to sing.)