T’is the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature is stirring not even a –
Clink. Rattle. Rattle-rattle. Clink-rattle-rattle-bang.
See, this is why I wish Mum’d take up reckless alcoholism like the other school mothers. There’d be empty bottles lying everywhere, and empty bottles make for perfect weapons, say, against intruders.
Clink. Rattle. Rattle-rattle.
I have to make do with the only thing I can find: a leopard-print umbrella that, when opened, looks exactly like my stepmum.
Not to sound mean or anything…
Gripping the umbrella tightly, I head in the kitchen’s direction. One foot slowly extended in front of the other, stepping away from Girl Overcomes Mother’s Alcoholism And Wounds Intruderand closer toward the impending and far less impressive Girl With Normal Mother and Quirky Umbrella Stabbed By Armed Intruder.
Clink-clink. Rattle. Rattle-rattle.
I flick the kitchen light switch, umbrella raised menacingly, or at least, as menacingly as you can raise a leopard-print umbrella. I stare at the seventeen-year-old girl trying to break in. She stops clawing at the window. Pulling her hands back, the jingle bell bracelets scaling one arm clink triumphantly. She smiles. I stare. She waves. Clink-clink-clink. I stare.
I never picked Katie Watson for the festive kind of person. With the Santa’s hat, the tinsel scarf, the novelty red-and-white nightie and Mistletoe earrings, she looks like Santa’s secret sex slave.
I lower the umbrella. Girl With Normal Mother and Quirky Umbrella Overreacts and Feels a Little Stupid.
What was life like before Katie Watson? It was a simpler time. I remember… slow-motion skipping in wheat fields, sunshine and children laughing…
‘Well, you gunna let me in, Courtney?’ Katie asks. Clink.
I have this horrible feeling that it’s gunna be a long night…
*
I open the courtyard door and whisper, ‘What are you doing here?’
Katie steps into the lounge room, clinking festively. True to form, she ignores my question. ‘When did you change the window?’
‘Last week.’ I lock the door and turn to face her. ‘We figured you’d just realise we had a front door, and that we like guests to use it.’
Katie’s used my front door three times, four tops.
‘Now,’ she says, slurring like a courageous Dutchman, ‘you might be wondering why I’m all dressed up like this.’
‘I’m wondering many things, yes,’ I say, detecting a hint of courage on her breath. ‘You’re too cynical for Christmas.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she says, swaying slightly (clink-clink), ‘too cynical for Christmas, but not Katemas.’
‘Isn’t that what you called your birthday party this year?’
In fact, she had. You see, just before her seventeenth birthday, Katie Watson had found God. Not in a born-again, padlocked panties kind of way, but no, in an I’m-going-to-take-my-narcissism-to-dizzying-new-heights kind of way. She proclaimed herself the Second Coming. Naturally, she giggled when she heard herself proclaim it aloud.
She founded the Church of Katieology. For the first lunchtime meeting, Katie managed to fill half a classroom. The promise of light refreshments doubled attendance at the second. By the third, disciples spilled out into the corridor. By the fourth, she had the sense to charge admittance.
‘I do not recall this Katemas of which you speak,’ Katie says.
Like all good religious leaders, Katie had exploited the faithful, each showering her with lavish gifts and helping prepare her backyard for the, and I quote, ‘bitching-est birthday party ever’. Insert disapproval here. See, she had promised them all a Katemas miracle. She was going to turn water into vodka.
So, everyone arrived with water bottles, ready to have their faith in the Great Breasted One validated. Katie had entrusted her brother Tim with the task to switch the bottles, but, bitter that his twin sister had once again made their shared birthday all about her, Tim did no such thing. When she failed to turn the donated water into vodka, the crowd turned on her, and more unfortunately for Katie, they took back their lavish gifts.
Katie found comfort in the water bottles filled with vodka intended for the switch. This could account for the memory loss.
‘Anyway, I like to dress up for Christmas Eve shenanigans,’ Katie explains. ‘I replace the year’s ex-boyfriends’ best presents with black coal. It’s Katemas, a tradition.’
I raise both eyebrows. ‘A tradition?’
‘One I’m starting now,’ she says. She grips the couch for balance and smiles. ‘And I need your help. Tim and I have been doing it all night, but this one’s the trickiest.’
‘You roped Tim into this?’ There’s a shock.
‘He said he wouldn’t be caught dead roaming the streets with Santa’s fourth ho, so I buttered him up with a laptop.’
‘Well… as tempting as running around trading people’s presents for coal sounds, I think I’m good… and “fourth ho”?’
Katie shrugs. ‘I don’t get it either. Come on. Please.’
‘I –’
‘I brought you a costume.’ She pulls off her Santa’s hat and dangles it in front of me. Clink.
‘Really, I –’
Katie sighs. ‘Okay, your pick: PlayStation 3 or a premium golf club set?’
‘They’re other people’s presents!’ I protest, before considering the fact that I mightn’t like these people. ‘Whose presents would these have been?’
‘Ryan Roy or Kieran Chu.’
‘Well, I… No! This is wrong, I can’t and – Kieran Chu?’
‘Yeah, he does my Maths homework for me.’ Well, that solves the five-year-long mystery of how she’s retained a spot in the top Maths class. ‘Surprisingly good kisser.’ Ew.
Katie pouts gives me her puppy-dog eyes. Oh no… now she’s gunna bring out –
‘Pwease?’
Yep. There it is. Elmer Fudd. She knows I can’t say ‘no’ to Elmer Fudd. And whoa, she should notmake that face when she’s been drinking. Her right puppy-dog eye is twitching.
‘Well,’ I say, ‘since they’ve both obviously broken your heart…’
‘Broken, oh, so broken.’
‘I’ll come along.’ I slide my feet into the closest pair of thongs.
‘Yes!’ she squeals. She claps, or rather, clinks.
‘But don’t think for a second that I’m proud of myself,’ I say, unlocking the courtyard door and pulling it open. I step out. ‘And I won’t take someone else’s present. Unless, you know, you force me or something.’
‘The PlayStation?’ Katie asks, carefully closing the door behind herself.
‘I guess so. If you insist.’
*
Tim’s silver tinsel scarf glimmers under the street light. It’s funny, the corny stuff you notice when you’re deliriously tired, recovering from the anxiety of thinking your house is getting broken into, and it’s almost Christmas. He’s standing on the street corner. By his feet, two sacks filled with presents. This begs the question: Just how many boyfriends can someone rack up in a year?
Now, while Katie might’ve lost the ability to surprise me, her brother had not. Of all the ways I expected him to spend Christmas Eve, partaking in shenanigans with his sister wasn’t the last thing on the list, it wasn’t on the list at all. Katie’s worn me down over time, what with the Waah-Waahs, the constant sexcapades, the Real Teensstuff, founding her own religion… after all that, things like Katemas and finding out about her ongoing fling with State Mathletics Champion Kieran Chu don’t even register as wacky. They feel normal. That scares me a little bit.
Tim, on the other hand, he’s above this sort of thing. He was their mum’s uterus’ attempt to balance the universe. With every Katie must come a Tim. Katie is vice-ridden. Tim is virtuous. Katie sneaks into movie theatres. Tim pays for your ticket. For every cuss-word, racial slur, booze-fuelled night of Katie’s, Tim balances it with a ‘thank you’, an apology, a liver detox health kit.
He’s the nice guy. He gets the grades, not the girls. He’s the silent good Samaritan, and every good deed goes unrewarded. He’s genealogically destined to clean up after her, to right her wrongs, or at least, it seemed like he was. What began as acting out of disapproval for his sister’s actions has evolved into acting out of spite. Take not switching the water with vodka for example. He watched on gleefully as angered disciples ordered, ‘Stacks on Katie!’ Her (masterful) back-up to ‘flash ’em some tit’ if all didn’t go according to plan with the miracle only made the disciples more eager for the stacks-on. I’d pulled her off her makeshift stage before something bad happened, but watching Katie’s evil scheme come undone, that was Tim’s reward.
He’s silently frustrated with the life of the nice guy. He wants the girls, not the grades. So he’s beginning to act out. His tongue’s more acidic, he’s coming out for shenanigans, all for a taste of the rewarding life of the bad guy. Laptop included.
Or at least, that’s what I think. I could be way off. He’s usually right though. Ask him.
Now, having clearly expected a more conventional exit via the front door, Tim isn’t facing us. He reaches around and adjusts the back of his underwear.
Katie clears her throat. Her brother stiffens and turns to face us.
‘And on the first day of April, God created the skinny-leg jean,’ he narrates in a booming biblical voice. ‘Unfortunately, nobody got the joke.’
‘Nice save,’ I say, pecking his cheek. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Katemas,’ Katie corrects, reaching into one of the sacks and pulling out a packet of chips.
‘Sorry, Katemas,’ I correct, eyebrow raised and tongue planted firmly in cheek. ‘Which house is next, Rudolph?’
Tim laughs. ‘It’s because she has a red nose.’
‘I resent that!’ Katie licks her lips and lowers the Smirnoff bottle back into the packet of chips and the packet back into the sack. ‘Our last target lives in the next suburb.’
Tim and I both glance at each other. We’re both thinking it. I say it, ‘Not Jake!’
‘Mayhaps,’ Katie replies. She spins around. Clink. ‘And we’re off!’
And we’re off… surprisingly enough. Tim sighs heavily and lifts the sacks. His sister takes the lead, partly because she wants to take control of what are technically her shenanigans, and partly because she just saw a cat up ahead and wants to scare it.
‘You know, only my sister can make a holiday about giving and receiving into one of revenge and general hate,’ Tim says.
I consider making a pun about giving and receiving and general promiscuity, but Tim beats me to the punch.
‘Ew,’ I say. I figure this is as good a time as any to find out his motives. If my nice guy’s going rogue. ‘So… why are you helping out with the revenge and general hate?’
Tim’s silent for a moment. That’s never a good sign. Turns out he just had to readjust his grip on one of the sacks, but once that’s sorted, he speaks.
‘Well, look,’ he says, gesturing toward his sister, who’s tiptoeing toward the seemingly-asleep cat, ‘I didn’t want her wandering the streets alone looking like that and after she’d been drinking.’
The cat growls.
Tim continues, ‘She came to me and asked for me to come with her, that’s a big part of it too.’
The cat pounces.
‘I mean, you’ve got your lover boy, I’ve got books, Katie must feel, well, unneeded, lonely. She’s had so many flings this year, the holidays must just remind her that nobody can stand spending more than a night with her.’
Katie’s clutching her ankle and screaming profanities at the cat, which is prancing smugly across the street.
‘A little harsh, but I see what you’re getting at,’ I say. See? I said I could be way off. ‘I thought you were living out some suppressed urge to be the bad boy, but you’re just doing a nice thing for your sister, both would’ve been equally surprising.’
‘A Christmas miracle,’ he whispers through a slight smirk.
‘A Katemas miracle,’ I correct.
*
Jake Potter’s made a name for himself at St Boniface’s as the kid without parents. They’re serial globetrotters, making brief appearances every so often to appease the Department of Child Services. Like most teenagers with a free house two hundred-plus days of the year, Jake has a penchant for throwing parties. There are the weekly ‘Today is Friday’ gatherings, but then there are the big ones, the special occasions, the birthdays, the nights before Christmas, when all through the house, all the creatures are –
‘Ow, yuck,’ I squeal, turning away from what Tim’s pointing at.
I just wanna get out of here. I mean, we should be able to. We did everything Katie asked.
We got in. That was hard enough. It’s a costume couples party, so, one arm around Tim’s waist and my head resting on his shoulder, I had to convince the snobby camel at the door that my pink pyjamas, thongs and Santa’s hat added up to Mrs Claus and that Tim’s tinsel scarf was something. You can imagine how unimpressed the girl lumbering around in a camel suit was with our attempts, but she eventually let us in.
We opened the window in the dining room, just as Katie had asked. That’s her way in and out.
And we’ve waited. She said she’d call when she was done. And we’re still waiting. We’ve sought refuge in the kitchen and taken to silently judging everyone in the adjoining room, but more than enough time for her to sneak in, switch the present and leave has passed.
I tell Tim this.
‘She’s probably passed out outside,’ he replies, sipping his drink. He’d made the wrong assumption that the punch was non-alcoholic.
‘Court, Timmy!’
Oh, crud. The deep beach bogan groan, the six-beer I’m-happy-to-see-anyone-now shout, that means only one thing…
‘Jake!’ we both say through the same fake grin as we turn to face him.
He’s wearing a Christmas stocking taped to cover his naughty bits. Barf.
‘You’re a couple?’ he asks, twisting the bottle cap off his beer with his bicep.
‘Oh, God no,’ I laugh.
‘Ouch?’
I turn to Tim. ‘I have a boyfriend.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t have to sound so happy about it,’ he whimpers.
‘Enough punch for you.’ I snatch the cup out of Tim’s hands, turn back to Jake and smile. ‘So… how are things? Great party. Really… classy.’
‘Is Katie here?’ he asks.
I love it, as long as you smile, no-one ever picks up on the sarcasm.
‘Nah, I don’t really think she’d wanna spend time with her ex on Christmas Eve.’
Jake raises both eyebrows. ‘Who’s her ex?’
‘Who isn’t?’ Tim jokes.
‘You’re her ex,’ I say. Seriously, how much has this guy had?
He laughs. ‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. That’s why we’re… oh.’
‘Ha! You’re so drunk you don’t know what you’re saying!’ Jake says, reaching over and ruffling my hair a bit. ‘And here’s me thinking you two were stuck up and moral.’
It dawns on me. The sacks full of presents we’ve stashed in the bushes outside… It isn’t humanly possible to date so many people in a year. Katie isn’t getting even with exes. She’s stealing from randoms. I mean, Kieran Chu? Seriously?
‘Shit,’ I whisper.
‘Ho! And she swears too!’ Jake says, clapping excitedly. ‘Effing ace, dude!’
‘Where are your presents?’ I ask.
‘Wah?’
I repeat the question, louder.
‘Inside under the tree, d’uh,’ the host says. ‘Why?’
I don’t answer. I charge past him, the Christmas tree in my sights. I part the sea of couples, who are – oh, gross. I cover my eyes with one hand and feel my way blindly with the other–
‘Ow, you poked me in the eye!’
‘Sorry.’
I eventually feel a Christmas ornament. I pull my hand off my eyes and reach for the closest, largest present. It’s from his parents.
‘What’s doin’?’ Jake asks behind me.
I twist around, poorly wrapped present in my hands.
‘She’s stolen your present,’ I say.
‘What? No, I can see the box through the wrapping. The PlayStation’s in there.’
I sigh. ‘No, the box is in there, but it’s filled with black coal,’ I explain. ‘Katemas.’
That didn’t make sense to Jake. The look he’s giving me, it’s asking me what I’m on, and if he can have some.
‘Look, I’ll show you,’ I say. ‘It’s coal. Listen.’
And I throw the wrapped box hard against the floor. It doesn’t sound like coal in a box. It sounds like ridiculously expensive piece of electronic equipment thrown hard against the floor. And the ridiculously expensive piece of electronic equipment didn’t like it.
I glance up at Jake and force a smile. ‘Whoops?’
Tim and I make for the window we left open for Katie.
*
Katie isn’t waiting for us at the designated meeting place. The presents aren’t in the bushes any more either. Looks like she’s left with them, and that’s a good thing, too. Less to carry as we run away from a pretty pissed – both angered and liquored – Jake on our tails.
We sprint in my house’s general direction, and when we’re sure we’ve lost him, we slow to a brisk walk. While I’m trying to get through to Katie, constantly redialling her number, Tim’s marvelling at the resilience of his skinny-leg jeans.
‘I mean, I was expecting some tearing and a loss of social status the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Marcus Whale went tinkle during Reading time in Year Two,’ he says. ‘I seriously thought they’d make it hard for me to run.’
‘Nope, they’ll only make it hard for you to father children,’ I say, trying Katie’s number again.
‘She’s not answering her phone,’ Tim says. ‘Give up. This is what happens when you try to do something nice for her, she ditches you.’
‘And on Katemas, too. Tut tut.’ I hand Tim back his phone.
‘I can’t believe you broke his PlayStation.’
‘You don’t know I broke it.’
‘It sounded like you did.’
‘Shut up.’
I probably should have brought my key with me when we left, something I only think of as I help Tim over the fence. His jeans may have withstood a few streets’ worth of sprinting, but they didn’t agree with climbing. He finally gets over, and I follow.
Katie’s waiting for us in the living room. By waiting, I mean lying sprawled on my couch, snoring gently. The sacks of presents are by her side, and there are two wrapped presents on the coffee table in front of her. One has my name texta’d on it, the other, Tim’s.
We each grab our ones. I don’t have to unwrap it to know exactly what it is. One, she told me, and two, I threw a remarkably similar box not long ago.
‘So, she did all the present switcheroo stuff with me,’ Tim says, unwrapping his laptop. ‘She was never going to steal from Jake, because he isn’t her ex. The party was just a ruse to keep us occupied while she came back here and wrapped our Christmas presents.’
‘That seems like a really ridiculously complicated scheme with little to no payoff,’ I say.
It’s exactly the sort of scheme Katie’d think up and execute while drunk.
We both turn to face her. She snorts in her sleep.
‘She just wanted to do something nice for us,’ I say.
‘And you broke some douchebag’s PlayStation thinking she wasn’t. Tut tut.’ Tim taps his sister’s cheek a few times. ‘Come on, up you get. Gotta get you home.’
Katie groans and half-asleep and almost certainly five-sixths drunk, she tells her brother exactly where to stick it.
‘I don’t think she’s getting up any time soon,’ I say.
‘Great.’
‘Well, since you’re here… up for one last present switcheroo?’ I pat the box in my hand and smile.
‘Feeling guilty?’
‘He knows where I live.’
‘Ah.’
So, in the spirit of Katemas, Tim and I leave, via the front door this time, and head back to Jake Potter’s house. We dodge a flurry of projectiles as we cross his front lawn, but after flashing the PlayStation we come bearing, we’re let inside. We make the switch. Crossing the front lawn once more, this time to cheers and not boos, I glance back and exclaim, as we head out of sight, ‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.’
Shame everyone’s too drunk to hear and/or care about the reference.
Laura-Jayne are discussing. 
Steve Jones 4:27 pm on December 31, 2008 Permalink |
Hi William
We actually thought the book was so funny that it should be placed somewhere important. What would you know; people bought it!
regards
Steve kino
William Kostakis 7:39 pm on December 31, 2008 Permalink |
Brilliant. You are a god among lesser booksellers… mind putting Lola up the front some time?
Have a happy, healthy and prosperous new year.
William
Laura-Jayne 9:38 am on January 1, 2009 Permalink |
That’s like Oh my Gosh! ! !
What is it with Vampires? Seriously do people really like the thought of having a blood-sucking never dying human living near them that could kill them?!!
steve Jones 10:49 am on January 1, 2009 Permalink |
I will see what we can do; however I think it is funnier seeing you laugh at your own writing in the kids section. Meanwhile you need to write a vampire, werewolf, dragon romance; they could all fall for each other while working at Burger King. I will take a commission.
Enjoy the new year.
Steve Kino
William Kostakis 9:53 pm on January 1, 2009 Permalink |
I’ve considered writing a vampire romance series, but with absolute visionaries like Kerrelyn in the game, I don’t think I can compete. Coming up with the obligatory pun in the title is daunting enough, but I mean, the first sentence of ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS… contains the phrase “rampant lust”. I cannot compete with that.
Laura-Jayne 9:06 am on January 2, 2009 Permalink |
Hahahaha yeah gosh we don’t need another sad and retarded vampire story please
Laura XD 3:06 pm on January 2, 2009 Permalink |
I like Twilight. BEST BOOK EVER. ^_^
And the movie was good too.
I can’t wait for New Moon. LOL.
Anyway, I bought Loathing Lola and it was a really good book.
Fierce!Courtney was awesome. lmao.
Anyhoo, what I wanted to ask was: What does D’URG mean?
Because according to Courtney, whenever Jackson says something, Courtney calls it d’urg. WHUT?
j broc 5:50 pm on January 2, 2009 Permalink |
oh dear.
they are already planning to make them all into movies..
Aidan 7:17 pm on January 2, 2009 Permalink |
I am on the sofa watching 21, and as I laugh hysterically at this blog entry, my mother looks at me weirdly. XD.
William Kostakis 7:23 pm on January 2, 2009 Permalink |
21 is a horrible, horrible movie. It could certainly have used Kerrelyn’s magic touch.
Steph Bowe 9:08 am on January 7, 2009 Permalink |
The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button was great. Thank god that had no vampires, or else my tears would have been of laughter.
Teenage girls obviously like vampires. I honestly don’t understand. But then again, I think the Jonas Brothers look Jewish and Justine Timberlake is sleazy, so I must be out of touch with people my own age.
Meet The Spartans seems Oscar-winning next to Twilight.
Steph
http://stephbowe.livejournal.com