Ho-Ho-NOOO! (3 page)

“Christmas. It's only 6 days, 2 hours, 6 minutes, and 46 seconds from now.” (Violet liked to be precise.)

“No way!” TJ cried in alarm. “It can't be!”

“You're right.” Violet rechecked her watch. “It is now 6 days, 2 hours, 6 minutes, and 41 seconds.” (See what I mean?)

TJ couldn't believe it. She'd been so caught up in all her junior-high migraine makers that she hadn't even noticed it was December. It would have helped to have a few clues . . . like maybe a little less sunshine or the temperature dropping below 70 degrees. Still, if she'd been paying attention, she'd have noticed that the beach babes had changed from SPF 69 to SPF 41.

“I'm getting him an 82-inch plasma TV and installing it right in his bedroom,” Violet said snootily. Violet didn't try to sound snooty; it just came naturally. “What are you getting him?”

“Something better than that,” TJ said. TJ didn't try to compete with her sister . . . it just came naturally.

“Yeah?” Violet asked. “Like what?”

“Like . . . well, uh . . . it's a surprise!”

“Right,” Violet snorted and went back to coloring her money thermometer.

“What? You don't think I can give Daddy a better gift than you?” TJ asked.

“Actually,” Violet said, “I don't think you can do anything better than me.”

TJ could feel her insides churning. She knew it would do no good to argue with her sister. Violet always thought she was right. To make matters worse, Violet always
was
right. (Well, except that one time when she thought she was wrong.) But she couldn't help saying, “Oh yeah?”

Violet gave no answer.

TJ pushed up her glasses and repeated, “Oh yeah?”

“Listen,” Violet said, “don't take it personally. It's in our DNA. I got all of Mom's and Dad's brains and you got all of . . . all of . . . Well, I'm sure you got something. I mean it's not like you were adopted.” She hesitated, then turned to TJ. “Were you?”

If TJ was mad before, she was outraged now. So outraged that she returned to her favorite argument. “Oh yeah?”

Violet sighed. “Haven't we already had this discussion?”

TJ wanted to fire back with a classy put-down, but somehow she knew another “oh yeah” wouldn't do the trick.

“Guys?”

They both turned to see their youngest sister, Dorie, standing in the doorway. She was as cute as a button and almost as small.

“Can I borrow some markers?”

“Hey, Squid,” TJ said. “Why are you out of bed?”

“I'm working on Daddy's Christmas gift.”

“You too?” TJ groaned.

“Uh-huh,” Dorie said. “I'm making him a tie clasp.” Her face beamed with excitement. “I already found the clothespin. Now I just need to color it with markers.”

“You're giving Dad a clothespin for Christmas?” TJ asked.

Dorie shook her head. “No. I'm giving him a clothespin
colored with markers
for Christmas.”

“I see.” TJ smiled. She always smiled when she talked with Dorie. Of course she tried to hide it. After all, Dorie was a younger sister, and younger sisters are supposed to irritate older sisters. (It's like a law or something.) So TJ just tousled Dorie's hair and said, “Let's head to my room to see if I have any.”

“Yippee!” Dorie said as she skipped into the hallway.

But even as they headed toward her room, TJ's mind raced back to Dad. She had to get him something. Granted, she had no money, but somehow the gift had to be bigger and better than Violet ever dreamed.

Unfortunately, some dreams turn into nightmares—especially with help from the 23rd century.

TIME TRAVEL LOG:

Malibu, California, December 19

Begin Transmission

Subject applied for first job. A gonzo success thanks to Tuna's incredibly smart brain, my incredibly good looks, and our incredible incredibleness.

End Transmission

All night long, TJ tossed and turned, worrying about what gift to get Dad. Finally she had her solution: a nice, big wad of cash . . . exactly one dollar more than the cost of Violet's big-screen TV. There
was
the slight problem of being totally broke, but she could get an after-school job. After all, it was Christmastime. Plenty of stores needed help at Christmas.

Now it's true, somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a whisper that Christmas just might be more than gifts and money. But the next day, as she headed down the school hallway with Naomi Simpletwirp, it was quickly forgotten.

“Isn't this (
click-clack
) something?” Naomi said.

The
click-clack
came from the breath mint Naomi chewed. (Naomi lived in constant fear of bad breath.) And the
something
she spoke of was the student lockers—each and every one decorated to the max for Christmas.

“Wow” was all TJ could say.

“Yeah (
clack-click
), it's a tradition around here. Everyone tries to beat everyone else for the best-decorated locker.”

TJ nodded as she noticed a techno geek's locker to their left. Besides the standard flashing lights (in perfect sync to “Jingle Bells”), the entire locker door had been replaced by a 3D video panel of Santa Claus

his heart out in THX surround sound.

Next to this was some goth chick's locker. It was draped in black velvet, covered in dripping red paint (at least TJ hoped it was paint), and had almost as many rivets punched into the door as the girl had in her ears—arranged, of course, to look like a Christmas tree.

“This is amazing,” TJ said as she ducked a remote-controlled sleigh and reindeer flying overhead. “You guys really go all out.”

“Sure do,” Naomi said. She finished off her breath mint and dug into her purse for breath spray. “Christmas is like a major religion here.”

TJ was surprised.
Religion
was not exactly a word she associated with the kids of Malibu Junior High. “Are you sure about that?” she asked.

“Sure, I'm sure,” Naomi said as they passed a locker with a snowman made from real snow in front of it. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't see any religious decorations,” TJ said. “You know, like baby Jesus in the manger or the three wise men or—?”

“Who would buy that stuff?”

“Buy?”
TJ asked.

“If nobody buys it, what's it got to do with Christmas?”

TJ frowned. There had to be an answer there, somewhere, but before she could find it, Naomi changed subjects. “So what do you think Doug is going to get me?”

“I don't know,” TJ said as they passed a Christmas tree with giant glass ornaments shaped like diamonds (at least she thought they were glass).

“Well, it better be something expensive,” Naomi said as she gave up on the breath spray and began searching for a toothbrush and toothpaste. “
Real
expensive.”

“Why expensive?” TJ asked.

“
Hello?
Because it's Christmas.”

TJ nodded, once again remembering how broke she was and how she had to find work. “Listen,” she asked, “you don't know someplace I can get a job, do you?”

“What do you need a job for?”

“Extra money.”

“Just use your credit card.”

TJ looked at her friend and blinked. “You have your own credit card?”

“Hello?”
Naomi said. “This is Malibu, California.”

Of course; what was she thinking? “But what if I, you know, don't have one yet? Any idea how I could get some real money?”

“Real money?” Naomi scowled. The concept was obviously new to her. “Well . . . there's Bags Fifth Avenue department store. They always hire people for the holidays.”

“Fantastic,” TJ said as they stepped around a miniature ice rink, complete with mechanical skating penguins (at least she thought they were mechanical). “Bags Fifth Avenue. I'll go there right after school.”

“Hm, what an interesting idea,” Hesper Breakahart said as she munched on her half stick of celery.

“Oh yes, very interesting,” all the Hesper wannabes echoed as they munched on their own half sticks of celery.

Chad Steel looked across the lunch table in stunned silence. Normally the only ideas his girlfriend thought were interesting were her own. But for some reason, she actually thought
he
might have one.

“So, tell me more.” Hesper munched.

“That's right; tell us more.” Her wannabes munched.

Chad explained, “Every Christmas Eve my church goes out to the homeless and serves them Christmas dinner. This year I thought maybe you could join us. You know, as a TV celebrity, you might draw attention to the cause.”

Hesper frowned. “Homeless people, you say?”

“Right.”

“Will they bathe first?”

“Yes,” her wannabes asked, “will they bathe?”

“I'm not sure,” Chad said.

“Hm,” Hesper replied.

“Hm,” her wannabes said.

Then, before Chad could explain how important her presence might be, Hesper's face lit up. “Well, I think that's a super fantastic idea.” Turning to the girls, she asked, “Don't you?”

“Oh yes. Super fantastic.”

Chad was both pleased and alarmed. Pleased because Hesper had agreed to something that hadn't been her idea. Alarmed because Hesper never did anything for others—unless it made her the center of attention. (She not only liked being the star of her own TV show; she liked being the star of everyone's lives.)

Still, people could change, couldn't they? Besides, how could spending Christmas Eve feeding the homeless possibly turn into something only about Hesper?

But even as Chad thought that thought, he thought that thinking that thought might be a little thoughtless.

TRANSLATION:
He should have known better.

After school, TJ headed to Bags Fifth Avenue to apply for a job. She'd already swung by Dad's office to get written permission from him, and now she was ready to go to work. The only problem was, so were 3,407 other people. (Well, maybe not that many, but close.) In fact, when she entered the employees' lounge, she counted at least six other people . . . all on their best behavior, wearing their best clothes, and sporting perfect white smiles.

(What is it with Californians and perfect white smiles?)

Anyway, TJ grabbed an application form and had started filling it out when a large woman (at least she thought it was a woman) entered the room. TJ guessed her to be either the store's assistant manager, a Marine corps drill sergeant, or the star of the next King Kong movie. And she had some sort of weird accent.

“All right,” the manager/sergeant/ape bellowed, “lizten up!”

Everyone smiled their perfect smiles a little more perfectly.

“We've only got one opening left, for zee pozition of Zanta'z helper. I am not wazting time interviewing each of you. Inztead, you will anzwer my queztionz here and now.”

“Cool,” TJ heard a voice beside her say.

She turned to see Herby floating cross-legged to her right. “Oh no,” she groaned.

“Oh yes,” Tuna said, floating at her other side.

“Guys,” she whispered, “why are you here?”

Tuna explained, “We've come to assist you in securing the job you want.”

Herby added, “Even though your reasons are majorly zworked.”

“I told you I wanted to do stuff on my own,” TJ whispered.

“All right!” the manager bellowed. “I want everyone on zeir feet.”

Everyone rose and stood in a row . . . while Herby reached for the Swiss Army Knife.

“Herby,” TJ hissed.

“Quiet!” the manager barked.

TJ watched from the corner of her eye as Herby opened a blade she had never seen before.

“You!” The woman pointed at the first girl—a pretty redhead in her late teens. “What'z your name?”

The girl cleared her throat and cranked up her smile. As she did, TJ heard the knife's blade begin to quietly

A faint blue light glowed around it and quickly spread throughout the room.

“Herby . . .,” she whispered.

“Don't worry, Your Dude-ness. It's just an old-fashioned Truth Glow.”

“A what?”

Before he could respond, the redhead answered, “My name is Julie Stealublind.”

The assistant manager leaned into her face. “Why are you qualified for zee job?”

“Because I'm a great shoplifter,” the girl said. “I'll steal all kinds of stuff and sell it on eekBay.” She threw her hands over her mouth in astonishment.

“You zink zat's funny?” the manager demanded.

“Oh no, ma'am, it's not funny—it's the truth.” The girl's eyes widened in horror as she continued talking. “I do this every year.” Desperately, she tried to close her mouth, but it just kept on moving. “Last Christmas I made over a thousand dollars by ripping off the drugstore down the street. And the year before that, it was the bookstore around the corner. And the year before that—”

“Zilence!” the manager roared.

The girl came to a stop. She gave the manager a pathetic little shrug, followed by a pathetic little smile.

The manager slowly raised her hand and pointed toward the door. “Out.”

The girl nodded, grabbed her stuff, and raced for the exit.

“Pretty outloopish, huh?” Herby whispered.

“What about you?” the manager shouted at the next person. He was a high school kid whose arms sported more ink than the
L.A. Times
.

“I'm here to check out the babes,” he answered. “You know, get their phone numbers and stuff.” He stopped, as shocked at what he'd said as the redhead.