Sun-Kissed Christmas (Summer)

More Summer Fun!

Beach Blondes

Spring Break

Tan Lines

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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First Simon Pulse paperback edition October 2010

Copyright © 1996 by Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc and Katherine Applegate

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Designed by Tom Daly

The text of this book was set in Bembo Standard.

Manufactured in the United States of America

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Library of Congress Control Number 2010922985

ISBN 978-1-4169-9397-1

ISBN 978-1-4424-0959-0 (eBook)

To Michael

Deck the Halls with Vows of Folly

On December nineteenth, on a sweltering Florida afternoon, Summer Smith decided to boycott Christmas.

If she could have canceled the whole shebang, she would have, but as far as she knew, that was a power reserved for Santa or Congress, or maybe the Toy Manufacturers Association of America. So she simply vowed to cancel her own personal Christmas, to let it pass unremarked, just another day on the December calendar.

For a girl who flossed nightly, wrote polite thank-you notes the day after her birthday, and always used turn signals when changing lanes, this was a radical move.

But as she stood in the Christmas tree lot late that afternoon, Summer knew she’d made the right decision. Sure, all the standard signs of Christmas were in evidence—things that usually filled her with anticipation. The sharp, piney scent of the trees. The string of Christmas lights, blinking erratically like an out-of-practice chorus line. Santa, cheerfully waving to passersby.

Unfortunately, the scent of pine was nearly overpowered by the smell of coconut oil wafting over from the beach. The lights were dangling off palm trees. And Santa was wearing Ray-Bans and a pair of bright red swim trunks.

In Minnesota, where Summer came from, self-respecting Santas did not wear Ray-Bans. In Minnesota, they put lights on evergreens. In Minnesota, the powers that be had the decency to provide a nice, thick blanket of snow. Sometimes several blankets. Mattresses, even.

With a sigh, Summer grabbed a small, spindly tree, shorter than she was, not to mention thinner. When she shook it, brown needles rained down like dandruff. It matched her mood perfectly.

“This is, without a doubt, bar none, the most pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree I have ever seen,” Marquez, Summer’s best friend, pronounced.

“It is, isn’t it,” Summer said, looking pleased.

“I was wrong. That’s not a tree,” Marquez continued. “That is a twig with delusions of grandeur.”

Summer motioned to her cousin, Diana. “I need a second opinion.”

Diana rolled her eyes. “You want a second opinion? Call Dr. Kevorkian.”

“Fine. Whatever. Forget it.” Summer said. “Let’s just put some tinsel on that dying philodendron in the kitchen. But the way, I am officially quitting Christmas.”

Marquez and Diana exchanged a “yeah, right” look.

“You can’t quit Christmas,” Diana informed her. “It’s just one of those things. Like SATs and periods.”

Summer leaned her tree against the fence. “What’s the point? Let’s face it, this Christmas is going to be a dud for all three of us. Our families are spread all over the place. There’s no snow, which, I’m sorry, is so completely
not
merry. We’re all broke—” She glanced at her cousin. “Well, two of us are, anyway. All these trees are half dead. Santa’s wearing swim trunks and he’s got a tattoo on his calf. Did I mention there’s not even, like, one flake of snow? And oh, yeah. I’m flunking out of my first semester of college.”

Marquez draped her arm around Summer’s shoulders. “Summer, you got two A’s, a B-plus, and a B. That does not constitute flunking out. If it does, I’d better apply to that Sally Struthers trucking school,
because I am in major academic trouble.”

“I took an incomplete,” Summer reminded her glumly as they wandered down another row of trees.

“Which you’re going to finish up this week,” Diana said. She paused to check out a tall pine with long, droopy needles. “You’re just going through withdrawal, Summer. You’ve been on this extended school high all semester, and now that you’ve finished exams you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

Summer examined a wreath wrapped with a red bow. She crushed some of the pine needles between her fingers to release the scent. Unfortunately, the needles were made of plastic. She sighed. “Maybe you’re right, Diana. It was a pretty great semester overall. Maybe I’m just feeling a little let down.”

Let down and a little lost—that was the truth. Now that exams were over, Summer had time to think about things that she’d really rather not think about. Such as the fact that her parents had split up and were spending Christmas apart for the first time in more than twenty years. Such as the fact that Austin Reed had found a new girlfriend.

Marquez pointed out a tree. “How about this one? It’s not too shabby.”

“Are you sure you want to bother?” Summer asked.

“We have to,” Marquez said. “It’s part of the magic of the holidays.”

“I sort of feel sorry for mine now,” Summer said. “It’s like we rejected it.”

Marquez rolled her eyes at Diana. “Oh, let her get the twig. She’s vulnerable,” Marquez said. “Summer takes Christmas very seriously.”

“Not anymore,” Summer argued.

“Are you not the person who suggested—in the middle of exams—that we try making our own candy canes from scratch?” Marquez shook her head so hard her dark curls bounced. “I mean, really. Who knew you could actually
cook
them?”

“Where did you think they came from?”

“I thought they harvested them. Candy cane farms somewhere snowy. Finland or Latvia. Or your native land, Minne-so-dead.”

“I was just trying to get you two into the spirit,” Summer said. “Which I’ve now officially given up on.”

“Uh-huh. This from the girl who’s seen every Christmas movie ever made and forced us to sit through them?
White Christmas
.
Miracle on 34th Street
.
It’s a Wonderful Life
, like seventeen times in a row.”

“Three times,” Summer corrected. “It’s a holiday classic. Look, let’s just grab a tree and go, okay? I need to get some work done on my history project. My overdue, incomplete, probably-will-get-an-F-minus project. Did I mention there’s no snow in this town?”