At lunch, Jeffrey’s bowl of alphabet soup kept giving him messages. B-A-D. R-U-N. E-X-I-T. Even his soup seemed to know that trouble was coming to his house. In fact, it would be there as soon as his father got back from the bus station. He was bringing Wendy and Jonathan.
“She’s bossy,” Jeffrey said out loud.
“Because she’s a girl?” his mother replied with a smile.
Jeffrey stirred his soup. It spelled H-A-T-E.
“And he’s always trying to get me into trouble,” Jeffrey said.
“Jonathan is just like his father,” Jeffrey’s mom said. “He always had a mischievous sense of humor.”
“Mischievous? Mom, you could say the same thing about Darth Vadar! Why do you always look on the bright side of everything?”
They heard a car horn beep outside. Jeffrey’s heart told him that it was too late for any more arguments.
His mother started for the front door, but she paused to say, “Jeffrey, you promised to make the best of this situation. I expect you to keep your word.”
Jonathan came in first. He was a tall seventh-grader with a black leather jacket and black hair in a bristly haircut.
“Hey, Aunt Betsy,” Jonathan shouted, giving his aunt a crushing hug.
“Hello, Jonathan,” Mrs. Becker said, laughing and gasping for breath. “I can’t believe how big you are!”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “I’ve been taking growing lessons. Ha ha ha.” He whirled and faced Jeffrey. He jerked his fists up to fighting position. Jeffrey jumped back in surprise.
“Two for flinching. Ha ha ha!” said Jonathan. He gave Jeffrey two quick, light punches on the arm.
Wendy came to the door more cautiously. She was Jeffrey’s age, but Jeffrey thought she was always trying to act older. Wendy had straight dark hair. Her brightly colored down jacket looked like it had never seen snow.
“Hello, Aunt Betsy,” Wendy said. She walked in without hugging Mrs. Becker and said to Jeffrey, “Why don’t you have a holly wreath on your door? We put ours up a week ago.”
“We don’t put a holly wreath on the door,” Jeffrey said.
Wendy looked at Jeffrey as though he were something she’d found at the bottom of a garbage can.
“Come on, Wendy,” said Mrs. Becker. “I’ll show you where you’re staying.”
“I know where I’m staying,” Jonathan said. He grabbed his suitcases and charged up the stairs to Jeffrey’s room.
By the time Jeffrey got there, Jonathan had already moved in. His clothes were lying all over the place. A heavy-metal tape was blasting out of Jeffrey’s cassette player. And Jonathan had his feet on Jeffrey’s bed.
“Get off my bed,” Jeffrey said. “You’re sleeping in the sleeping bag.”
Jonathan stood up and picked up a soft, beat-up brown leather baseball mitt. It was an old one that Max had given Jeffrey. The mitt had the autographs of famous ball players from the fifties. It also seemed to have magic, too.
“Where’d you get this?” Jonathan asked.
“Put that down,” Jeffrey snapped.
“Hey, there’s writing on it,” Jonathan said, grabbing a pen from Jeffrey’s desk. “Think I’ll sign my name, too. Ha ha ha ha!”
Jeffrey grabbed the mitt from his cousin.
“It was a joke,” Jonathan said. “Lighten up, okay?”
Jonathan pretended to play guitar along with the loud music. Jeffrey looked around his room for things he wanted to hide.
“Listen,” Jonathan said. “I want to be here about as much as you want me to. Who ever heard of parents leaving their kids on Christmas?”
Jeffrey didn’t know what to say.
Jonathan’s eyes suddenly focused on the empty box from Jeffrey’s remote-control racing car. It was on the floor in Jeffrey’s closet. “Hey! You’ve got a remote-control car! Totally awesome. Where is it?”
“I don’t have it anymore,” Jeffrey said.
“What kind of lame thing is that to say? Did you break it?” Jonathan asked.
“No, I didn’t break it,” Jeffrey said. “A friend of mine gave it to someone without my permission.”
Jonathan laughed. “You let someone give your racing car away?” he said. “Boy, Jeffrey, you’re a real wimp.”
“Yeah, and you’re a big jerk and your sister’s a toadface,” Jeffrey said.
Suddenly, Jeffrey’s father was standing in the doorway. “Jeffrey, could we have a private conversation in the hall?”
Jonathan laughed as Jeffrey went with his father.
“Jeffrey, three things to remember,” Mr. Becker said. “First, Wendy and Jonathan are our guests, so no more sarcastic remarks. Second, the Alamo. Third, if you try, you might actually have fun with your cousins this week.”
Reluctantly, Jeffrey promised to try to get along with Jonathan. Then he walked back to his room.
When dinnertime came that night, Jeffrey hid in his room. He could hear Jonathan downstairs whining like a broken record. Jonathan kept saying over and over, “That’s not how we do it at Christmas.” But suddenly his whining voice was replaced by slow, quiet music. It came from the piano in the family room.
The melody was so beautiful and sad that it drew Jeffrey downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Becker came out of the kitchen, too. They all found Wendy sitting at the piano. She swayed back and forth a little as she played. When she was done and the last long note died away, Mr. Becker said, “That was beautiful.”
“No way,” Wendy said. “Your piano’s out of tune a quarter tone in the midrange. It made my teeth clench.”
Mrs. Becker ignored the insult. “Dinner is ready,” she said pleasantly.
All through dinner, Jeffrey’s mom had a faraway look on her face. Finally, she told him what she was thinking. “Jeffrey,” she said, “I really wish you had stuck to your piano lessons. I’d give anything for you to be able to play as wonderfully as Wendy.”
“I will, Mom,” he said. “But not when I’m a kid. Everyone does that. I’m going to learn to play when I’m ninety years old. That’s when people will really be surprised.”
“Oh, gross, Jeffrey,” Wendy said. “Don’t eat your potato puffs with your fingers. It’s not good manners.”
Jeffrey looked at his hand and then at the potato puff in it. His parents and Wendy were looking at him. Jonathan laughed his big horse laugh. Jeffrey felt like a criminal who had been caught red-handed.
“Well, tomorrow’s going to be a fun day,” said Mr. Becker, trying to change the subject. “We’ve got to buy our Christmas tree and decorate it—”
“You mean you decorate your tree before Christmas Eve?” Wendy interrupted. She and her brother looked at each other in surprise.
“What do you do?” Jeffrey asked. “Build a little Christmas tree house in it?”
“We wait until it’s Christmas Eve to decorate our tree,” Wendy said.
“And at midnight we give each other one present,” Jonathan added.
“And then we have turkey for dinner the next day,” Wendy went on. “But my mom said you won’t have turkey. You always have roast beef.” She dropped her fork loudly on her plate. “Why do we have to do everything your way?”
Jeffrey’s parents didn’t have an answer ready.
Jonathan noisily scooted his chair back and left the table. “This Christmas is going to be no fun at all,” he grumbled on his way out of the dining room.
“Well,” Jeffrey said to Wendy, “for once your brother and I agree. This Christmas is no fun at all!”
With that, Jeffrey scooted out his chair and stomped out of the room, too.