Page 95 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“I really don’t have much to compare it to, Jo.”

Especially when all of them were pretty cringey.

I used my foot to roll a kickstand stool next to me so I could sit to scan the bottom two rows. “There was that time two years ago under the bleachers at that home football game—”

“With Oliver Young!” She pointed her scanner at me with eyes wide. “I forgot about that one. I was thinking more about Steven Scott in—”

“Ninth grade.” I nodded while I scanned. “Our first homecoming dance. Totally didn’t expect that one, which was why we bumped noses.” I snorted.

So awkward.

Marco had followed me around for a week asking if I needed ice for my face.

“You’re right; I guess that isn’t too much to go on,” she admitted before going back to her row of books. “But still…it wasn’t terrible, was it?”

“Not at all.” The back of my neck prickled with heat. “It was…nice.”

“Nice like ‘comfortable and a bit exciting’ or nice like ‘out-of-body experience’?”

I thought about it as I finished my bottom row before I stood to stretch. “Comfortable and a bit exciting.”

Which wasn’t a bad thing, right?

Comfortable was good.

And it must’ve been exciting enough, since it kept me up late in my thoughts last night.

So then why do I feel like a kid who opened every present under her tree but still went searching for one more?

A few minutes later, the bell rang for early dismissal—except for those who had a final in the afternoon, which neither of us did. So, Jo and I headed toward our lockers as Mrs. Bartlett came up, holding a candy cane clipboard. “Gianna! Glad I caught you.”

Well, I know where this is going.

“The Ladies Bible Study group was hoping you could help wrap gifts for their angel tree again this year. Can I put you down for a shift this afternoon?”

“Oh…” I bit my lower lip. “Jo and I actually had plans—”

“She can help!” Mrs. Bartlett said, giving a quick smile to Jo. “You’ve helped them out the last few years. You know how they like things done—”

“Or maybe it’s a good time to find a different volunteer.” Jo shifted her book bag to her other shoulder. “Since Gianna will be in college next year, right?”

Mrs. Bartlett winced and made a noise in the back of her throat. She crossed something off her clipboard—a bit aggressively, if you ask me—before saying, “I’ll just let them know that Gianna is unavailable for the foreseeable future.”

Well, that seemed a bit harsh.

I mean, who’s to say I won’t be able to help when I come home from college break?

But before I could speak up, Mrs. Bartlett moved on down the hallway toward a crowd of seniors watching someone stand on a chair with a stereo over his head as he sang “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with words switched out for the Mistletoe Masquerade.

“It’s okay to say no to things,” Jo said as we walked toward the main entrance.

I opened the front door for us. “I say no to things.”

She made a face. “You’re about as good at saying no to people asking for help as Sam is.”

Sam is way worse, but whatever.

“Speaking of Sam…” She zipped up her coat to her neck. “Has he talked any more about going to the dance?”