I know Holly can skate, and it’s supposed to be Mr. Heywood who can’t, but... I just thought it’d be more fun if she was the one that couldn’t skate.
Of Stockings and Mittens and Milkshake-named Kittens, an ASR One Shot.
“—and remember to wear your scarf and mittens at all times.”
I nodded, smiling. “Yes, mom.”
“And stay close to Chris.”
“Yes, mom.”
She grinned at me proudly, pulling my hat down so that it covered most of my forehead. “And stay safe,” she whispered before adding, “if you know what I mean.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “Mom!” I exclaimed in embarrassment.
“What?” she replied innocently, shooing me out of the door. “I’m too young to be a Grandma,” she said, batting her eyelashes innocently.
I covered my flaming face with my mitten-covered hands and walked over to where Mr. Heywood – I mean Chris – was pulling up in his car. “I’ll see you on Monday,” I called over my shoulder as I jogged down.
“Make sure to be—”
The passenger door was shut before my mom could complete her sentence. My cheeks were still burning red when Chris started driving out, and I so desperately tried to cover my cheeks before Chris could notice. “Holly?”
Staring out of the window so he never saw me, I replied with, “Hmm?”
“Why are you blushing?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Abruptly, I turned to look at Chris. “How did you know?”
He grinned over at me slyly, taking time to advert his eyes from the road without a care in the world. “The window reflection, Holly,” he answered.
“Oh,” I replied stupidly, folding my hands in my lap and looking down, not letting him see me blushing even more. The radio was merrily humming out Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow and the weather was doing just that. The windscreen wipers were going off furiously to try and wipe the snowflakes that kept landing on the windscreen. Christmas was on Tuesday – just three days from now.
“Can you ice skate?” Chris asked suddenly.
I felt dread start to creep in. “That’s not what the big surprise is... Is it?”
He smirked evilly. “Maybe.”
“But I can’t ice skate!”
He waved a hand in the air, disinterested. “You can rollerblade. Ice-skating and rollerblading are basically the same thing.”
“How do you know I can rollerblade?” I asked, confused, and trying to remember any time he and I had been out together. Gang harassment, Gang hideouts, Chris’s apartment, the Wal-Mart in the next town over... No rollerblading came to mind.
He grinned. “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,” he sang, explaining everything in just one sentence.
I blushed. “I...I...R—Really?”
He laughed loudly. “And so much more,” he enunciated, making me avert my gaze to my pink mittens.
“Did I—Did I say anything else embarrassing,” I mumbled, not actually wanting to know.
YOU ARE READING
Mini Stories and One Shots
Short Story“I think all writing is a disease. You can’t stop it.”—William Carlos Williams. So I write things sometimes; have a guess where they go.
