feast tonight, and a party and stuff, and then they were going to stay up all night watching for Santa, and in the morning, their wishes would come true. He just knew it. Christmas was like the best thing ever.
Andre pushed a rubbery green button overhead, and the engine coughed, and then growled, and then turned on.
The two of them looked at each other in shock. The machine vibrated beneath them like a live animal.
“You started the engine,” Charlie said, catching a whiff of exhaust.
“I started it.” Andre looked as amazed as Charlie felt. “I bet I can make it work.” He pushed one of the hand levers forward, and the machine lurched, then trundled ahead a few feet.
“Holy moly, you’re driving it,” Charlie said.
“This is so rad.” Andre worked the lever some more, bringing it out into the middle of the empty parking lot. “Look, I can make it go forward and back. And here’s how you turn it.” He worked the levers with both hands, and the Bobcat turned in a circle.
“Awesome,” Charlie said. “Let’s see if the snowplow works.” He pushed the pedals, and sure enough, the blade went up and down.
“We’re working now,” said Andre, his face lit up with excitement. “Let’s plow that field down there.”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “We can make a path to the manger.” He pointed across the smooth white churchyard at the manger scene, which tonight would all be lit up for Christmas Eve.
The yard sloped downward, and the Bobcat leaned like a crazy ride. At first it was really fun, like the coolest ride on a sled, but then it felt as though they were going a little too fast.
“Hey, slow down,” Charlie said.
“I can’t.” Andre struggled with the levers. “It’s not slowing down.”
“Then you better turn around, because we’re heading straight for—”
“Duck!”
The manger was suddenly right in front of them. The plow blade hooked itself on something and then smashed into the manger.
Andre’s hand flashed up, and he punched a red button overhead. The engine died.
“Holy moly,” said Charlie. “We smashed into the manger.” He looked at the statues strewn around the snowy yard. “We ran over baby Jesus.”
“Oh man, that was not cool,” Andre said. “What should we—”
“What’s going on here?” asked a gruff voice.
Charlie’s stomach felt as if it had turned into a giant ball of ice. A police cruiser was parked in the lot beside the churchyard. “It’s Chief McKnight,” he whispered to Andre.
“We’re sunk,” Andre whispered back.
“You boys climb down from that thing.” Chief McKnight looked really mad. “Is anybody hurt?”
Charlie eyed the crushed fake baby head down in the snow. He and Andre scrambled out. “We’re okay,” Charlie said. “Chief McKnight, we’re really sorry.”
“We didn’t mean to do it,” Andre said.
“You kids are in big trouble,” said Chief McKnight.
As if they didn’t already know.
“Honest, we were just gonna do some plowing, you know, to help out,” Andre said.
“It was an accident,” Charlie said, snatching off his hat.
Chief McKnight leaned down and glared at them. Then his eyebrows shot up. “Charlie? Charlie O’Donnell?”
Chief McKnight had known him ever since Charlie was born. The police chief was married to Jenny, the bakery owner, and they lived in an old-fashioned house on King Street, and when the chief wasn’t on duty, Charlie was allowed to call him Rourke.
But right now it was Chief McKnight, all the way. “Y-yes, sir,” Charlie replied in a shaking voice. “That’s me.”
“You stole a piece of equipment. You committed vandalism...on Christmas Eve,” said the chief. “Bad timing, guys.
“We’re sorry,” Charlie said.
“Do we have to go to jail?” Andre asked in a very quiet, completely horrified voice.
Charlie knew exactly what Andre was thinking—that he would have to go to jail, like his mom. That was Andre’s deepest, darkest fear. Charlie nearly knocked his friend down, pushing in front of him to stand before Chief McKnight. He stood tall and squared his shoulders the way his dad told him he should do to show respect.
“It was me,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “I made Andre sit next to me, but I was the one who stole the snowplow and ran it into the manger. Andre didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Hey,” said Andre.
“If anybody gets in trouble,” Charlie said, “it should be me, not Andre.”
“Is that so?” asked the police chief.
Charlie knew his Christmas wish couldn’t possibly come true now. What boy could ever be rewarded on Christmas morning after pulling a prank like this? Santa would never bring him a dog now, not after what they’d just done. So he figured he might as well take the blame, because in one big flash, he realized there was something way more important than his Christmas wish, and that was Andre. His best friend.
And Andre’s wish—that his mom would be okay—just had to come true.
“Let’s go to my car,” said Rourke. “I need to call your dad.”
Defeated, they followed him up the slope toward the squad car. Normally they would love exploring a police car, but not now.
“Why did you say it was you?” Andre hissed at Charlie.
“Because we need to make sure your Christmas wish comes true.”
“What about
Charlie’s heart sank, but he kept his chin up. “Maybe next year.” And in that moment, he felt funny, kind of light and floating. The moment he had stepped up to take the blame, he had felt this terrific sensation whooshing through him like an ocean wave or like the wind through the trees. It felt good. Really good, even though he knew he had just ruined his chances of getting a puppy. He knew why it felt good to throw himself under the bus and he knew the name of the whooshing feeling.
It was the Christmas Spirit. It was the thing all the songs and stories were about—putting somebody’s happiness ahead of your own.
Even though it felt good, he still had to deal with Chief McKnight...and with the holy family lying half-buried in the snow. He’d run over baby Jesus. How was he going to fix this?
He was going to need a Christmas miracle.
When they were a few feet from the police car, Charlie saw Darcy running toward them. “What happened here?” she asked. “Is someone hurt?”
“No visible injuries,” said the chief. “And you are?”
“Darcy Fitzgerald,” she said. “I’m friends with Charlie’s aunt. I was looking for them at the skate house, and his aunt said they came over here to play in the snow.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Looks like you had a little too much fun with the snowplow.”
“We’re sorry,” said Charlie. “We didn’t mean it.”
“I was just going to call Logan,” said Chief McKnight, taking out a phone.
Charlie wished he could freeze into an icicle and not feel so terrible. Everything that had happened was bad, but knowing his dad was about to get a call from the police was the worst.
“Wait a moment,” Darcy said. “Do you mind if I have a word with you?”
She and the police chief stepped to the other side of the car and had a quick, quiet conversation. A few minutes later, the chief said, “So here’s the deal. I’m going to move the snowplow, and you kids are going to rebuild the manger. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but if you ever pull a stunt like this again—”
“We won’t,” Charlie said.
“Never, ever, we swear on a stack of Bibles,” Andre added.
The chief drove the snowplow back to its parking spot. Darcy looked at Charlie and then at Andre.
