5,400 words - children's fiction
December 1st
Thursday
Cocoa Contest!
Enter your own hot chocolate recipe on Christmas Eve and you could win!
First place: $100
Judges will determine which entry qualifies as the perfect cup of cocoa.
This is the flyer that was stapled to the bulletin board in the public library. I was checking out Caldecott winner picture books so I could take them home and try to copy the illustrator's styles and learn new techniques. One day, one of those Caldecott books is going to be mine.
Also, there's a new art kit at Michael's. I saw it last time I was there. It comes in a wooden box, like a suitcase on it's side, and when you open it up, there's a middle layer that pops up on hinges. Three whole layers of charcoal, and oil paints, and pastels, and a whole set of brushes, and colored pencils in every shade. It smells like paint thinner and new wood. It costs $100.
I want to win that contest.
Also, I don't understand why picture books are so heavy.
“No one can say a cup of cocoa is perfect," Jason told me.
We were walking Mrs. Jenkin's dog. I had told him about the contest.
"Not everyone likes their cocoa the same way, so, by default, there is no perfect cocoa in the world.”
“Okay, but you've got to have some ideas,” I said. "The people judging this obviously think there is."
“It'd have to have chocolate, obviously,” he said. He had the dog's leash.
“Duh. What else?”
Jason thought for a minute, shifting the books in his arms. "Marshmallows seem too cliche."
"What? They're classic!"
He shrugged. "It all depends on what the judges think. Not what I think."
"I have to win this thing, Jason!"
"Then what do you think is the perfect cup of cocoa?"
I thought about it, which was hard because Mrs. Jenkin's dog was yap-yap-yapping at a mailbox. "I guess I think about being little. You know, when we stay out in the snow all day, and when we came inside, my mom or your mom would mix up some hot chocolate for us.”
“Mm-hm.”
"And it always had marshmallows."
"See? Cliche."
I rolled my eyes. "My perfect cup of cocoa would have marshmallows. It would be in my favorite white mug. And it would have cinnamon in it. Also whipped cream."
"I like whipped cream," Jason said.
"I think it would also depend on what I'm doing while I drink it. You know, like, if I'm running out the door and have to gulp it down, it's not as good."
"Make sure those judges aren't in a hurry then."
"It would have to look pretty too."
"Pretty? Cocoa isn't pretty."
"It can be. Like, with whipped cream on top and then those little chocolate shavings. Brown and white go well together."
That was our conversation.
Then Jason said, "You should just draw a picture of cocoa for the judges."
I think he was kidding.
I have to win.
My dad had this idea for each of us to keep a journal from now until Christmas. We should write a bit about our day and then list one thing we've been blessed with. By the time Christmas comes, we’ll have twenty-five of our blessings written down. It's supposed to make us be happier and stuff. I think I'm already happy, but I told him I would do it as long as he didn’t ever read it.
So that was the bit about my day.
Blessing: Jason
December 2nd
Friday
I guess I should write down some stuff about myself. That's something people do in journals, right?
I have brown hair, cut above my shoulders. It's not mouse brown, like people in books. It's not anything brown. Just plain old brown. It's always short because I can’t stand when it gets long and in the way. Like, when I try to get a drink from a drinking fountain, and my hair is in the way and gets all wet. It's gross. So, I think long hair is prettier, but I just end up chopping my hair off every time I try to let it get long.
My eyes are brown too. Plain old brown. My nose is too small and I have too many freckles, which is mostly where I got my nick-name from.
My real name is Ami, but everyone calls me Cinnamon.
My face is too long. Actually, all of me is too long. I'm so tall and skinny I can almost fit through door cracks.
At least I can draw. That's one good thing about me.
Blessing: the ability to draw
December 3rd
Saturday
Ziggidy, my fluffy orange cat, was so sweet today. He wakes me up at seven every morning by licking my nose with his scratchy tongue. He likes to sleep curled up on my chest and then his purring vibrates my lungs.
We had milk and cereal together on the kitchen floor for breakfast. Dad doesn't let cats on the table, so I sit crossed-legged on the floor to share my bowl of cornflakes with Ziggidy. He doesn't just like the milk. He eats the cornflakes too.
He was in a playing mood after breakfast so I chased him around the house until Jason came over. Then Ziggidy curled up on my lap while we made Christmas cards. I drew Christmas pictures, and Jason glued them onto construction paper. I've used my colored pencils so much that they're all smaller than my pinky finger. Except the white one.
"These drawings are really good!" Jason said. He always says that. "Oh, hey. I found this." He stretched out his leg and pulled a folded piece of red paper out.
When I unfolded it, it said:
Christmas Art Contest
Bring your best piece of holiday-themed artwork to the public library at noon on Christmas Eve.
Pieces will be judged on skill, creativity, and overall theme.
First place will be used as a centerpiece for the town's light festival that evening.
"It's at the same time as the cocoa contest," I said.
"Yeah, but your drawings are so good, Cinnamon!" Jason said. "You should enter one! I bet it will win."
I folded the flyer up and handed it back. "I'm not that good, Jason," I said. "Everyone will just laugh at me."
"No they won't!"
"I don't want to talk about this. I'm not entering any contests."
Ziggidy washed his paws and whiskers and behind his ears while we were talking. I think it's so funny when he spreads out all his little toes to clean between them.
Also, I made some hot chocolate today. I tried adding red pepper, because I saw this chocolate bar at the store that had chili powder in it. But the cocoa turned out disgusting.
I had to shoo Ziggidy away because he likes to investigate everything I drink.
He followed me around the house the whole day and right now he's trying to play with my pen while I write this. I keep bopping him on the nose with it but he won't leave it alone.
He got his name from the black stripes that zigzag all over his orange fur. He’s just the sweetest fluff ball of fur on earth.
Blessing: Ziggidy
December 4th
Sunday
At church we finally began singing Christmas songs. My favorite is The First Noel. Noel is the French word for Christmas, but that’s about the only French word I know. Mary, one of the girl's at church, can speak French just like she can English. I’ve heard her and her Mom talking so fast it sounds like jibberish. It doesn't even sound like they're saying words. Just sounds. But it’s really pretty.
I wore my red dress to church, the sparkly one. It was almost as pretty as Mary's dress.
She had on a cream dress and her hair was all crimped and hanging loose around her shoulders. She has long hair. Also, she got asked to draw the picture for for this year's Christmas program flyers.
I've never drawn anything for program flyers.
Jason sat down next to me on our pew with a red gift bag that had white crinkly paper peeking out the top. He had his hair slicked foreword and up in the front in the way I liked. He always wears it that way on Sundays.
"Merry Christmas!” He thrust the present at me.
“But it’s not Christmas yet!”
“Yeah, but you can’t- Well, just open it.”
I slid the tissue paper out and reached inside. There was a rectangular something wrapped in more paper. I rolled it out of the paper and onto my palm.
“Do you like it?”
“I haven’t even figured out what it is yet!” I laughed.
It was a metal box a little longer and wider than my hand.
“Open it!”
There was a lid on the top. Inside were brand new colored pencils.
“Oh! Yes! Yes, I do!” I hugged him. "Thank you!"
He coughed, embarrassed because everyone saw me hug him. He shrugged, but he was smiling.
“I knew you needed some more colored pencils to finish those Christmas cards. If I waited to give them to you on Christmas it would be too late.”
“Thank you, thank you!” I closed it and grinned.
“I know you're still going to win the cocoa contest," he said. "But that's not until Christmas Eve and I thought you might need new colored pencils before then. You know, so you can use them to make an awesome picture for the art contest.”
I frowned. "I'm not entering," I said. "I already told you that."
But the pencils were nice.
Blessing: new colored pencils
December 5th
Monday
It snowed for the first time this winter. I tried to draw what it looked like out the window this morning. It was just sprinkles of snow, like someone was sifting powered sugar on us. It turned everything gray, not white. But it was cold!
I’m so glad Mrs. Jenkins is not staying out of town for the holidays because I’m getting tired of walking her dog. Jason and I were wrapped up in scarves and hats and coats and gloves with just our eyes peeking out. The wind was hard and mean- trying to knock us down and rip our scarves away from us. We had to shout to hear much of anything, so we didn’t talk a lot. If it was going to be that cold, it could have at least given us prettier snow.
Mrs. Jenkin's dog, Killer, is a little chihuahua and he was almost blown away. He was so happy to get back to his house that he didn't even yap at the mailbox on the way in.
I was glad when we made it back to my house. I made hot chocolate for us, with caramel this time. And then I felt sorry for Jason who had to trudge a block and a half home through the gray snow.
Blessing: my warm house
December 6th
Tuesday
I’m so exhausted.
It’s almost midnight.
I’ve been up late trying cocoa recipes from online.
Jason taste-tested all of them until his curfew at ten.
I should sleep.
I think I'm going to dream about cocoa.
Blessing: soft pillows
December 7th
Wednesday
I don’t want to write.
I don’t want to think.
I don’t want to exist.
And I DO NOT want to think about blessings.
December 8th
Thursday
My room is trashed.
I locked my door and hurled everything in sight at the walls, until my Dad knocked on the door. I yelled at him that I was fine. I don’t know if he left or not. He didn’t say anything else. I’m still barricaded in my room.
Jason hates me. Jason is so angry with me that he will never speak to me again.
I don’t care.
I wish I didn’t care.
The worst part is that it's all my fault. If he was just stubborn and mean then I could hate him right back, but he’s not. I’m the one who's stubborn and mean. I’m the one who started the fight. I’m the one who --
December 9th
Friday
We’re sitting in the emergency room. There is nothing to do but write. Sorry about the messy handwriting. I have to use my left hand. I guess I should write down what happened.
I broke off writing yesterday because something happened. I guess one of the picture books I threw across the room yesterday knocked over my lamp and broke the bulb, but the lamp was still plugged in and turned on and everything. It caught my bed sheets on fire.
I jumped up and ran for the door, but there was too much piled in front of it. I tried to push myself through it all- the clothes, the books, my pillows and blankets and hangers and even a dresser drawer, but I couldn’t pull the door open.
The fire alarms started and I couldn't think straight with them going. I guess I should have tried to put the fire out maybe. I don't know. It was weird that it was real life. I thought fires mostly happened in movies. I ran for the window because that was the only other way out of my room.
I live on the second story, though, and my room is right above the driveway. I unlocked the window and yanked it up. I tried to shout to my Dad that I was climbing out the window, but the fire alarms were so loud I could barely hear myself.
I punched out the screen and jumped. I didn't even look. I wasn't thinking anything except that I needed to get out. So I jumped.
Then I smashed into the driveway. I thought my arm had caught on fire because it hurt like it had.
The nurse just came out and called my name. It’s late at night now. Maybe two in the morning. My right arm is in a hard, white cast. They x-rayed it a while ago. It's broken. They said it’s a clean break and should heal fast. But fast means more than a month.
A whole month of no drawing.
And Jason won't even get to sign my cast.
December 10th
Saturday
Our house is burnt up. The firemen couldn’t save much.
My right arm itches and itches. I tried drawing with my left arm. It looked stupid.
We can’t find Ziggidy. Maybe he just ran away.
December 11th
Sunday
I told Dad I was sick so I didn't have to go to church today.
I don’t want to see Jason.
December 12th
Monday
Why is it that EVERY blessing I wrote in here is gone???
I just realized this. Jason, my ability to draw, Ziggidy, my house, my new colored pencils...
Good thing I didn’t write any more blessings down in this jinxed journal!
December 13th
Tuesday
Why do I still have this stupid journal?
Why did I hold onto it when I jumped?
You know what I have been blessed with?
THIS JOURNAL!
There, now it should be struck by lightening or something.
December 14th
Wednesday
No blessings today.
December 15th
Thursday
None.
December 16th
Friday
Nope
December 17th
Saturday
Aucun
(That's French for none. I looked it up on Google translate.)
December 18th
Sunday
Zip
December 19th
Monday
Goose eggs
(Meaning that I have been blessed with nothing today- NOT that I have been blessed with goose eggs. That would be weird.)
December 20th
Tuesday
I heard Mary crying in the bathroom today.
Mary!
Crying!
We had our church youth group tonight, and everyone thought Mary just wasn't coming. Jason didn't come either. But when I went into the bathroom, she was in one of the stalls crying. It was hiccuping crying- like she was trying not to cry now that someone else was in the bathroom.
I guessed she didn't want me to say anything, but I asked her what was wrong before I thought of that. She didn't answer for a minute, and I felt bad for asking because she probably didn't want anyone to know about the crying.
But then she opened the stall door and held out a piece of paper.
It was her drawing for the Christmas program flyers. The program is on Saturday, Christmas Eve. And her drawing was ruined.
"What happened?" I asked.
I think it used to be a picture of the stable and baby Jesus, but now it was mostly a picture of a blob.
"I dropped it in the snow!" she said, and she started to cry all over again.
"It's okay," I said. "Just draw another picture."
She shook her head. "I'm supposed to turn it in tonight so they have time to put it on the programs and print them out and everything."
"You should hurry, then," I said.
She shook her head and wiped her eyes, but the tears were still coming out. "I'm not like you, Cinnamon. I can't-" She waved her hands at the drawing. "I can't draw fast like you. It takes me forever. I'll never get another picture done in time!" She hiccuped again.
"But you're drawings are so good! You did that one for the Easter poster thing last year and it was beautiful!"
She shook her head again. "It took me months to make that! It was so hard! I like drawing, but sometimes I wish my mom wouldn't make me do it all the time for church."
I looked at the blob picture. And back at Mary.
"What if we do it together?" I asked. "You don't even have to put my name on it or anything. Do you think whoever's making the programs could wait until tomorrow to get the drawing? I mean, my drawing might not be so great." I held up my right arm, still in a cast. "But I could try."
Mary sniffed. "Maybe. I could ask." She wiped her eyes. "Would you really help me?"
I nodded. "Of course! I love drawing!"
"Yeah, but I kind of thought you didn't like me."
"Well, yeah," I said. "I guess I was just jealous that you always got picked to do drawings and I never did."
Mary laughed, surprised. "Really? I always thought you were too good to do to do drawings like this. I thought you must enter drawing competitions or whatever they're called, and win all these prizes all the time."
I didn't laugh. "I'm not good enough for competitions."
"Yes you are!" Mary said. "I've seen all those sketches you do during church, and they're really good!"
"You think?"
"You can help me with these old program drawings anytime you want."
So, that's how Mary and I ended up kind of being friends today.
Also, me entering that drawing competition is what I yelled at Jason about.
December 21st
Wednesday
I can’t stop thinking about blessings.
Speaking of which, this journal is still here even though I said I’ve been blessed with it. And everything else I listed as a blessing got burned up or left.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize it was kind of all my fault.
I yelled at Jason and started the fire and jumped out the window.
Dad said this journal was to help me be more grateful, and I kind of feel less grateful now that all my stuff is gone and I'm living in a hotel. But thinking about all those blessings I listed, I don't think I was actually very grateful for them.
If I was really grateful for Jason, I wouldn't have yelled at him.
I would have played with Ziggidy more and not pushed him off my lap all the time when I was drawing.
I would have done more with my drawings than just stuck them on my walls and looked at them.
I helped Mary with her drawing today. I drew some of it with my left hand, and some of it with my right, even though I had to move the paper around because I couldn't move my arm around. It turned out okay. Then we both colored it in. Mary is really good at coloring.
It looked amazing when we were done. Better than anything I'd ever done by myself before. I'm a little better at drawing than Mary, but she's way better at shading than I am.
I think we should draw more pictures together.
December 22nd
Thursday
I have to fix this.
I can't rebuild my house, or make my arm heal any faster, or make Ziggidy appear.
But I’m trying to be happier. I'm trying to feel blessed.
December 23rd
Friday
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.
Tomorrow is the Cocoa Contest.
Tomorrow is the Art Contest.
December 24th
Saturday
The Cocoa Contest was at noon today.
I hadn't really tried out any new recipes since the house burned down.
I sat in the hotel room watching the clock.
I thought about hot chocolate. I thought about art.
At 11:30 I picked up the phone and called Mary.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hey, Mary. It's Cinnamon. Um, I know this is last minute, but there's this drawing contest today at noon at the library, and I thought that maybe-"
Mary gasped. "You want us to enter that drawing we did?"
"Yes?" I couldn't tell if she was horrified or not.
"Oh, that's a great idea! I've never entered a contest before! I'm having my mom pick you up and drive us over there right now!" She hung up.
My stomach felt queasy.
When we got there, there were paper signs pointing to the right for the art contest, and to the left for the cocoa contest.
Mary and I went right.
My stomach felt very queasy.
"Is this a bad idea?" I asked her.
"Why would it be a bad idea?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I just don't want people to laugh at our drawing," I said.
Mary nodded and looked at the paper. It was pretty good, but I didn't know if it was good enough.
The contest was in the picture book section of the library. Everyone set their artwork on top of the picture book shelves with a little index card that said their name and the name of their piece. Then they walked around and looked at everyone else's. The judges had clipboards.
I swallowed.
Mary's mom had dropped us off and left to go do Christmas shopping, otherwise I would have asked her to take me home.
Mary filled out the index card. "What should we call it?" she asked.
I looked at our drawing. It had the stable and baby Jesus and the shepherds and everyone. Mary and I had added a little shepherd girl, even though there might not have been shepherd girls. I had made one of the shepherds look like Jason.
"The Perfect Cup of Cocoa," I said.
Mary gave me a strange look. "For this drawing?"
I shrugged. "You know, because they're both all Christmasy and make you warm on the inside."
Mary thought about it for a minute. "I kind of like it," she said, and wrote it down. "It's weird and kind of cool."
She put our drawing on top of a picture book shelf and then we walked around and looked at other people's. There was some done by little kids with stick figures and scribbles and people with huge heads. That made me feel better about ours.
But there was also some by grown-ups and they were very very good. There was an oil painting of the virgin Mary. And there was a wood carving of the nativity. Someone had done a pastel drawing of a menorah. My favorite was a colored pencil drawing of Joseph holding baby Jesus. Joseph looked so happy that he was almost crying. No one thinks about Joseph much.
Then Mary and I stood to the side and waited. My stomach felt jumpy and twitchy.
The judges finally collected together at the side of the room and compared clipboards.
I found a little kids chair to sit down on.
Then one of the judges, an old man who sometimes played Santa Claus at the mall, said, "Alright everyone." He had a Santa-y voice, all big and jolly. "Time to announce the winners!"
Everyone cheered. No one else looked like they needed to sit down. Mary squeezed my hand.
"We were initially planning on having only one winner," Santa said. "But after looking at this extraordinary display of talent, we have decided to select a winner and a runner-up. The winner will be displayed as the center piece of the light festival this evening, as promised," he said. "The runner-up will be placed at the entrance to the festival."
Everyone would see it while they stood in line.
I stood up, and then sat back down.
He needed to get this over with!
"And the runner-up is," he said. "The unusually titled pencil drawing, The Perfect Cup of Cocoa by Mary Westingham and Ami Devonshire."
I almost fell off my chair.
Mary squealed and jumped up and down. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the front of the room. Santa Claus shook our hands.
"Well done young ladies. Well done. This piece was chosen for it's creativity and style. Who's idea was it to have a young shepherd girl at the manger?"
Mary pointed at me.
I smiled. Everyone was looking at me. "I just thought it would be nice, because no one ever talks about girls coming to see the baby Jesus, you know?"
Santa Claus nodded. "Well done. Well done, both of you. And first place," he said, "Goes to Joseph and Son by William T. Swindle."
Everyone cheered.
I was still swaying on my feet, but I clapped long and hard.
After Willian T. Swindle came up and shook Santa's hand, everyone clapped some more, and then it was over.
I was grinning. I tried to remember how to breathe straight.
Our drawing wouldn't be all lit up in the center of the light festival, but everyone would see it. Everyone would red our names.
Mary hugged me. "We did it!" she said. "That was a brilliant idea, Cinnamon! We need to draw more pictures together! All the time!"
I hugged her back.
When Mary's mom dropped me off at the hotel, I ran to tell Dad what had happened. Then I dialed Jason. It wasn't until the phone was ringing that I remembered we were fighting.
I hung up before anyone answered.
December 24
Saturday, late at night
The Light Festival was tonight.
I wore my sparkly red dress. Before we left, I made hot chocolate. And I thought about the contest. And I thought about Jason.
It was stupid that we were fighting. It was my fault. I wanted to tell him about the art contest. I wondered if he would be at the Light Festival. I wanted to apologize.
I ran through what I would say in my head. And then I went over it and over it until I had it had basically memorized.
When the cocoa was done, I'd made up my mind. I told Dad I'd be back soon, stuffed my arms into my coat, stomped on my boots, and headed out the door with the cocoa.
It snowed again. This time it's actually white. Not gray. I was crunching through the snow and looking up at the white and blue sky when I collided with someone jogging toward me.
Jason.
The hot cocoa went all over him and me and the snow and my arm cast.
Brown and white really is a good combination, I thought. And then I thought what a stupid thing that was to think.
Jason stared at me, like he couldn’t figure out who I was.
“Jason,” I said. I didn’t remember any of my apology I'd been practicing. This was not how I wanted to meet him after our fight. Dumping cocoa down the front of him hadn't been in the plan.
“Cinnamon.” His coat wasn’t zipped. He wasn’t wearing gloves. His shirt was soaked.
I looked down at my cup.
“I was bringing you cocoa.” I said. “I wanted to apologize.”
“You too?”
“What?”
He held out a mug of his own, and I realized the cocoa soaking us wasn't all from my cup. “I was bringing you cocoa too. I wanted to apologize.”
He wanted to apologize?
“I didn't see you at the cocoa contest," he said.
"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "I didn't go. I entered the art contest. Me and Mary."
"You did?"
I nodded.
He looked down at his almost empty mug and laughed. "I entered the cocoa contest," he said.
"You did?"
He nodded.
We both looked at each-other. We were soaked in cinnamony cocoa and shivering in the snow, and we began to laugh.
I hadn’t laughed in weeks.
And because it was so happy and exciting and warm and cold all mixed together, I just kept laughing and laughing and laughing until I fell down in the snow and gasped for breath and felt tears freeze on my cheeks. It was just so funny how we fought about the contests and entered them anyway. It was so ridiculous, and such a relief to see Jason laughing with me.
Jason had to sit down beside me so he didn’t fall over.
“I won!” I gasped, when I could get enough air to talk. "I won the art contest. Well, runner up actually. But they're displaying our picture at the entrance to the Light Festival tonight."
Jason grinned. "I told you you were good." He knocked his shoulder into mine.
He held up his cup. "This was not the perfect cup of cocoa," he said. "In case you were wondering. Even though I added cinnamon and whipped cream."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said.
Jason shrugged. "Mrs. Jenkin won with some red pepper hot chocolate or something."
I made a face. "I tried that and it was so gross!"
"I know! They had samples and I choked, it was so gross."
"Well, I guess I should be happy for her," I said. "I wonder what she's doing with the prize money."
"Paying us to walk Killer for the rest of the winter," Jason said. "She said she needs to rest her old bones."
"Well," I said, as Jason stood up and pulled me to my feet with him. "I think this cocoa is just perfect. Cinnamon and whipped cream. It looks really good on me."
Jason put his arm around me and started staggering back to the hotel like we were drunk.
"You never said you had to drink it for it to be the perfect cup of cocoa," he said. "By the way, can I sign your cast?"
A meow came from the gutter.
I stopped. "Did you hear that?"
And then Ziggidy jumped into my arms.
He was all wet and soggy with melted snow and he was shivering. His fur was all tangled and dirty, but he was purring and meowing rubbing against me and licking the cocoa off my nose.
That was when I stared to cry- real tears, not laughter ones- and I had to sit down again and hug and kiss Ziggidy while Jason put his arm around me. It was just too wonderful.
Ziggidy licked a tear off my cheek and shook his head like it tasted gross and had to lick his paw to get the taste out of his mouth, but he kept purring and cuddling against me. And I had to laugh again.
It was a quieter laugh, and I was still crying while laughing, so it must have looked like I was in hysterics or something.
Jason got me to my feet again, and we snuck Ziggidy into the hotel room, and I changed out of my cocoa dress and into something clean, and then we all headed off to the Light Festival to see Mary's and my drawing.
As we climbed out of the car, and Jason grinned at me, and the cold flushed my cheeks, I thought, "This is what Christmas should feel like. Just like this. Like I just drank the most perfect cup of cocoa."
December 1st
Thursday
Cocoa Contest!
Enter your own hot chocolate recipe on Christmas Eve and you could win!
First place: $100
Judges will determine which entry qualifies as the perfect cup of cocoa.
This is the flyer that was stapled to the bulletin board in the public library. I was checking out Caldecott winner picture books so I could take them home and try to copy the illustrator's styles and learn new techniques. One day, one of those Caldecott books is going to be mine.
Also, there's a new art kit at Michael's. I saw it last time I was there. It comes in a wooden box, like a suitcase on it's side, and when you open it up, there's a middle layer that pops up on hinges. Three whole layers of charcoal, and oil paints, and pastels, and a whole set of brushes, and colored pencils in every shade. It smells like paint thinner and new wood. It costs $100.
I want to win that contest.
Also, I don't understand why picture books are so heavy.
“No one can say a cup of cocoa is perfect," Jason told me.
We were walking Mrs. Jenkin's dog. I had told him about the contest.
"Not everyone likes their cocoa the same way, so, by default, there is no perfect cocoa in the world.”
“Okay, but you've got to have some ideas,” I said. "The people judging this obviously think there is."
“It'd have to have chocolate, obviously,” he said. He had the dog's leash.
“Duh. What else?”
Jason thought for a minute, shifting the books in his arms. "Marshmallows seem too cliche."
"What? They're classic!"
He shrugged. "It all depends on what the judges think. Not what I think."
"I have to win this thing, Jason!"
"Then what do you think is the perfect cup of cocoa?"
I thought about it, which was hard because Mrs. Jenkin's dog was yap-yap-yapping at a mailbox. "I guess I think about being little. You know, when we stay out in the snow all day, and when we came inside, my mom or your mom would mix up some hot chocolate for us.”
“Mm-hm.”
"And it always had marshmallows."
"See? Cliche."
I rolled my eyes. "My perfect cup of cocoa would have marshmallows. It would be in my favorite white mug. And it would have cinnamon in it. Also whipped cream."
"I like whipped cream," Jason said.
"I think it would also depend on what I'm doing while I drink it. You know, like, if I'm running out the door and have to gulp it down, it's not as good."
"Make sure those judges aren't in a hurry then."
"It would have to look pretty too."
"Pretty? Cocoa isn't pretty."
"It can be. Like, with whipped cream on top and then those little chocolate shavings. Brown and white go well together."
That was our conversation.
Then Jason said, "You should just draw a picture of cocoa for the judges."
I think he was kidding.
I have to win.
My dad had this idea for each of us to keep a journal from now until Christmas. We should write a bit about our day and then list one thing we've been blessed with. By the time Christmas comes, we’ll have twenty-five of our blessings written down. It's supposed to make us be happier and stuff. I think I'm already happy, but I told him I would do it as long as he didn’t ever read it.
So that was the bit about my day.
Blessing: Jason
December 2nd
Friday
I guess I should write down some stuff about myself. That's something people do in journals, right?
I have brown hair, cut above my shoulders. It's not mouse brown, like people in books. It's not anything brown. Just plain old brown. It's always short because I can’t stand when it gets long and in the way. Like, when I try to get a drink from a drinking fountain, and my hair is in the way and gets all wet. It's gross. So, I think long hair is prettier, but I just end up chopping my hair off every time I try to let it get long.
My eyes are brown too. Plain old brown. My nose is too small and I have too many freckles, which is mostly where I got my nick-name from.
My real name is Ami, but everyone calls me Cinnamon.
My face is too long. Actually, all of me is too long. I'm so tall and skinny I can almost fit through door cracks.
At least I can draw. That's one good thing about me.
Blessing: the ability to draw
December 3rd
Saturday
Ziggidy, my fluffy orange cat, was so sweet today. He wakes me up at seven every morning by licking my nose with his scratchy tongue. He likes to sleep curled up on my chest and then his purring vibrates my lungs.
We had milk and cereal together on the kitchen floor for breakfast. Dad doesn't let cats on the table, so I sit crossed-legged on the floor to share my bowl of cornflakes with Ziggidy. He doesn't just like the milk. He eats the cornflakes too.
He was in a playing mood after breakfast so I chased him around the house until Jason came over. Then Ziggidy curled up on my lap while we made Christmas cards. I drew Christmas pictures, and Jason glued them onto construction paper. I've used my colored pencils so much that they're all smaller than my pinky finger. Except the white one.
"These drawings are really good!" Jason said. He always says that. "Oh, hey. I found this." He stretched out his leg and pulled a folded piece of red paper out.
When I unfolded it, it said:
Christmas Art Contest
Bring your best piece of holiday-themed artwork to the public library at noon on Christmas Eve.
Pieces will be judged on skill, creativity, and overall theme.
First place will be used as a centerpiece for the town's light festival that evening.
"It's at the same time as the cocoa contest," I said.
"Yeah, but your drawings are so good, Cinnamon!" Jason said. "You should enter one! I bet it will win."
I folded the flyer up and handed it back. "I'm not that good, Jason," I said. "Everyone will just laugh at me."
"No they won't!"
"I don't want to talk about this. I'm not entering any contests."
Ziggidy washed his paws and whiskers and behind his ears while we were talking. I think it's so funny when he spreads out all his little toes to clean between them.
Also, I made some hot chocolate today. I tried adding red pepper, because I saw this chocolate bar at the store that had chili powder in it. But the cocoa turned out disgusting.
I had to shoo Ziggidy away because he likes to investigate everything I drink.
He followed me around the house the whole day and right now he's trying to play with my pen while I write this. I keep bopping him on the nose with it but he won't leave it alone.
He got his name from the black stripes that zigzag all over his orange fur. He’s just the sweetest fluff ball of fur on earth.
Blessing: Ziggidy
December 4th
Sunday
At church we finally began singing Christmas songs. My favorite is The First Noel. Noel is the French word for Christmas, but that’s about the only French word I know. Mary, one of the girl's at church, can speak French just like she can English. I’ve heard her and her Mom talking so fast it sounds like jibberish. It doesn't even sound like they're saying words. Just sounds. But it’s really pretty.
I wore my red dress to church, the sparkly one. It was almost as pretty as Mary's dress.
She had on a cream dress and her hair was all crimped and hanging loose around her shoulders. She has long hair. Also, she got asked to draw the picture for for this year's Christmas program flyers.
I've never drawn anything for program flyers.
Jason sat down next to me on our pew with a red gift bag that had white crinkly paper peeking out the top. He had his hair slicked foreword and up in the front in the way I liked. He always wears it that way on Sundays.
"Merry Christmas!” He thrust the present at me.
“But it’s not Christmas yet!”
“Yeah, but you can’t- Well, just open it.”
I slid the tissue paper out and reached inside. There was a rectangular something wrapped in more paper. I rolled it out of the paper and onto my palm.
“Do you like it?”
“I haven’t even figured out what it is yet!” I laughed.
It was a metal box a little longer and wider than my hand.
“Open it!”
There was a lid on the top. Inside were brand new colored pencils.
“Oh! Yes! Yes, I do!” I hugged him. "Thank you!"
He coughed, embarrassed because everyone saw me hug him. He shrugged, but he was smiling.
“I knew you needed some more colored pencils to finish those Christmas cards. If I waited to give them to you on Christmas it would be too late.”
“Thank you, thank you!” I closed it and grinned.
“I know you're still going to win the cocoa contest," he said. "But that's not until Christmas Eve and I thought you might need new colored pencils before then. You know, so you can use them to make an awesome picture for the art contest.”
I frowned. "I'm not entering," I said. "I already told you that."
But the pencils were nice.
Blessing: new colored pencils
December 5th
Monday
It snowed for the first time this winter. I tried to draw what it looked like out the window this morning. It was just sprinkles of snow, like someone was sifting powered sugar on us. It turned everything gray, not white. But it was cold!
I’m so glad Mrs. Jenkins is not staying out of town for the holidays because I’m getting tired of walking her dog. Jason and I were wrapped up in scarves and hats and coats and gloves with just our eyes peeking out. The wind was hard and mean- trying to knock us down and rip our scarves away from us. We had to shout to hear much of anything, so we didn’t talk a lot. If it was going to be that cold, it could have at least given us prettier snow.
Mrs. Jenkin's dog, Killer, is a little chihuahua and he was almost blown away. He was so happy to get back to his house that he didn't even yap at the mailbox on the way in.
I was glad when we made it back to my house. I made hot chocolate for us, with caramel this time. And then I felt sorry for Jason who had to trudge a block and a half home through the gray snow.
Blessing: my warm house
December 6th
Tuesday
I’m so exhausted.
It’s almost midnight.
I’ve been up late trying cocoa recipes from online.
Jason taste-tested all of them until his curfew at ten.
I should sleep.
I think I'm going to dream about cocoa.
Blessing: soft pillows
December 7th
Wednesday
I don’t want to write.
I don’t want to think.
I don’t want to exist.
And I DO NOT want to think about blessings.
December 8th
Thursday
My room is trashed.
I locked my door and hurled everything in sight at the walls, until my Dad knocked on the door. I yelled at him that I was fine. I don’t know if he left or not. He didn’t say anything else. I’m still barricaded in my room.
Jason hates me. Jason is so angry with me that he will never speak to me again.
I don’t care.
I wish I didn’t care.
The worst part is that it's all my fault. If he was just stubborn and mean then I could hate him right back, but he’s not. I’m the one who's stubborn and mean. I’m the one who started the fight. I’m the one who --
December 9th
Friday
We’re sitting in the emergency room. There is nothing to do but write. Sorry about the messy handwriting. I have to use my left hand. I guess I should write down what happened.
I broke off writing yesterday because something happened. I guess one of the picture books I threw across the room yesterday knocked over my lamp and broke the bulb, but the lamp was still plugged in and turned on and everything. It caught my bed sheets on fire.
I jumped up and ran for the door, but there was too much piled in front of it. I tried to push myself through it all- the clothes, the books, my pillows and blankets and hangers and even a dresser drawer, but I couldn’t pull the door open.
The fire alarms started and I couldn't think straight with them going. I guess I should have tried to put the fire out maybe. I don't know. It was weird that it was real life. I thought fires mostly happened in movies. I ran for the window because that was the only other way out of my room.
I live on the second story, though, and my room is right above the driveway. I unlocked the window and yanked it up. I tried to shout to my Dad that I was climbing out the window, but the fire alarms were so loud I could barely hear myself.
I punched out the screen and jumped. I didn't even look. I wasn't thinking anything except that I needed to get out. So I jumped.
Then I smashed into the driveway. I thought my arm had caught on fire because it hurt like it had.
The nurse just came out and called my name. It’s late at night now. Maybe two in the morning. My right arm is in a hard, white cast. They x-rayed it a while ago. It's broken. They said it’s a clean break and should heal fast. But fast means more than a month.
A whole month of no drawing.
And Jason won't even get to sign my cast.
December 10th
Saturday
Our house is burnt up. The firemen couldn’t save much.
My right arm itches and itches. I tried drawing with my left arm. It looked stupid.
We can’t find Ziggidy. Maybe he just ran away.
December 11th
Sunday
I told Dad I was sick so I didn't have to go to church today.
I don’t want to see Jason.
December 12th
Monday
Why is it that EVERY blessing I wrote in here is gone???
I just realized this. Jason, my ability to draw, Ziggidy, my house, my new colored pencils...
Good thing I didn’t write any more blessings down in this jinxed journal!
December 13th
Tuesday
Why do I still have this stupid journal?
Why did I hold onto it when I jumped?
You know what I have been blessed with?
THIS JOURNAL!
There, now it should be struck by lightening or something.
December 14th
Wednesday
No blessings today.
December 15th
Thursday
None.
December 16th
Friday
Nope
December 17th
Saturday
Aucun
(That's French for none. I looked it up on Google translate.)
December 18th
Sunday
Zip
December 19th
Monday
Goose eggs
(Meaning that I have been blessed with nothing today- NOT that I have been blessed with goose eggs. That would be weird.)
December 20th
Tuesday
I heard Mary crying in the bathroom today.
Mary!
Crying!
We had our church youth group tonight, and everyone thought Mary just wasn't coming. Jason didn't come either. But when I went into the bathroom, she was in one of the stalls crying. It was hiccuping crying- like she was trying not to cry now that someone else was in the bathroom.
I guessed she didn't want me to say anything, but I asked her what was wrong before I thought of that. She didn't answer for a minute, and I felt bad for asking because she probably didn't want anyone to know about the crying.
But then she opened the stall door and held out a piece of paper.
It was her drawing for the Christmas program flyers. The program is on Saturday, Christmas Eve. And her drawing was ruined.
"What happened?" I asked.
I think it used to be a picture of the stable and baby Jesus, but now it was mostly a picture of a blob.
"I dropped it in the snow!" she said, and she started to cry all over again.
"It's okay," I said. "Just draw another picture."
She shook her head. "I'm supposed to turn it in tonight so they have time to put it on the programs and print them out and everything."
"You should hurry, then," I said.
She shook her head and wiped her eyes, but the tears were still coming out. "I'm not like you, Cinnamon. I can't-" She waved her hands at the drawing. "I can't draw fast like you. It takes me forever. I'll never get another picture done in time!" She hiccuped again.
"But you're drawings are so good! You did that one for the Easter poster thing last year and it was beautiful!"
She shook her head again. "It took me months to make that! It was so hard! I like drawing, but sometimes I wish my mom wouldn't make me do it all the time for church."
I looked at the blob picture. And back at Mary.
"What if we do it together?" I asked. "You don't even have to put my name on it or anything. Do you think whoever's making the programs could wait until tomorrow to get the drawing? I mean, my drawing might not be so great." I held up my right arm, still in a cast. "But I could try."
Mary sniffed. "Maybe. I could ask." She wiped her eyes. "Would you really help me?"
I nodded. "Of course! I love drawing!"
"Yeah, but I kind of thought you didn't like me."
"Well, yeah," I said. "I guess I was just jealous that you always got picked to do drawings and I never did."
Mary laughed, surprised. "Really? I always thought you were too good to do to do drawings like this. I thought you must enter drawing competitions or whatever they're called, and win all these prizes all the time."
I didn't laugh. "I'm not good enough for competitions."
"Yes you are!" Mary said. "I've seen all those sketches you do during church, and they're really good!"
"You think?"
"You can help me with these old program drawings anytime you want."
So, that's how Mary and I ended up kind of being friends today.
Also, me entering that drawing competition is what I yelled at Jason about.
December 21st
Wednesday
I can’t stop thinking about blessings.
Speaking of which, this journal is still here even though I said I’ve been blessed with it. And everything else I listed as a blessing got burned up or left.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize it was kind of all my fault.
I yelled at Jason and started the fire and jumped out the window.
Dad said this journal was to help me be more grateful, and I kind of feel less grateful now that all my stuff is gone and I'm living in a hotel. But thinking about all those blessings I listed, I don't think I was actually very grateful for them.
If I was really grateful for Jason, I wouldn't have yelled at him.
I would have played with Ziggidy more and not pushed him off my lap all the time when I was drawing.
I would have done more with my drawings than just stuck them on my walls and looked at them.
I helped Mary with her drawing today. I drew some of it with my left hand, and some of it with my right, even though I had to move the paper around because I couldn't move my arm around. It turned out okay. Then we both colored it in. Mary is really good at coloring.
It looked amazing when we were done. Better than anything I'd ever done by myself before. I'm a little better at drawing than Mary, but she's way better at shading than I am.
I think we should draw more pictures together.
December 22nd
Thursday
I have to fix this.
I can't rebuild my house, or make my arm heal any faster, or make Ziggidy appear.
But I’m trying to be happier. I'm trying to feel blessed.
December 23rd
Friday
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.
Tomorrow is the Cocoa Contest.
Tomorrow is the Art Contest.
December 24th
Saturday
The Cocoa Contest was at noon today.
I hadn't really tried out any new recipes since the house burned down.
I sat in the hotel room watching the clock.
I thought about hot chocolate. I thought about art.
At 11:30 I picked up the phone and called Mary.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hey, Mary. It's Cinnamon. Um, I know this is last minute, but there's this drawing contest today at noon at the library, and I thought that maybe-"
Mary gasped. "You want us to enter that drawing we did?"
"Yes?" I couldn't tell if she was horrified or not.
"Oh, that's a great idea! I've never entered a contest before! I'm having my mom pick you up and drive us over there right now!" She hung up.
My stomach felt queasy.
When we got there, there were paper signs pointing to the right for the art contest, and to the left for the cocoa contest.
Mary and I went right.
My stomach felt very queasy.
"Is this a bad idea?" I asked her.
"Why would it be a bad idea?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I just don't want people to laugh at our drawing," I said.
Mary nodded and looked at the paper. It was pretty good, but I didn't know if it was good enough.
The contest was in the picture book section of the library. Everyone set their artwork on top of the picture book shelves with a little index card that said their name and the name of their piece. Then they walked around and looked at everyone else's. The judges had clipboards.
I swallowed.
Mary's mom had dropped us off and left to go do Christmas shopping, otherwise I would have asked her to take me home.
Mary filled out the index card. "What should we call it?" she asked.
I looked at our drawing. It had the stable and baby Jesus and the shepherds and everyone. Mary and I had added a little shepherd girl, even though there might not have been shepherd girls. I had made one of the shepherds look like Jason.
"The Perfect Cup of Cocoa," I said.
Mary gave me a strange look. "For this drawing?"
I shrugged. "You know, because they're both all Christmasy and make you warm on the inside."
Mary thought about it for a minute. "I kind of like it," she said, and wrote it down. "It's weird and kind of cool."
She put our drawing on top of a picture book shelf and then we walked around and looked at other people's. There was some done by little kids with stick figures and scribbles and people with huge heads. That made me feel better about ours.
But there was also some by grown-ups and they were very very good. There was an oil painting of the virgin Mary. And there was a wood carving of the nativity. Someone had done a pastel drawing of a menorah. My favorite was a colored pencil drawing of Joseph holding baby Jesus. Joseph looked so happy that he was almost crying. No one thinks about Joseph much.
Then Mary and I stood to the side and waited. My stomach felt jumpy and twitchy.
The judges finally collected together at the side of the room and compared clipboards.
I found a little kids chair to sit down on.
Then one of the judges, an old man who sometimes played Santa Claus at the mall, said, "Alright everyone." He had a Santa-y voice, all big and jolly. "Time to announce the winners!"
Everyone cheered. No one else looked like they needed to sit down. Mary squeezed my hand.
"We were initially planning on having only one winner," Santa said. "But after looking at this extraordinary display of talent, we have decided to select a winner and a runner-up. The winner will be displayed as the center piece of the light festival this evening, as promised," he said. "The runner-up will be placed at the entrance to the festival."
Everyone would see it while they stood in line.
I stood up, and then sat back down.
He needed to get this over with!
"And the runner-up is," he said. "The unusually titled pencil drawing, The Perfect Cup of Cocoa by Mary Westingham and Ami Devonshire."
I almost fell off my chair.
Mary squealed and jumped up and down. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the front of the room. Santa Claus shook our hands.
"Well done young ladies. Well done. This piece was chosen for it's creativity and style. Who's idea was it to have a young shepherd girl at the manger?"
Mary pointed at me.
I smiled. Everyone was looking at me. "I just thought it would be nice, because no one ever talks about girls coming to see the baby Jesus, you know?"
Santa Claus nodded. "Well done. Well done, both of you. And first place," he said, "Goes to Joseph and Son by William T. Swindle."
Everyone cheered.
I was still swaying on my feet, but I clapped long and hard.
After Willian T. Swindle came up and shook Santa's hand, everyone clapped some more, and then it was over.
I was grinning. I tried to remember how to breathe straight.
Our drawing wouldn't be all lit up in the center of the light festival, but everyone would see it. Everyone would red our names.
Mary hugged me. "We did it!" she said. "That was a brilliant idea, Cinnamon! We need to draw more pictures together! All the time!"
I hugged her back.
When Mary's mom dropped me off at the hotel, I ran to tell Dad what had happened. Then I dialed Jason. It wasn't until the phone was ringing that I remembered we were fighting.
I hung up before anyone answered.
December 24
Saturday, late at night
The Light Festival was tonight.
I wore my sparkly red dress. Before we left, I made hot chocolate. And I thought about the contest. And I thought about Jason.
It was stupid that we were fighting. It was my fault. I wanted to tell him about the art contest. I wondered if he would be at the Light Festival. I wanted to apologize.
I ran through what I would say in my head. And then I went over it and over it until I had it had basically memorized.
When the cocoa was done, I'd made up my mind. I told Dad I'd be back soon, stuffed my arms into my coat, stomped on my boots, and headed out the door with the cocoa.
It snowed again. This time it's actually white. Not gray. I was crunching through the snow and looking up at the white and blue sky when I collided with someone jogging toward me.
Jason.
The hot cocoa went all over him and me and the snow and my arm cast.
Brown and white really is a good combination, I thought. And then I thought what a stupid thing that was to think.
Jason stared at me, like he couldn’t figure out who I was.
“Jason,” I said. I didn’t remember any of my apology I'd been practicing. This was not how I wanted to meet him after our fight. Dumping cocoa down the front of him hadn't been in the plan.
“Cinnamon.” His coat wasn’t zipped. He wasn’t wearing gloves. His shirt was soaked.
I looked down at my cup.
“I was bringing you cocoa.” I said. “I wanted to apologize.”
“You too?”
“What?”
He held out a mug of his own, and I realized the cocoa soaking us wasn't all from my cup. “I was bringing you cocoa too. I wanted to apologize.”
He wanted to apologize?
“I didn't see you at the cocoa contest," he said.
"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "I didn't go. I entered the art contest. Me and Mary."
"You did?"
I nodded.
He looked down at his almost empty mug and laughed. "I entered the cocoa contest," he said.
"You did?"
He nodded.
We both looked at each-other. We were soaked in cinnamony cocoa and shivering in the snow, and we began to laugh.
I hadn’t laughed in weeks.
And because it was so happy and exciting and warm and cold all mixed together, I just kept laughing and laughing and laughing until I fell down in the snow and gasped for breath and felt tears freeze on my cheeks. It was just so funny how we fought about the contests and entered them anyway. It was so ridiculous, and such a relief to see Jason laughing with me.
Jason had to sit down beside me so he didn’t fall over.
“I won!” I gasped, when I could get enough air to talk. "I won the art contest. Well, runner up actually. But they're displaying our picture at the entrance to the Light Festival tonight."
Jason grinned. "I told you you were good." He knocked his shoulder into mine.
He held up his cup. "This was not the perfect cup of cocoa," he said. "In case you were wondering. Even though I added cinnamon and whipped cream."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said.
Jason shrugged. "Mrs. Jenkin won with some red pepper hot chocolate or something."
I made a face. "I tried that and it was so gross!"
"I know! They had samples and I choked, it was so gross."
"Well, I guess I should be happy for her," I said. "I wonder what she's doing with the prize money."
"Paying us to walk Killer for the rest of the winter," Jason said. "She said she needs to rest her old bones."
"Well," I said, as Jason stood up and pulled me to my feet with him. "I think this cocoa is just perfect. Cinnamon and whipped cream. It looks really good on me."
Jason put his arm around me and started staggering back to the hotel like we were drunk.
"You never said you had to drink it for it to be the perfect cup of cocoa," he said. "By the way, can I sign your cast?"
A meow came from the gutter.
I stopped. "Did you hear that?"
And then Ziggidy jumped into my arms.
He was all wet and soggy with melted snow and he was shivering. His fur was all tangled and dirty, but he was purring and meowing rubbing against me and licking the cocoa off my nose.
That was when I stared to cry- real tears, not laughter ones- and I had to sit down again and hug and kiss Ziggidy while Jason put his arm around me. It was just too wonderful.
Ziggidy licked a tear off my cheek and shook his head like it tasted gross and had to lick his paw to get the taste out of his mouth, but he kept purring and cuddling against me. And I had to laugh again.
It was a quieter laugh, and I was still crying while laughing, so it must have looked like I was in hysterics or something.
Jason got me to my feet again, and we snuck Ziggidy into the hotel room, and I changed out of my cocoa dress and into something clean, and then we all headed off to the Light Festival to see Mary's and my drawing.
As we climbed out of the car, and Jason grinned at me, and the cold flushed my cheeks, I thought, "This is what Christmas should feel like. Just like this. Like I just drank the most perfect cup of cocoa."
(photo courtesy of Masatoshi)
