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.The crowd parted as everyone gasped and gawked down in awe at his twinkling, wondrous shoes.“I want you to fix all my shoes the way you fixed the first pair!” He proclaimed.“And, to show my gratitude, I brought you fresh-baked Christmas cookies!”Giuseppe’s eyes lit up like a little boy.“I like Christmas cookies.”The woman quickly plopped her strappy shoes on the counter and stuck out a fistful of one-hundred-dollar bills.“Consider this my deposit.”Giuseppe didn’t know what to do.So, he took her money.His hands trembled when he tried to remember where the one-thousand-dollar key might be on his cash register.When the money door slid open and the tinny bell pinged, the stockbroker stepped forward with another wad of bills.“Take as many as you like!” he said.“But make my shoes look better than hers!”When Giuseppe took the dozen one-hundred-dollar bills the stockbroker offered, the man insisted he take another.“And,” he said, “I’ll be sending over two pounds of those fancy French cookies this afternoon to sweeten the deal!”Then the woman, who didn’t want to be outdone, tossed five more fifties on the counter.She promised to bake Giuseppe oatmeal-raisin chocolate-chip cookies from scratch.Soon everybody in the shop was tossing money at Giuseppe.One-hundred-dollar bills.Fifties.One man even tossed in a thousand-dollar bill (it had President Grover Cleveland’s face on the front).So much money was being tossed toward the counter, the bills fluttered around Giuseppe like autumn leaves, except these leaves were green instead of brown.Happier than he had been in years, Giuseppe rang up the deposits on his rickety register, nibbled on cookies in between dings, and handed out claim checks.“Mr.Bailey,” he shouted merrily to the banker, “you come back Wednesday morning.Maybe I have your money for you.Maybe I have it all!”Twenty-fiveChristina slipped out the back door of the crowded shoe shop, headed up the alley to the street, then strolled down the sidewalk and headed for school.Her backpack was slightly heavier than usual.Not much.Just a couple pounds.Just the weight of the two nine-and-a-half-inch brownies who had still been in the workroom nibbling on cookies and sipping cream when she peeked behind the curtains to see if she had been dreaming on Saturday night.Fortunately, none of the customers mobbing Grandpa’s store had seen what Christina had seen.“Okay,” she whispered over her shoulder, “I guess you guys are real.You’ll keep helping Grandpa, right? Because he just got a ton of new customers!”“Not to worry,” came the muffled reply from Professor Pencilneck.“You keep bringin’ us cookies,” said Nails, “we’ll keep knocking out the clodhoppers, wing tips, and wedges.”“So,” Christina said to the backpack, “this Mister Fred you used to work for.I’ll bet he’s looking everywhere for you two.I mean you guys are good.Real good.”“Too bad!” said Nails.“Mister Fred insulted us!”“I know.You told me.He gave you sweaters.”“Never give a brownie clothes,” said Professor Pencilneck.“If you do, we leave.Such has been our people’s way since time immemorial!”“Right,” said Christina.“No clothes.Got it.”She felt the two brownies squirming around in the backpack.“Now what’re you guys doing?”“Just popping up to take a quick peek,” said the professor.“Don’t let anybody see you!”“I shan’t.I’m merely peering through a tiny crack in the zipper.”“I poked a nail hole through the nylon.”“Nails!”“Relax, Professor.I’ll sew it up when we’re done checking out the scenery.”“My,” Professor Pencilneck sighed, “what marvelous shop windows! What festive decorations!”Christina looked at the same old storefronts she passed every day on her way to school.They were all decorated for the holidays.Twinkle lights.Wreaths.Fake snow flecked on windowpanes.Disco-dancing Santa dolls.“Just a bunch of cheap plastic crap you have to take down in January when it’s freezing cold,” she said.“It’s another reason I hate Christmas.”“Really?” said Nails skeptically.“Totally.If you ask me, Christmas is a waste of time and money.Christmas stinks.”After Homeroom, Christina went to music class.She was quite good on the violin; she had been taking lessons since she was six.This morning, as part of the school orchestra’s rehearsal for the upcoming holiday concert, she performed a piece she had worked up over the weekend.It sounded sad and melancholy.Like a funeral dirge.Something an undertaker string quartet might play during a graveside burial service.“That was … interesting, Christina,” said her music teacher, trying to sound positive.“Somber.Morose.”“Thank you.That was my intention.”“Uhm-hmm.What, exactly, was it?”“A yuletide classic.”“Really? I didn’t recognize the tune.”“It’s ‘Have a Holly Jolly Christmas.’ That’s what it sounds like if you play it really, really slow.”After music came math.The teacher, who liked to wear loud Christmas ties all through December, strolled up the aisles between desks collecting homework papers.“Miss Lucci? Your homework.”Christina winced.She had forgotten all about her math homework! She had started it that night when Nails and Professor Pencilneck first showed up but had never gone back to finish it.“Right,” she said, wondering what to do or say.“Homework.”“You did do it, didn’t you? You had all weekend.”“Oh, yes sir.” She bent over.Fussed with her backpack.Unzipped the top.“But I think …”“What? Your dog ate it?”The other kids laughed.“No, sir.We don’t have a dog.…” She reached into the bag.“Where, then, is your homework, Miss Lucci?”“Well, sir, I …”While her hand was inside the backpack, she felt a stack of papers that was shoved into it.Stunned, Christina slowly pulled out the pages she had never worked on and handed them to the teacher.“I certainly hope, Miss Lucci, that you gave this assignment more attention than you typically …”He looked at her work [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]