Ethan picked at the hole in his faded Jansport, his face huddled deep into the cave of his hoodie. He wriggled his back deeper into the crevice between the painted cinder block and cold steel of the lockers. The vibrations of the opening, stuffing, pulling, and slamming reverberated through his body.

The chaotic roar that had been building for weeks pinched into high pitched laughter and frivolity as soon as the bell had rung out for the final time of the year, signifying three weeks of freedom for everyone.

Everyone but Ethan.

He adjusted his glasses, forcing them straight on his face, the left arm rising a bit off his ear, as he stared down at his worn sneakers, wriggling his toes in the plentiful room. He remembered the glow on his mom’s face when she revealed the Goodwill jackpot she had found tucked at the bottom of the bin.

“They’re a size too big, but they’ve got that famous basketball player on them,” she had beamed.

His poor, sheltered mother didn’t know the difference between the Michael Jordan jump man and a knockoff, and he hadn’t the heart to explain it to her.

Ethan’s fellow eighth graders had had plenty of heart to explain it to him though.

The last of the lockers slammed, the laughter died to a din, and Ethan edged an eye around the corner of grey steel to ensure a direct path to his bottom locker had emerged. He shuffled over, pushing up on his hoodie’s sleeves, keeping the holes at the elbows scrunched and hidden.

He slipped to his knees and slid open the door revealing a stash of papers and folders. Never anything valuable. The lock had proved worthless within the first two weeks of classes.

He stuffed the first handful into his bag, opting to sort trash versus useful in the safe confines of his bedroom.

“Merry Christmas!” a voice floated behind him.

He kept stuffing.

“Ethan?”

He jolted at the sound of his name, his eyes darted behind him.

Meg glowed into his vision, her red, curly hair framing a pale, freckled, blushing face.

She smiled.

The same smile that had made Ethan woozy since she moved to their district in fourth grade and showed up halfway through the Fall on a Monday morning with green pants and a black sweater and a plastic-wrapped paper plate of smores for all her new friends.

He stared, slack jawed, still unsure she was talking to him despite the empty hallway, and her looking directly into his cave.

“Look, I know,” she said, “I know it’s probably lame, but I’m singing—I mean, my choir, my Christmas choir—is performing Christmas Eve and—”

She held out something towards him. His eyes peeled away from her face and floated down past the image of Gwen Stefani striking a pose in a red dress to a red envelope. His name was traced with Elmer’s and green glitter. There were five stickers surrounding the name. Three were various sizes and colors of wrapped gifts. Then a Christmas wreath. And the fifth was an image of Santa Claus holding a heart.