Know Not Why: A Novel by Hannah Johnson

spray-dyed silver hair and a
pair of old lady glasses – insists upon coloring my nose with her
lipstick.
    “You’re Rudolph ! Not, like, Prancer!”
    “I know I’m not Prancer,” I say quickly, because
Arthur’s in the kitchen and suddenly nothing in the universe seems
quite as gay as the name ‘Prancer.’
    Arthur stares at his Santa threads with a
mixture of resignation and torment while Kristy hums a few bars of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer and then dubs my nose
“adorable.”
    Whatever.
    “Oh, hey,” I tell her, remembering, “I have
something for you, by the way.”
    “You do?” Kristy asks, her face lighting up.
    “Yup.” I dig into my backpack and hand her my Freaks and Geeks DVDs. “I thought I heard you say you wanted
something new to watch.” (I didn’t, but when somebody talks as much
as Kristy, there’s no way they can remember all of it, right?)
    “I did?” Kristy asks, scrunching her nose
thoughtfully. “Wow, I totally can’t remember that!”
    “Huh,” I say, innocent. “Well. It’s a great
show. I think you’ll like it.”
    “Awesome!” Kristy beams at me. “Thank you! Nikki
and I will totally check it out tonight. And, hey, Arthur!”
Arthur looks over from where he’s still contemplating the Santa
suit. “Look what Howie’s lending us! You have to watch it too,
okay??”
    “Sure,” Arthur says, sounding a little
surprised.
    He catches my eye, and I shrug. I can’t help
throwing in a little bit of a ‘yeah, man, this is me saving your
ass’ smirk. He smiles slightly. Then Cora the Slutty Elf comes in
and starts bitching at him for not being in his costume yet, all,
“This was your idea, Jolly Old Saint Prick,” and it’s enough
to take his attention off me.
    It may be one of the greatest moments of my life
when he comes out of the staff bathroom bedecked in his Santa gear.
It hangs off of him to a degree that’s just, like, ridiculous,
because he hasn’t been stuffed with fluffy cottony goodness yet. He
straightens the hat, then adjusts the beard with an awkward little
‘ahem’ sound. He looks absolutely just … delightful.
    “Come on, Arthur,” Cora orders. “Show us what
you got.”
    Arthur gives a very refined and tasteful, “Ho,
ho, ho.”
    She rolls her eyes. “You’re going to make them want to stop believing in Santa.”
    He tries harder after that.
    The first people to show up, at 11:56, are Amber
and Mitch. I am immediately filled with deep, profound regret that
I ever let the existence of this event slip to them. They both grin
their faces off at the sight of me, because they’re sad excuses for
humans who don’t have anything better to do. Amber’s even got a
camera.
    “Say cheese, Rudolph,” she instructs
giddily.
    I flip the camera off. It’s a pretty
thirteen-year-old-skateboarder thing to do, but under the
circumstances, it seems justifiable.
    “Hey, none of that!” Amber chastises,
gleeful.
    “Yeah, dude, these are for your mom,” Mitch
adds, beaming broadly. “Be decent .”
    I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I’m
pretty sure I hate them.
    “Ooh, pictures, yay!” Kristy cries. “Group shot,
group shot, come on, you guys!”
    The four of us squish together. Kristy gets
everyone to put their arms around each other, all snuggly; at the
last minute, she wiggles out away from me down next to Cora on the
floor, leaving me and Arthur all snuggly. I have this split-second
freakout, complete with the impulse to move away, far far away,
all-the-way-back-into-the-kitchen away, New Zealand away. But then
I realize that Amber’s here – documenting the moment via
photograph, no less – and I know that freaking out won’t fly. So I
sort of settle into it, or whatever, and don’t pay attention to his
arm across my back or his hand lightly cupping my shoulder.
    Amber snaps a couple shots, and that’s that. The
end. No biggie. Still, I breathe easier when we’ve all broken
apart.
    At first it seems like nobody’s going to