But in the disappointing absence of teleportation, I got on with decorating. The “sending my future self a card” thing was a tradition I’d picked up from Mum, who’d picked it up from her mum. They wrote one every year when they took the decorations down on the twelfth day of Christmas and packed it up ready to find when they opened them again the following year.

And I was so glad I did. My memory wasn’t like a sieve exactly—more like a big doughnut. One big hole that useful things fell right through. So, opening the cards every year wasn’t just a great way of making sure I could make every Christmas even better than the one before, it was also the nicest way of remembering all the memories that got packed away with the decorations. Well, every year except this year. I’d been dreading it.

I knew it was going to make me go one of two ways: Realize I was over Woody—and put me back on track to having a perfect Christmas after all. Or make the thought that prodded away at me even stronger—that if I could just make Woody see how spontaneous and fun we could be, then maybe things could get back to normal, just in time for Christmas.

I dropped my head back on to my pillow and faced the facts. I was wearing Woody’s hoodie. In my room. Again. And yup. The smell of it still made me feel like I was eating an emotional sour cola bottle. It really hurt, and I hated it, but I also loved it, couldn’t stop, and knew I’d do it again.

I looked at the polar bear. Even he knew.

There was NO WAY I was over Woody.

So, if I was going to make Christmas perfect, I needed a proper plan to get him back. Not that I’d tell Ruby and Fred, who were so team #getoverhim that it felt like a betrayal even thinking it in my own head.

I wriggled up and looked out of my window. Ahhhh, the perfect view of Woody’s house.

It was hard not to yell, “WOODY, I WILL BE HERE UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU’VE MADE A BIGGER MISTAKE THAN WHEN YOU BOUGHT THOSE GLOW-IN-THE-DARK TRAINERS!” But Colin-human (that was the New Boyfriend name compromise) was downstairs, and there was no way either of us wanted to have a conversation about feelings. Especially as it would start off with me having to explain what they are.

I got my frustration out by yelling for my sister instead.

“Naomi!”

Without fail, she always helped me put up my lights, mainly because it gave her a chance to point out I was the genetic mutant in the family, at least four inches smaller than her and Mum.