Blame It on the Mistletoe
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright
Copyright © 2021 by Beth Garrod
Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks
Cover design and illustration © Maja Tomljanovic
Internal design by Ashley Holstrom/Sourcebooks
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Originally published as All I Want for Christmas in 2020 in the UK by Scholastic Children’s Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Garrod, Beth, author.
Title: Blame it on the mistletoe / Beth Garrod.
Other titles: All I want for Christmas
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Fire, [2021] | Originally published in the United Kingdom by Scholastic Children’s Books in 2020 under title: All I want for Christmas. | Audience: Ages 14. | Audience: Grades 10-12. | Summary: A teenaged social media star living in New York and a sixteen-year-old girl living in the English village of Little Marsh swap places in an attempt to have the perfect Christmases.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021028971 (print) | LCCN 2021028972 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Christmas--Fiction. | Love--Fiction. | Internet personalities--Fiction. | London (England)--Fiction. | England--Fiction. | New York (N.Y.)--Fiction. | LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G3767 Al 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.G3767 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]--dc23
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Forty-Two Days till Christmas
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
January 5
Christmas Day Playlist for Christine P. Bacon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
For Moomin, who made sure Christmas was—and always will be—magical for all of us.
Forty-Two Days till Christmas
Is it so wrong to put a Santa hat on a shriveled pumpkin? I did it anyway and pulled on my elf onesie. It must have had an incident in the dryer, because it only reached my calves and the H on the front was half dangling off.
But who cared? Not me. It was November 14, my Christmas playlist was on, and everything was going to plan. Freezing ankles weren’t going to get in the way of tradition (unless the tradition was woolly socks).
I sat on the edge of my bed and reached underneath. Bingo. I pulled out the battered shoebox, blew off the dust, and peeled back the tape.
I loved this moment. Every. Single. Year.
And there it was, waiting for me. A Christmas card, some paper folded inside. I snapped off a piece of chocolate (actually two, but they seemed so happy together, why separate them?), and opened the envelope.
Happy Christmas, Holly!
If you’re reading this, it means only one thing. It’s Chriiiiiiistmas. Well, the start of it anyway. Well done, you, on getting through the other less pointful ten months of the year. Is it snowing? I hope for the sake of all that is festive and cinnamon-scented, it is.
IN FACT. STOP. Are you sipping on something gingerbread flavoured rn? If not, SORT IT OUT before reading another word—because this is about to get biiiig.
What you’re holding in your hand is not just a Christmas card. Oh no. It’s a time traveling gift from the Best Christmas Ever. Honestly, this year was IT.
And no detail must be forgotten. EVER. (In case you’re not getting the hint, this is your reminder to make notes starting…now.) Treat this card like a priceless relic. Like the…er…Mona Lisa. But BETTER. Because she doesn’t have Malteser Reindeers.
Or maybe she does…and that’s why she’s smiling?? So lemme break it down…
OF COURSE, Carol singing was amazing. As in Carol, Mum’s friend, who NEVER lets us down at the village Christmas Eve singalong round the tree. Serious question—has she genuinely never heard of any of the songs DESPITE THEM BEING THE SAME ONES EVERY YEAR AND ALSO THE SAME ONES SINCE CHRISTMAS WAS INVENTED?? As usual, she sang the wrong words. And the wrong tunes. Iconic.
Then we all headed to ours for the legendary Christmas Eve party. After we’d stood around pretending mince pies are nice (and me telling everyone they used to be oblong, like the nativity crib), Naomi and I competitive speed-ate all the pink Quality Street without getting spotted (Mum genuinely thinks they just don’t put as many in the tin?! Bahahaha), and I herded everyone into the garden. Mum, her new boyf, the twins, my sister, Ruby, Fred—everyone.
And, HELLO, best-ever surprise! I’d snuck back early and pegged up matching onesies—one for everyone, each with their initial on. They’d taken weeks! Sure, I do agree with Fred, that on reflection, seven full-length body shapes swaying in the dark garden was kind of creepy. BUT after I’d persuaded the twins to stop screaming and come back out, everyone was dead impressed and pulled them on. Not to blow my own Christmas trumpet here, but we looked A-May-Zing. I really nailed my yearly “Christmas Cracker” surprise. The group photo was perfection. (Mum has already put it on the fridge—over the one of Naomi passing her driving test. Hahaha.) The only one not in it was Colin. I’d crafted his onesie from an old jumper but had sort of forgotten dogs had four legs…and a head. So, basically, I’d made him an elaborate giant sock.
ANYWAY.
Mum and New Boyfriend drank mulled wine and chatted loudly about the heat burning off the alcohol (clearly a LIE, due to the volume at which they were talking about it), and Ruby, Fred, and I escaped up to my room for the most sacred of festive traditions. Watching Elf. Saaantaaaaa!!!!! We are word perfect. This year, Ruby and Fred went next-level with their attempt at recreating the escalator scene. Rubes was, of course, amazing, and Fred was…well, Fred. I don’t think he’ll ever attempt the splits again—or maybe not even enjoy normal walking judging by how he hobbled out. We swapped presents—Fred’s looked very much like two Toblerones end to end. (SPOILER ALERT: You can imagine how excited I was when it turned out to be…two Toblerones superglued end to end. My friends are THE BEST.) Then everyone left, and it was just Mum, me, and Nay. So we hung our stockings on the stairs and went to bed.
And OH. MY. JINGLE. BELLS.
Christmas Day went and got even better?!
I got up early (the incentive of pre-8 a.m. Toblerone is a powerful thing) to surprise Mum by doing Christmas breakfast, but she was already up. In full Ms. Santa dress!! I unveiled this year’s Christmas playlist, and we danced around the kitchen as we waited for Naomi to get up (which took forever, despite me walking outside her door really loudly four times). Then it was opening stockings and selection boxes. Mum still acts surprised when she gets her big sports sock stuffed with things as if we haven’t been doing that for years, but I guess that’s part of the tradition now too!
As usual, I shoved on every single bit of makeup from my stocking, so I looked quite extra (a.k.a. scary) for 10 a.m., and put on all my new bits of clothing, even though none of it matched. We had to delay proper presents round the tree as I had an incident with my Cadbury’s selection box (i.e., had eaten all of it except the Crunchie) and bending to pick up the presents and pass them out was making me feel a bit…volatile. But then genius Naomi opened our yearly box of posh chocolates from Dad, and weirdly, it turned out eating more was the solution. Who knew?!
Mum and Nay loved their pressie from me—tickets to a baking class with one of the Bake Off winners (pheeewwww—it cost ALL my savings). But Naomi went weird, and I had no idea why until I opened my pressie from her. A ticket for me to go too! Absolute result!!! She said it was older-taller-sister intuition. (Fred later accidentally revealed he’d tipped her off about how much I wouldn’t stop talking about it.)
Ruby loved what I’d bought her—a personalized handheld mirror that I’d had engraved with “And the winner of Best Actor goes to…” around the edge. It was to use before her auditions, because if I couldn’t be there to remind her how awesome she was, maybe this would instead. Honestly, when Ruby, the girl I’ve never seen express an emotion in almost sixteen years, rang, she looked kind of…teary. In a good way. IT WAS TOO MUCH! Maybe that’s why I had major eye leakage when I opened hers—a snow globe of the ice rink in Central Park that she’d also had personalized! (Related thought—me and Mum’s new beige carpet can confirm my new eyeliner is NOT waterproof.) It really couldn’t have been more perfect if it tried. It said…one sec, let me get it…
“Shake my snow, dream what you feel, make a Christmas wish, then watch it become real.”
** Full disclosure, I’ve now done that 1,000 times but haven’t YET had my wish granted and been teleported to New York. **
** Even fuller disclosure, I also shook it allll the way through Nay and me watching the Christmas Eve Snow Ball concert in Madison Square Garden, but still nothing. YET. **
Argh?! Did I mention the twins? How could I not?! Oh yes…because they spent the whole day running around with a box on their heads. One box, four legs. Each to their own. Being five must be a lot of fun. Even Colin was looking at them like they’d lost it, and his favourite hobby is licking the oven.
Which reminds me. The big thing. COLIN WENT MISSING!
Around 2 p.m. We rang everyone to ask if they’d seen him—even Carol, who turned up to look with a torch, even though the sun was still out.
But guess who eventually found him? ME. He was splatted out in the cupboard under the stairs, lying on some coats, looking like a balloon with four corks sticking out. He wasn’t even blinking. Obviously, we all panicked. Carol rang 111 (who pointed out they didn’t deal with dogs). But… Mum discovered a plate under the kitchen table. Yes, tiny old Chewbacca-resembling, Jack Russell poodle cross that he is, he’d somehow dragged the whole turkey off the table. And eaten it. The Christmas turkey. Every bit?! For real—it was bigger than him. No wonder he couldn’t make all of his legs reach the floor at the same time—he’d effectively grounded himself from overeating. And I respected that. I mean, I had to. He’d totally seen what had happened with me and the selection box earlier. (And every single year before that.) (And probably next year too.) Mum was upset about the turkey, but we promised her the best bits of Christmas dinner were the accessories anyway and stuck some frozen hamburgers in the oven. If Colin had gone for the pigs in blankets, it would have been a different matter.
But then. THEN. It happened.
****** DRINK BREAK. DEEP BREATHS. Prepare to relive this. ******
An unexpected doorbell ring.
First thought: Carol coming back to tell us she’d rung an ambulance for Colin after all.
Second thought: Fred arriving early, because he’d got the time (or day) wrong.
But no. All kinds of no. IT WAS WOODY. As in, love-of-my-life Woody.
As in, Woody who makes me think deeply inappropriate thoughts, just from writing his name.
As in…
(Sorry, no, had to take a moment to think deeply inappropriate thoughts.)
When I opened the door, he said, “I thought my girlfriend deserved a surprise on Christmas Day.” Like in a film!! And he was holding out a big, red Christmas plant thing. (Have since found out it was a poinsettia. KNOWLEDGE.)
And then, right on cue…snow started falling. Most. Perfect. Romantic. Christmas. Moment. Ever.
He suggested we take Colin for a quick walk (or carry, due to his tummy dimensions) and we went to the walkway by the village hall where we’d had our first-ever kiss (November 17, 8:23 p.m.). But this time there was mistletoe. And, not to be graphic, but we stopped underneath it and…well… THERE’S NO OTHER WAY OF SAYING IT, WE HAD THE BEST KISS EVER. EVEREVEREVER.
*** PHEW, HAD TO PAUSE TO ACTUALLY FAN FACE ***
Genuinely, best of my life (not that there’s much to compare it to, hahahaha). Woody gave me this look before and after that was all mwwhhhhwwhhhwhhhw (a.k.a. the sound of me melting) and told me how much he liked me.
Hot. Romantic. Christmassy. And in the snow! With a poinsettia! (No idea why I’d taken that with me.) But who cares! (Well, Carol did as she walked round the corner, almost straight into us, and was all flustered, and said “don’t mind me” five times, which made me really mind her, and then she tripped over the plant and then over Colin.)
I had to have a quiet sit-down when I got back to process it all. Naomi kept asking why I was grinning like I was watching a new Harry Styles video.
Then Fred came round, and I introduced him to my plant (he named it Stemi Lovato). He was still wearing his onesie from the day before. I asked if he’d taken it off at any point and…well, he was vague to say the least. He loved his present (ten packets of Jaffa Cakes cunningly arranged in the shape of an X). Then it was the usual—sofa cushions on the floor and bundling up under my duvet, Mum and Nay under another one. We stuck on the old Gavin & Stacey Christmas special and played games and ate every edible present, even though we were already stuffed and, well…days just don’t get better. (Even if the main game we played was trying to ignore the noises Colin made as he deflated.)
I’m still smiling now…ten days later.
I have never looked after ANYTHING like I have Stemi Lovato. Stemi is basically my and Woody’s first child.
Which brings me to…QUESTIONS. Is Stemi still aliving? And thriving?
Did Woody let you keep his hoodie? Does it still smell of him? (A.k.a., heaven.)
Ruby—please tell me she made it into this year’s pantomime?!
And finally…
I know every year, you say you’re going to make Christmas better than the year before, but srsly, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?! You better have started planning already!
So…that’s it. END OF THIS YEAR’S CARD.
Happy Christmas! Go give Mum a hug and tell her you love her, and then you know what to do…
PUT THIS UP AND OFFICIALLY LAUNCH CHRISTMAS. HAPPY HOLIDAAAAAAYS!!!
Holly (from last year) (a.k.a. Christmas past)
PS: Mum mentioned she’d always wanted a calendar with pics of the family on—present idea?!
PPS: Get more Twiglets. Or hide a box. Turns out Fred panic eats them when he can’t figure out who he is in the Post-it game.
PPPS: Although Colin pretends to be lazy, he’s surprisingly good at mountaineering up a table. PUT EDIBLE THINGS HIGHER.
PPPPS: Oh, and New Boyfriend doesn’t seem to be loving the New Boyfriend name. He pointed out multiple times he’s been with Mum for four years. Maybe this could be the year we start to call him by his actual name. Colin. And rename dog Colin to dog-Colin…? Nah, I’m picturing your face, and agree. TOO SOON. As you were.
PPPPPS: Last thing, promise. Don’t forget to not forget the golden rules of Christmas… Never say no to a novelty hot drink. And never wimp out of the high notes of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” It’s what Mariah wants (even if Colin x 2 don’t).
Chapter One
Elle
Hold up, who knew we had a pro in the house?! @OneElleOfATime how much to do mine?!
The reveal of my snowflake nails had gone well. Amazing what some well-placed Wite-Out can do. I’ll never not be grateful for filters. And YouTube tutorials.
I stretched out against the life-size plastic Santa I was using as a backrest and replied.
For you?! Free! Next time you’re in New Jersey, slide into my DMs 
I meant it. I totally loved @_Beckywiththemediocrehair_, even though we’d never met. Though…never meeting had its perks—if she saw my nails, she’d realize what a hot mess they were in real life. A bit like me.
It could not be normal to spend your weekend hunched in the back of your parents’ work van, parked in the best neighborhood in town, day two of running out of time to wash your hair, while legit sweating over a math assignment.
And this street was something else. Which figured. It was always the biggest houses that wanted their Christmas decorations and lights up first. Mom said normally, these families weren’t even going to be at home for the holidays—they just wanted to make sure no one else got the best pick of the bunch. Ha. The true meaning of Christmas spirit.
And the house my family was barfing Christmas all over was a cross between the White House and…an even bigger White House.
Still, I wasn’t here to decorate. I was here to get this math done.
Point (a,b) is on the function f(x)=2x x>…numberslettersnumberslines.
Could they mark me wrong if I just wrote, “Ask Google”?
I got back to my notifications.
Queeeeen. I still have half a pumpkin and a flaking-off skull on mine. Wanna swap?!
I replied.
half chewed is a look too!
Truth was, I’d only finished mine last night, and half-chewed was already my look. But truth wasn’t exactly the point of the internet. Still, the post had done its job. I now had 23,132 followers. Awesome. I was finally getting my numbers back up to what they’d been on my old account. And, even more awesome, I’d just got a like and follow from @realdeallogan. He had 125,000 followers and was the closest Alpine Peaks got to a celebrity. Though I would like to see what he looked like with a shirt on for a change, I kept the feedback to myself and followed him back. I wonder how he even knew I existed? I knew about him because he was on a local basketball team with my brother. Oh, and a girl in my class had a poster of him up in her locker, which I had a lot of questions about. Mainly, did he print them himself?
Nick stuck his head into the back of the van.
“You going to help, or are you just going to sit there?”
Nice to see you too, bro.
“Just sit there. Well, here.” I fumbled for a book and held it up. “It’s called an assignment.”
“Oh, right…” He put a finger to his lips. “Because I swear I just saw you posting about your hashtag holiday nails?”
He didn’t even follow me, he just occasionally checked in so he could tease me about it.
I smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome.” If he thought acting like an extra parent was going to stop me, he was wrong. “Don’t forget to like, okay?”
He rolled his eyes, slung a huge Styrofoam reindeer over his shoulder, and walked off. Normally I would laugh at the sight of a six-foot-one guy trying a moody march off as the hooves of a grinning reindeer whacked him in the ribs, but things with my little brother had started to feel weird. Weirder than me sitting in the middle of a herd of fake reindeer. So pretty damn weird. There was something up with him. I knew it. There had been ever since before we left Nashton. We used to be so close, but then he’d started disappearing all the time. And whenever I asked what was up or where he was going, he’d brush me off. Which is why I hadn’t told him about what really went down with my old account, with Clara…not that I’d told anyone. Who did I even have to tell anymore? Plastic Santa?
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