Charlie knew exactly what André was thinking—that he would have to go to jail, like his mom. That was André’s deepest, darkest fear. Charlie nearly knocked his friend down, pushing in front of him to stand before Chief McKnight. He stood tall and squared his shoulders the way his dad told him he should do to show respect.

“It was me,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “I made André sit next to me, but I was the one who stole the snowplow and ran it into the manger. André didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Hey,” said André.

“If anybody gets in trouble,” Charlie said, “it should be me, not André.”

“Is that so?” asked the police chief.

Charlie knew his Christmas wish couldn’t possibly come true now. What boy could ever be rewarded on Christmas morning after pulling a prank like this? Santa would never bring him a dog now, not after what they’d just done. So he figured he might as well take the blame, because in one big flash, he realized there was something way more important than his Christmas wish, and that was André. His best friend.

And André’s wish—that his mom would be okay—just had to come true.

“Let’s go to my car,” said Rourke. “I need to call your dad.”

Defeated, they followed him up the slope toward the squad car. Normally they would love exploring a police car, but not now.

“Why did you say it was you?” André hissed at Charlie.

“Because we need to make sure your Christmas wish comes true.”

“What about your wish?”

Charlie’s heart sank, but he kept his chin up. “Maybe next year.” And in that moment, he felt funny, kind of light and floating. The moment he had stepped up to take the blame, he had felt this terrific sensation whooshing through him like an ocean wave or like the wind through the trees. It felt good. Really good, even though he knew he had just ruined his chances of getting a puppy. He knew why it felt good to throw himself under the bus and he knew the name of the whooshing feeling.

It was the Christmas Spirit. It was the thing all the songs and stories were about—putting somebody’s happiness ahead of your own.

Even though it felt good, he still had to deal with Chief McKnight...and with the holy family lying half-buried in the snow. He’d run over baby Jesus. How was he going to fix this?

He was going to need a Christmas miracle.

When they were a few feet from the police car, Charlie saw Darcy running toward them. “What happened here?” she asked. “Is someone hurt?”

“No visible injuries,” said the chief. “And you are?”