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expectation: snow
Somehow, it doesn’t surprise Kira to wake up on December first only to discover that not only is there no snow on the ground, the sun is out.
“It’s seventy degrees outside,” she announces mournfully when she sits at the table.
Her dad slides a plate of pancakes in front of her. “We can open up the swimming pool if you want.”
She groans. “Dad, we don’t even have a pool. Anyway, I’m holding out hope that it will cool down soon. Maybe we’ll get some snow later on?”
“In Beacon Hills?” Her mom walks in then, holding the newspaper. “I’m not sure it ever snowed when I lived here before.”
“Damn,” she grumbles quietly. “I miss New York.” Which–well, not really. She didn’t miss the traffic or the smell or the people–ugh–but she missed winter. She missed waking up to snow on the ground and wearing ear muffs and scarves and still feeling the cold bite into her cheeks. She missed feeling the wind whistling through her and knowing that the world was full of energy that she could almost grasp.
“Well somebody insisted on not moving,” her mom says, and snaps the paper open.
expectation: chapped lips
Scott is waiting for Kira at her locker with a big grin on his face. He waves when he sees her, and when she reaches him, he pulls her into a quick kiss that lingers. He tastes like his spearmint toothpaste and the cherry chapstick he’d started using about a month ago. Apparently, his lips dry out before the weather even turns, but with liberal use of chapstick, they’re still pretty soft and plush.
“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him. She hugs him tightly and rests her head on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”
expectation: warm clothes
Stiles is dressed for cool weather, but he’s the only one. To be fair, Kira can’t remember actually ever seeing his bare arms before. He even wore jackets in the summer, as far as she could tell.
Scott is wearing a tank top.
It’s not that Kira minds the view–not at all. It’s just that the most she can wear these days is a light sweater. And she knows she looks adorable, it’s just that she had a really great coat her “Aunt” Satomi had gifted to her when they were living in New York, and now she never gets to wear it. Which sucks, too, since Satomi might actually see her in the winter this year.
She tries not to let it get to her, and laughs when Malia grabs her sleeves and slips her hands inside. “Sweater paws,” Malia says triumphantly, and wiggles Kira’s hands victoriously.
expectation: traditions
Her parents always make it a point to go to Rockefeller Plaza for the lighting of the tree. There’s honestly something magical about watching fairy lights cover up the orange and surgical feel of street lamps.
But Rockefeller is a $783 plane ticket away–Kira knows, because she’d checked earlier that morning–and there was no way she and her parents could afford that for the three of them.
Somehow, though, It doesn’t feel as bad as she thought to settle into their overlarge couch, stealing handfuls of the popcorn on her Mom’s lap, and watching the lighting on TV. She even gets a better view than she would have if she was there.
The magic isn’t the same, but her dad plugs their own Christmas tree in before they go to bed, and she can almost feel it.
expectation: love
Scott knocks on her window as Kira’s settling in to start some homework. This is the same as New York–teachers never let anyone catch a break, not even when the magic of winter is in the air–as much as it can be in Beacon Hills.
She let’s him in. Kissing Scott is always a better alternative to doing homework. “Hi,” she says, grinning as he slides through her window. It’s sort of a running joke in the family–how long will her mom pretend not to have heard Scott come in? She hopes she gets more than five minutes tonight.
“Hey.” He kisses her as soon as he’s standing in her room, smiling against her mouth. She can still taste the cherry flavor on his lips. His lips are soft, though. She’s grateful. “You seem a bit more cheerful. Tough day?”
She shrugs, and pulls him with her to sit on the bed. “I guess I was just a little…” She trails off, unsure of how to say that she misses New York and wintering in California only makes it worse. She absolutely doesn’t want him to think that she’s unhappy here, with him. Because it’s not that. It’s just… New York was her home for so long, and Beacon Hills is so different. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to wearing shorts in the winter.”
“Ok, Malia is the only one who does that,” Scott says. He smiles softly at her and nudges her gently with his shoulder. “Though I’m loving the skirt.”
“Shh,” she giggles. “Mom will kick you out sooner if you make any overtures.”
He laughs softly and wraps an arm around her waist. For a moment they’re quiet. Scott’s eyes seem to be focused on her Backstreet Boys poster–a holdover from when she was in middle school that she’s unlikely to part with–but clearly his thoughts are elsewhere. Even Nick Carter’s soulful eyes aren’t that interesting. He hums a tune she recognizes vaguely but can’t quite place. Maybe some background music from a TV show–she’s not sure.
It’s nice to be quiet with Scott–to really slow down and listen to the sound of their breathing, to feel the lazy currents of air from her ceiling fan. She licks her lips and tastes Scott’s chapstick again.
“Your mom is coming,” he says, kissing her cheek. “Seven minutes. Must be a new record.” He winks at her and heads to the window. This is part of the game, too–can he get out before her mom walks in?
She follows him to the window and kisses him quickly. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he says, and then he’s gone.
Her mom opens the door just a few seconds later. “Scott left this for you on the porch,” she says, and hands Kira a Starbucks cup.
She takes it and inhales the scent. “He remembered,” she murmurs, smiling.
“Gingerbread latte,” her mom confirms. She kisses Kira’s forehead. “It’s not all bad, right?”
She takes a sip of her favorite holiday drink and shakes her head. “Not at all.”