Oh my god, I almost forgot this existed. It's a piece I had to write for ninth grade English, and after looking through it... I'm really questioning the grade I got on it. It's cliche. Sooo cliche it actually hurts a bit.

But! It's Christmas-themed, and with Christmas only being a few days away, I thought, why the hell not post it? So... enjoy?

My breath fogged in the frozen air, engulfing me in an icy cloud as the wind shifted. The sound of blaring horns drowned out the voices of the pedestrians that shuffled along around me. I brought my hands up to my mouth and blew out a warm breath.

I really disliked the cold.

The weak winter sun was barely a comfort as the light turned a bright white, the little figure signaling I could walk, and I made my way across the street, bustled along by hurried career-men and women. How they could be so active on a day so cold and bitter, I had no idea.

Mom had insisted I be the one to pick up the groceries this dreary Sunday morning. Why? She claimed it was because she had work to catch up on. I knew it was because she was exhausted from her daily night shifts at the job she'd frantically tried to hide from me. I knew our family's situation, however much she wished I didn't. Therefore, I didn't complain about the extra chores, even if the plastic bags' handles dug into my wrists as I walked.

Philadelphia is a beautiful city in the winter, or so tourists tell me. I mean no disrespect, but the foul, muggy air and the soot-stained snow in the streets never really appealed to me. Though the light displays have always fascinated me. And it was those I chose to stare at while fighting through morning foot traffic to reach my home, despite the fact that it was hours before those dazzling lights would even be turned on.

I knew exactly how long the walk from the grocer to home would take: twenty minutes by foot, or five if I was willing to hail down a taxi. Of course, I didn't even bother with the thought of a cabride; the groceries were enough of a burden.

But the point of the matter was that I knew how long I had before I slipped from the stinging cold and the free, albeit tainted, air, back into the somewhat less bitter chill and heavy atmosphere that made up my apartment building. So I took my time, dragged my feet when I could get away with it, daydreamed about the glitz and glam that beckoned me from every shop front. The Christmas garb that hung in every window especially brightened my mood. But Christmas was as dark as it was cheery in my mind.

I passed a red-suited Santa seeking donations. I had to consciously ignore the guilt that gnawed at my heart when he continued to ring his incessantly clanking bronze bell, staring after me with obvious distaste. However much I wanted to, there was nothing I could offer.

Guilt, hovering side by side with my repressed misery, was nothing new. I experienced it on a daily basis. When I heard my friends discussing what they planned to do during winter break; when Mom came home in the middle of the night, thinking I was already fast asleep, looking haggard and worn; and when I stared out at the city, lit up with artificial cheer, from my cramped bedroom window in the evenings.

This day was like any other in recent winters. That is, until I turned onto South Street.

Crowded as ever, South Street was bizarre and exotic, and a favorite of mine along my weekend routes. My usual friends had long ago decided South Street wasn't to their liking, but I was enthralled by it, even if it wasn't the cleanest place to be.

I walked along the somewhat treacherous sidewalk, dodging those who lingered with cell phones in hand. Cars glided past; some lunged at a parking spot; others gracefully parallel parked. Again. this did not at all deviate from the norm. Even when I collided with some passerby and fell back onto the ground in an untidy heap, with my precious groceries spilling out around me. Fortunately or unfortunately, anyone living in a big city such as Philadelphia was more than used to this sort of thing.

The high-pitched yelp that came from the squishy wall I'd encountered, though, startled me.

As I sat, dazed, among bruised fruits and dented cans, my first thought was that I'd run into a puppy off its leash. While I was proven incorrect, I suppose there was some merit to my initial guess.

"I'm really having an off day," I muttered as I shook my head and began to gather up my fallen possessions. I wasn't expecting any help; people had other places to be and other people to meet. So when a small hand, turned red and raw from encountering the biting cold without a glove, knocked into my own with a can of Cambell's soup held tightly in its fingers, I blinked in confusion.

"Sorry!" a childish male voice giggled, "I think I made you drop this!"

My immediate reaction was a flushed face. Strangers always made me nervous. My aversion to meeting new people was the cause of my social anxiety. Needless to say, I didn't have very many I could truly call "friends".

"Um, t-thanks." Oh. The stuttering had already begun. Lovely. I swiftly (and clumsily) swept my remaining things into the battered bags I still carried and stood; the young boy followed suit, grinning as though he'd never been happier.

He could be no older than nine, of this I was certain despite not having spent much time in the company of children so much younger than myself. Tousled brown hair fell into his eyes, almost hiding the vibrant green that reminded me so much of pine forests and pretty winter landscapes. His smile was a bit crooked, but charming nonetheless, and the dimples that adorned his reddened cheeks only added to his adorable image. But the brightness of his eyes contrasted sharply with the state of his obviously hand-me-down clothing that looked to be a size or two too big for his small frame.

At that moment, though, all I cared about was that he looked too young to be wandering around South Street all on his lonesome.

And, apparently, he felt the same.

"Can you take me home?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a bit in a manner that I found to be irresistibly cute.

"E-Excuse me?" I managed to stammer, clutching my bags closer to me.

He laughed a little. "I kinda got lost..." His voice trailed off in embarrassment, but he brightened almost immediately, looking to me with another heartwarming smile. "I was looking at all the pretty decorations with Ms. Smith but then I went off to check out some cool-looking lights, and when I turned around, she was gone!" He raised his arms for dramatic effect. "So please help me!"

I was at a loss. How was this boy so trusting, asking a complete stranger to help him home? For all he knew, I was some deranged killer who specialized in incapacitating my victims with shopping bags. And yet, his eyes shone with absolute trust and warmth, and I caved within moments.

I agreed to take him home, so long as he gave me directions. He panicked at first, then slowly relaxed and told me, "It's the big red building on the street near here!" My face fell and I let out a weary sigh. Torture. His chirping little voice was absolute torture. Nevertheless, I had a vague idea of the building he was speaking of, so we began in my first hopeful direction.

He chattered on and on about the lights, the decorations, the gifts shining in every window. He was positively captivated by Christmas, which I found tiresome at best, though I never discouraged him. And once he paused for a breath, I got up the courage to ask for his name.

"Miles!" he stated proudly, taking hold of my arm like the lost child he so ironically was. "Miles O'Hara! What's your name, nice miss?"

A genuine smile claimed my lips at his politeness. "I'm Summer Isles." He giggled at the irony. I laughed with him, surprised to find none of it forced. Soon, though, the cheer ended as we came upon the building I'd had an inkling was his. He cheered excitedly and rushed the door, which flew open, just inches from grazing his nose. He skidded to a halt and sheepishly back down the steps as a woman stepped out into the cold wearing nothing more than a cozy pink shawl.

Her graying hair seemed to spark as she stared down at Miles, who returned her weighted gaze with another of his disarming smiles. "Miles!" she snapped, voice tight with irritation. "I've been worried to death about you, child! Where on earth did you scamper off to?"

Miles explained what had happened to him, then gestured excitedly to me when he came to the part about how I'd "heroically rescued him". The woman, who I assumed was Ms. Smith, lost her edge hearing this, and offered me the chance to come inside for freshly-baked cookies.

It was an offer I couldn't refuse, even if I felt guilty about Miles' exaggerations.

Ms. Smith's home was warm and simple, welcoming to anyone who enjoyed excessive pictures of cats wearing ridiculous hats and bonnets, or bedecked in overly large bowties. I myself kept a slightly strained smile on my face throughout the encounter. But whenever Miles spoke to me, I would laugh and laugh, grinning as though I'd be able to smile again. There was just something about him that you couldn't deny. Perhaps it was his childish innocence that drew me in, kept me from stuttering or collapsing into awkward silence. He didn't judge and perfectly understood the finer points of hardship in my life, whether he knew it at the time or not.

He made me emphatically joyful for the first time in who knew how long.

And this, I think, is why one statement of his stuck out to me that day.

"Summer, do you like Christmas?" he asked me, eyes shining with curiosity.

"Guess so," I replied with a small shrug. "It's a pretty time of year, anyway."

He pouted and crossed his arms. "But what about Christmas?" he repeated.

I raised a brow, looking to Ms. Smith for assistance. But she only smiled and continued munching on a chocolate-chip cookie that was practically oozing with melted paradise. "You mean, like, the actual day?" I asked, a bemused frown settling on my face.

He nodded and placed his tiny hands on the table we sat at, leaning closer to me, excitement sparkling in his spectacular viridian eyes. "Exactly! People tell me Christmas is great! Presents and big, decorated trees and fires!"

I assumed he meant ones blazing in a fireplace, otherwise I wasn't sure what type of Christmas he'd been informed of, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"You sound like you've never had a Christmas for yourself," I commented with a laugh.

"That's right," he grinned, giving me his cheerful closed-eye smile.

My face fell and my laugh petered out with a conspicuous cough. I shouldn't have been surprised. When I'd spoken to Ms. Smith a bit earlier, while Miles was changing out of his many layers, she'd told me how she'd been raising foster children for the last thirty years, and that Miles was her latest charge. His parents had died when he was young, leaving him to be placed in one foster family after the other, none of them appearing to be the right fit. He never stayed long in one place; why should I have assumed he'd ever had a proper Christmas?

I couldn't find anything to say in response to his reveal and the conversation took a heavy nosedive. Ms. Smith attempted to make idle chit chat for some time but that proved futile as I couldn't utter a single word that sounded right, and when I realized it was time to leave I was only too grateful. But just as I was saying my thanks and heading out the door, picking my bags up as I went, Miles captured my hand in both of his and dragged me to a halt.

"You'll come back, right?" he asked.

I blinked. "You want me to?" was all I could ask.

"'Course I do!" he beamed. "You're my friend! So can you come back some time? Pleeaase?"

You might have guessed that I was incapable of saying no to this child. Your guess would be proven correct. I promised I'd return, and Miles practically jumped for joy.

When I arrived home that afternoon, and explained to my mom why I'd been so late in doing so, I was already making plans on how to keep that look of absolute joy on Miles' face.

Finding a job wasn't nearly as hard as I'd expected it to be. My neighbor on the right side happened to own a small bookstore that had been in his family for quite some time, and he politely agreed to have me work part-time afterschool until Christmas, as his usual worker was completely bedridden with some nasty case of the flu. While I sympathized with his plight, I wholly welcomed the job he provided me.

The work itself was another story entirely.

I'd never realized it before, but people are mad when it comes to Christmas shopping. Completely and utterly insane. If I had been working in an establishment any larger than your average small business, I just might have followed them on their exodus from sanity.

We didn't carry the latest Heroes of Olympus book a woman's son was dying for; our stock of nonfiction was dreadfully overrated; I didn't have change for a hundred dollar bill, something that's ludicrous to take into a family-owned bookstore in the first place. The list went on and on and on. How people managed to do this year after year stupefied me.

Honestly, if not for the thought of Miles' smile on Christmas morning, I would have given it up the moment after I received the job.

It paid well, I suppose, for a part-timer with next to no experience in the working field. Enough to ensure that I could give Miles a proper Christmas worth remembering. After two weeks of work, I thought I had enough to give him a gift he'd been eyeing during that first walk back to his home. But before I could purchase it, the opportunity was forcibly ripped from my grasp.

I hadn't yet told my mom that I'd gotten a job. I wasn't sure how she'd react. She knew I was aware of our family's situation, though she'd never pressured me into finding work before then to help support us. But if she knew I was making decent earnings, would she reconsider her stance on the matter?

I really, truly hated the cold.

And winter.

And snow. Oh. How I loathed snow.

The snow was my Grinch this holiday season. It nearly stole Christmas from me.

This happened because of a freak winter storm that tore through Philly just a few days before Christmas, and blanketed the city in in a foot and a half of snow. Businesses everywhere were closed, cars no longer clogged the road, and those without care risked being blinded by the dazzling sun that sparkled off the surprisingly pure white of the ice and snow.

And I was stuck at home, worrying over both homework and my inability to work for several days. Mom's angry voice still rang in my ears. How could this job, this boy, be more important that my troubled grades? She'd scolded me like a helpless child some days ago, bringing me to the verge of collapse. My promise to once again bring up my grades, as soon as the holidays were over and I was freed from work, weighed heavy on my heart.

School was important to me. Very. It meant a future I could only dream of at the moment.

But the job...

I was agonizing over it, really, more than I should have. But when the snow finally cleared and I was able to leave my house, it was Christmas Eve, and I still didn't have enough money for Miles' special gift. When I called my neighbor and asked what I could do to make a bit of extra cash, he said he only had an opening to work Christmas morning.

I hadn't been aware anyone even left their homes on Christmas morning.

But there I was, waking up bright and early at six, walking the lonely streets of Philadelphia to reach my neighbor's shop. He greeted me warmly, apologized for having me come in on such a day. I only smiled and thanked him for giving me the extra day.

Said day went rather slowly, and I nearly nodded off several times. Seems my assumption had been right; no one bothered to leave the comfort of their own home just to buy a book.

It was late when my neighbor, my boss I suppose, handed me my "well-earned" paycheck and I was able to leave to cash it. Unfortunately, the bank was closed, forcing me to return the following day. As soon as I had all the money I'd saved up in my hand, I made my way to the toy store Miles and I passed that cold, bitter day three weeks ago and immediately purchased the last stuffed puppy they had.

I know. A stuffed puppy doesn't seem like something you'd have to spend three weeks trying to earn. But it was made from silk, stuffed with egyptian cotton and dyed a bright wintry blue with beautiful sparkling eyes that looked like carved obsidian and floppy little ears that made one smile as bright as Miles just by looking at them.

With a smile forever pasted to my face I headed down to Ms. Smith's home the day after Christmas to give Miles his present.

Ms. Smith gave me a heart-melting smile when she received me at the door and led me inside her home. It was as welcoming as before but lacked that special Christmas feeling even my own home possessed. And yet I was able to give a special Christmas smile when Miles came bounding down the steps, stopping abruptly upon catching sight of me.

"You're here..."

He sounded... displeased.

Concerned, I slipped his present (which I hadn't had time to wrap) behind my back and stepped towards him, reaching out for his tiny hand. He stepped away, angrily pulling back his hand to keep it from my reach as he did so. I felt my heart break a little, watching him. "Miles...?"

"Get out." His voice was firm, even though his eyes wavered with unshed tears. "I don't wanna see you."

"M-Miles...." I swallowed back my anxiety and crouched in front of him. I pulled the puppy into my lap, forced a smile and said, "I, uh, got this for you. Sorry it's a little late."

He took the puppy from my hands, looked at it for a mere moment, then let it drop carelessly to the ground.

My heart soon followed.

"Miles!" Ms. Smith's sharp tone brought me back to reality.

"I-Isn't that w-what you wanted?" I asked, staring up into his vibrant green eyes, alight with fury a boy as young as he shouldn't ever experience.

"No. Of course it's not what I wanted!" He threw his hands up in a rage, then brought them down to tear at his hair in exasperation. "Where've you been, Summer?!"

"Where...?" I echoed.

"Yeah! Where! You... you promised to come and see me!"

"But... Miles, I was at work," I said gently. "I had to work to pay for your gift."

"Then you're stupid!" he said.

"Miles! Enough!" Ms. Smith reached around me and yanked Miles towards her but I shot out my hand to halt her. She stuttered an unsure response, but I ignored it and carefully guided Miles back in front of me.

"Miles, you're not making sense," I said softly. "Didn't you want a really nice Christmas this year? You said you'd never had a real one before..."

"I said that," he confirmed. "But it didn't mean I wanted that stupid puppy! I was really happy, Summer! Really, really happy! 'Cause I met you!"

He dropped to his knees and took my hand in both of his small ones, looking at me helplessly with watery eyes. "I was really excited for Christmas 'cause of you! You promised to spend the day with me and we were gonna play games all day long! What happened to that?!"

I blinked slowly, watching the silent tears begin to stream down his red cheeks. And then I began to laugh. I fell back onto the floor, holding my split sides, laughing as though I were paid to do so. I laughed so hard matching tears dripped down from my eyes, rolling down to my chin.

Miles leaned over me, tears stopped for the moment, head tilted quizzically to the side. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"You were... right," I managed between laughs. "I am stupid!"

"Huh?"

"I worried so much over giving you this expensive gift because I thought it would make your Christmas better. But that wasn't what you wanted from the start. I'm so incredibly stupid!"

"Yeah," Miles giggled, wiping away the last remnants of his misery, "you are!"

I smiled to myself, scrubbing at my face to rid it of its dampness. My eyes fell on the discarded blue puppy that say uncaringly behind Miles. Its obsidian eyes glittered with a smile as well. It was as though it knew of my foolishness and had only come with me to see how I'd be humiliated by a nine-year-old boy. But it, too, was truly happy now, after seeing that disarming smile of the boy's.

It was incredible how little I understood, how much I'd worried over something so trivial and so unimportant, how I'd let my grades be damaged so easily. And yet I couldn't become angry. Just seeing Miles laughing and happy was enough.

For once in my life, I think I truly understood Christmas.