Snatching St. Nick

By Myla Taylor

One NAUGHTY boy. One super-hot TOY. Only SANTA is in the way. But not for long...  Ten-year-old Cooper is always at the top of Santa's Naughty List. His archrival bets there's NO WAY Cooper will get the super-hot Christmas toy only given to those on Santa's Nice List. (Yes, Santa Claus is real!) The loser has to transfer to the dreaded Dunsley Military Academy. When trying to be good absolutely fails, there's only one thing Cooper can do to win the bet: travel to the North Pole, kidnap Santa, and hold him for ransom.  Of course, nothing goes as planned! In this wild Christmas adventure, is it possible for Cooper to win the bet and still avoid getting a bazillion more years on the Naughty List?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raynen Katz
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737017325

Myla Taylor

Myla Taylor is a novelist and screenwriter.

Book preview

Prologue

(Cooper)

My name is Cooper Bartholomew Finister, I’m ten years old, and I’m as bad as they come. At least that’s what my dad says.

And my fifth-grade teachers.

And the judges of Miami.

But they are all wrong. Nanny Bee says I’m not bad—just mischievous like a cute baby that smacks you in the face with a rattle or an adorable monkey flinging its poo at you at the zoo. Yup. Just a normal kid. I mean, who hasn’t put a whoopee cushion on a classmate’s chair? Or stuck fake vomit by the neighbors’ front door? Or kidnapped Santa?

Okay, maybe that last one was just me. But it wasn’t my fault!

Not entirely.

The goofy thing is, this December I was trying really hard to be on the Nice List. Somehow things went terribly, horribly, ridunkulously wrong. By wrong, I mean I tied up Santa and held him for ransom. Why did I do it? Did I get a bazillion years on the Naughty List? Am I the worst kid in the history of ever?

I have gathered all of the people involved in the nabbing. No one leaves until we take turns explaining everything that happened so you can decide for yourself. (By decide, I mean so you can totally take my side.)

Let’s go back to a week before Christmas when I got suspended from school an hour before Christmas break began. (By the way, not my fault!)

1

The Bet

(Cooper)

Miami was having a crazy awful heat wave. Ninety-nine degrees the weatherman had said. I looked out St. Augustine’s cafeteria window, thinking about Christmas.

Santa’s gonna be as hot as a chili pepper in a wool sock if he doesn’t have air conditioning on his sleigh. Maybe I should warn him. Nerp. Bad idea. Santa’s lawyer sent me a cease-and-desist letter a few days ago. It banned me from sending any more letters to Santa for the next two years . . . or else.

Geez! Send 253 letters in a two-week span, and people go bonkers. I shook my head at the unfairness of it all. I was only asking Santa to give me one simple, itty-bitty thing for Christmas that I desperately needed because of my stupid bet with stupid Dax.

Anyway, my eyes turned to the large plastic nativity scene on the lawn surrounded by fake snow. The three wise men, Joseph, Mary, a sheep, and the manger rested under a patio umbrella, shielded from the scorching Miami heat. The orange, pink, and purple stripes on the umbrella didn’t seem very Christmassy in my opinion. More old ladyish. But you couldn’t tell Old Man Johnson, the janitor, nuthin’. In fact, right after setting up the display, he handed me a restraining order, demanding I keep thirty feet away from it. I didn’t think it was real because it didn’t look anything like the other restraining orders I’d gotten. Nerp. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t looking to cause trouble.

At least, not much trouble.

Don’t even try it, Goldilocks, said a stern voice behind me. Only one person calls me Goldilocks because of my short blond hair . . . and because I once stole three bears. (It was an accident!) Peony. My best friend since way back—like second grade. Not only smartest in the class but Pippi Longstocking strong too. She’s just like Pippi except Peony has a mop of curly black hair instead of two crazy red pigtails. And her skin is brown instead of pale with freckles. And she doesn’t live in Sweden with a monkey named Mr. Nilsson. But anyway, you get my point. Why Peony bothered with the likes of me, I’ll never know. The Robin to my Batman. The cheese to my macaroni. The ginormous pain to my neck. Stop misbehaving! Do the right thing! And stop saying ‘ginormous’ and ‘nerp.’ Those aren’t real words! she would often shrill in my ear. As if it would make a difference.

Still staring out the cafeteria window, I asked, Try what?

Pulling the fire alarm, detonating another stink bomb, stampeding a herd of buffalo . . .

I pouted. I’m just reflecting on the true meaning of Christmas.

Sure you are. And I’m the Easter Bunny.

Though she gave me the stink eye, I could tell she was in a really good mood because she was smacking on peppermint. As long as there was a candy cane around, Peony was as happy as a puppy with two tails. I was mighty tempted to rub my dirty finger on it, grossing her out like always. Proud of myself, I resisted the urge.

See! I was already changing. Surely that should count for something with Santa.

Have you forgotten? I gotta be on Santa’s Nice List this year, I said.

Why? You never cared before.

Got my reasons, I muttered. I wasn’t about to tell Peony anything about my bet with Dax if I could help it.

Spotting Old Man Johnson strolling across the lawn whistling Jingle Bells, I grinned. He sure is crazy about that nativity scene.

Peony glared, knowingly. What did you do?

Me? I asked, wide-eyed.

Johnson pulled a rag from his pocket and lovingly dusted the plastic figures. Awww, said Peony when he gave the lamb a friendly pat on the head. The whistling suddenly trailed off as he bent over the manger. His brow furrowed.

Pressing her face against the window, Peony asked, What’s he staring at?

I stayed silent.

Shaking a fist in the air, the janitor screamed, Cooper! Then he reached into the manger and pulled out a green Yoda-like doll.

I howled with laughter.

Oh, Cooper! Peony shook her head. What happened to getting off the Naughty List?

Meh. Santa doesn’t expect us to be freakin’ saints!

Peony gave a disapproving grunt, then stomped off. Turning away from the window, I faced the cafeteria. The room was an explosion of red and green Christmas decorations. It was filled with students and teachers drinking punch and eating cookies to rockin’ Christmas tunes.

Everyone was jolly, especially Hector, Zelig, and Dax, or, as I like to call them, Sleepy, Dopey, and Sneaky Teacher’s Pet. I snickered at Dax’s outfit. Though the boys were assigned the same school uniform—navy jacket, white shirt, and khaki pants—Dax just had to be different. Probably trying to distract people from noticing how short he was—like third-grader short. Instead of the required red-striped tie, Dax wore a red silk cravat. (Cravat is French for goofball handkerchief tie. That’s what my pool cleaner says.) Dax actually thought it made him look worldly. What a dweeb!

I headed straight for them. What are you guys up to?

Tickets to Wonky Fun World. Dax’s dad scored them, Zelig bragged.

Beaming, Hector added, To the grand opening!

Dax elbowed him in the stomach. Shush! Don’t tell Cooper. He’ll want to go.

Rubbing his belly, Hector grunted, Well, you do have an extra ticket.

Wonky Fun World was THE hottest thing since . . . since . . . since the last hottest thing. Park tickets were sold out a year in advance. And these doofuses had tickets to the opening? I wanna go too!

I don’t even like you. Why should I give you one of my tickets? demanded Dax.

I considered a moment, then said, We’re always making stupid bets. Dare me to do something. Like eat a jalapeño. I hate them! I love jalapeños, but he doesn’t need to know that.

We already have a major bet you’re totally going to lose, and I’ll finally be rid of you.

"So one more won’t hurt. Oh, unless you’re chiiccckkeeennn." Then I made clucking sounds like a hen, flapped my arms, and kicked my legs back.

Dax just stood there, staring at me with a stone face. I held my breath, worried that I had laid it on too thick when . . .

Fine. Follow me.

Making sure no one was watching, the three of them slipped out of a side door. I grinned with every tooth showing and rushed after them.

The gym was musty and warm, probably because the air conditioning was off. Old Man Johnson was obviously getting ready to shut down the school for winter break. I found the guys standing in the middle of the court in a huddle, whispering excitedly.

Well, I said expectantly.

Dax answered, We’ve decided you have to go into the girls’ locker room for five minutes.

Hector, the ever-faithful henchman, added, We triple dare you!

Amateurs. Did they really think this was a big deal? The girls’ locker room. Big whoop.

I might get caught. What’s the prison time for this type of thing?

Zelig piped in, I’ll blow a whistle if anyone comes in, okay? Now go in, wuss!

I approached the door marked Girls then opened it. I turned around and saw a smile spread across Dax’s lips. Dweeb. I stuck out my tongue and stepped in.

THE INFAMOUS GIRLS’ locker room. I walked around a little and was frankly disappointed. No unicorns? No pink everywhere? No stuffed dolls in every nook and cranny? Instead, it looked a lot like the boys’ locker room. A bunch of lockers and four bathroom stalls. Gray and boring. And smelled like sweaty socks. Nothing special.

I walked all the way to the end where the largest stall was. There was a toilet, some laundry baskets, and a bench. I plopped down, wondering when the five minutes would be up. Maybe I should ask Dad for a wristwatch for Christmas. After all, I was becoming a man. Time to do manly things like pay attention to time and watch the news and complain about the economy and stuff.

A muted chirp came from the other side of the entrance. Crap! Zelig’s whistle!

A moment later the locker room door flew open.

Principal Walker burst in, holding a broom like it was a baseball bat. What can I say about Principal Walker? She’s a triple umpy: frumpy, grumpy, and lumpy.

Who’s in here? I must warn you, I know the excellent art of ka-ra-tay, she yelled.

Pushing her oversized, thick glasses up on her nose, she squinted, looking behind the door. Seeing nothing, she moved further in. I studied under Tae Bo and Jackie Chan. You. Do. Not. Want. To. Mess. With. Me!

She went from stall to stall, banging the doors open, ready to bash a skull. Finding no one, she gave a huge sigh of relief, then looked at her reflection in the mirror.

That darn Dax said he saw an unsavory character come in here, but I don’t see anyone.

(Ugh! I owe Dax a beating!)

Her eyes, magnified three times their size through the super-thick lenses, stared back. Boy, do I need new glasses. Everything is fuzzy! She primped her frizzy hair and walked