Jayda's Christmas Wish

By Amy Sparling

Jayda's junior year started off bad when her boyfriend dumped her, and then it became worse when her mom got laid off. With every week that her mom doesn't find a new job, things get tighter. Now the holidays are approaching and there is no money for presents. When she intercepts her little brother's letter to Santa, her heart breaks knowing they can't get the dog he desperately wants. On a wing and a prayer, she writes her own letter to Santa, penning all of her holiday wishes that she knows can never come true because holiday magic just isn't real.

Connor's first Christmas without his mother is harder than he imagined. When a giant sack of letters to Santa shows up at his doorstep, he can't believe he forgot that she used to reply to all the Santa letters in their small town. He's about to throw them away, but then a letter from a girl he has a crush on catches his eye. Jayda has sent a Christmas wish into the universe, and although Connor isn't technically Santa, he does the only thing he can do to honor his mother's memory. He writes back.

A sweet and clean Christmas romance that will make you smile!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Sparling
• Release date: Aug 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223350439

Amy Sparling

Amy Sparling is the bestselling author of books for teens and the teens at heart. She lives on the coast of Texas with her family, her spoiled rotten pets, and a huge pile of books. She graduated with a degree in English and has worked at a bookstore, coffee shop, and a fashion boutique. Her fashion skills aren't the best, but luckily she turned her love of coffee and books into a writing career that means she can work in her pajamas. Her favorite things are coffee, book boyfriends, and Netflix binges.  She's always loved reading books from R. L. Stine's Fear Street series, to The Baby Sitter's Club series by Ann, Martin, and of course, Twilight. She started writing her own books in 2010 and now publishes several books a year. 

Book preview

ONE

JAYDA

The weather outside is frightful… I frown, turning up the volume on my phone. But the fire is so delightful...

I stand back and look at it, the two-year-old dinged up cell phone that can only be described as a piece of crap, while it tries to play some Christmas music.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

I frown. The music is distorted, tinny, and too quiet. Last year we played Christmas music on the television using one of those cool satellite TV music channels. It filled the whole apartment with clear, quality sound. Max, Mom, and I danced around the kitchen while we made our holiday sugar cookies, as per family tradition.

Mom cancelled the cable TV three months ago. But the tradition must go on, so I’m trying to fill the air with some holiday spirit from my piece of crap phone that seems to have a speaker that was made only for people with supernatural hearing. I press the volume button again, even though it doesn’t get any louder.

Come on, holiday spirit. You can do it!

This is so not working.

I love this song! Max says as he rushes into the kitchen, fully dressed in his snowman pajamas that are clearly a size too small since they’re from last Christmas. There won’t be any new holiday pajamas this year. He grins. Can you turn it up louder?

No, I say, moving my phone to the kitchen table as if that will somehow make it project the music better. This is as loud as it gets.

My little brother makes a face but he quickly gets over it when he sees all the ingredients for sugar cookies laid out on the counter. Where’s the sprinkles? he says, dragging a chair over so he can stand on it and be taller.

Where’s Mom? I say. We can’t start making cookies until she’s here.

Max shrivels up like he does when he’s in trouble. She told me she’s not coming.

I roll my eyes. Of course she’s coming. It’s tradition. Mom, Max, and I always make Christmas cookies a couple of weeks before Christmas. We use the ancient set of cookie cutters that Grandma passed down to us and we make dozens and dozens of sugar cookies topped with sprinkles and icing and candy bits and then we snack on them, making sure to save a few for Santa on Christmas Eve.

It’s only one of two traditions we have, the other of which is going to Harris Christmas Tree Farm to pick out a tree. Mom already broke the news to us that we can’t afford the tree this year, so we’re down to one tradition. I’m not going to let it get canceled too.

I point at Max and give him a warning look. I’ll go get Mom. Don’t you even think about eating the chocolate chips.

I walk to Mom’s bedroom. The door is closed, so I tap on it lightly. Mom?

I’m sleeping, she calls out.

Sleeping people can’t tell you that they’re sleeping, I say.

I’m about to sleep, she calls back.

I crack open the door. Mom is lying face down on her bed on top of the sheets. She’s wearing paint splattered leggings and an old baggy T-shirt that’s seen better days. Those are her cleaning clothes.

We’re making the cookies tonight, I say.

You can handle it, Jayda. Mom rolls over in bed so that she’s no longer facing me. I’m tired.

But it’s tradition, I say. We always make them together.

From down the hallway, I hear Max belting out, Let it snow!

Mom doesn’t even crack a smile at it. If anything, she seems more annoyed.

Jayda, I’m just not in the mood for Christmas stuff, she says, heaving a sigh. Please close the door behind you.

I leave, taking a moment to breathe before I head back out to the kitchen donning a fake smile for my little brother’s sake. Mom has never been like this. She’s always been a great mother, loving and supportive, happily taking on the burden of a family after my dad left her six years ago. But she was laid off from her job as an administrative assistant four months ago, and that’s when everything started to suck.

We ran out of money quickly and Mom hasn’t been able to find a job. In order to keep the rent paid, she struck a deal with our landlord and now she cleans empty apartments for him in exchange for the rent.

Now she’s tired all the time, and grumpy, and just no fun to be around. I was really hoping that making the sugar cookies would bring all of us together again as a happy family. Cookies are supposed to summon Christmas magic, right? But I guess I’m wrong.

We need sprinkles! Max says.

I survey the counter filled with flour, sugar, butter, and two packs of icing. I’d bought the cheapest brands the store had in order to save money, but the Christmas sprinkles were crazy expensive so I’d left them out of my cart. I hoped Max wouldn’t care, but clearly I was wrong.

Let me see if we have some in the pantry.

I stand up on my toes and check the top shelf, where we keep the spices, cupcake wrappers, and other random kitchen items. My hand closes over a container of Christmas sprinkles—half empty—and all these memories of last year come back to me suddenly. It feels like Santa’s sleigh just fell on me, crushing any happiness I had just a moment ago.

We bought these sprinkles last Christmas. Last Christmas was the first time we broke tradition, because it wasn’t just the three of us making the cookies.

Ricky was here. Mom had invited him. We’d been dating for eight months and I was stupidly in love the way a high school sophomore can get when a cute boy asks her out. Now that I’m a junior, I know better than to make that mistake again.

Mom had made the dough and I rolled it out and Max and Ricky cut out the shapes with Grandma’s old cookie cutters. Ricky decorated two gingerbread-shaped cookies to look like us. Mine had long blue hair because Max was using the red icing, and Ricky’s cookie was wearing a poorly drawn basketball jersey made of icing and fruit roll-ups.

Last Christmas was fun. Mom still had her job and money wasn’t a constant strain or awkward topic. We had cable TV and pizza Fridays and I had Ricky.

Now the only thing left of last Christmas is this half-empty jar of sprinkles.

I set them on the counter and Max claps, delighted that I found them.