Three: You Better Watch Out, You Better Not Cry…

The next day, it took Emily almost twenty minutes to find a parking space at the new Devon Crest Mall, a phoenix of marble, steel, elevators, and upscale department stores that had risen from the ashes of the West Rosewood flea market and fairgrounds. When she finally wedged her mother's behemoth Volvo wagon into a spot at the very back of a garage, it was almost boob, the time she was supposed to report for Santa duty.

She sprinted for the double doors, maneuvered around a group of women with strollers, nearly collided with a woman giving out free samples of some sort of anti-wrinkle skin product, and finally saw Santa Land at the end of the corridor, a vision of giant candy canes, fake snowdrifts, a gingerbread house, and an unoccupied golden throne with a mural of Santa, Mrs. Claus, and his eight tiny reindeer above it. There was already a line of kids waiting on a candy cane—striped carpet. Most of them were sobbing hysterically.

When Emily had read her horoscope in the Philadelphia Sentinel this morning, it had said, Be prepared for an uncomfortable situation today. No kidding.

Over the booming Christmas music, Emily heard the faintest, haunting giggle. She paused and whipped her head to the left, watching as the shoppers streamed past. Was someone watching?

"Emily?" A tall, graying woman in a red dress and a Santa hat rushed toward her. Even in the Mrs. Claus outfit, Emily recognized Judith Meriwether from church—she was always giving a reading or announcing a canned-goods drive.

"It is you!" Mrs. Meriwether breathed, taking Emily's hands. Her palms were ice-cold. "Thank goodness you're here. It's so nice of you to do this for your mother. For all of us."

Emily pressed her lips together to keep from saying that she didn't really had a choice.

Mrs. Meriwether directed Emily to sit down in the little gingerbread house and fill out some tax forms. As Emily finished writing in her address, she glanced out the diamond-shaped window. Santa Land was wedged between an Aeropostale, a BCBG, and two kiosks. One sold glittery cell phone and iPod cases while the other hawked what looked like some sort of bottled water. Discover The Amazing Power Of AminoSpa! said a banner draped over the booth. A buff, chiseled guy and a punky girl with jet-black hair stood in the thoroughfare, trying to get passersby to take free samples. The girl's red lips were drooped in a despondent frown, and she was practically tackling anyone who walked by.

"Here we are." Mrs. Meriwether bustled into the gingerbread house with a Santa suit in her arms. "It's fresh from the dry cleaner's. Our previous Santa wore it too, but he was much bigger than you are. We'll have to fill you out with some pillows." She held up the curly white beard to Emily's face. It felt like silky doll hair against her skin. "Perfect! No one will know you're a girl!"

Emily pulled the Santa suit over her clothes. When she looked at herself in the small mirror in the back of the gingerbread house, she looked, well, like Santa.

"Now, let me give you the rules," Mrs. Meriwether said after stuffing a bunch of pillows under Emily's jacket and down her pant legs. "Try to move the kids along as fast as you can, but always give them a few ho ho hos and let them tell you a couple things they'd like for Christmas. Hold on to the right for a picture—a lot of kids will want to squirm off your lap—and if someone pees on you, just laugh it off. Our previous Santa got angry, which upset a lot of parents." She made a face. "Our previous Santa also hit on thirteen-year-old girls. At least you won't be doing anything like that."

Emily clomped in her oversized black boots toward the gingerbread door, which had a wobbly know in the shape of a gumdrop. "So where are these elves I'm supposed to be spying on?"

Mrs. Meriwether's eyes darted back and forth. "They're not here yet," she whispered. "Please keep your mission quiet, though. Sophie's father is the mall manager. He can't find out what we're doing until we have proof—I can't afford to be fired. But these girls need to be caught. Mrs. Lister from the church swears they took the Santa sleigh from her front yard. And one of my neighbors woke up a few mornings ago to find her inflatable Frosty in a very…compromising position with the inflatable Ho-Ho-Homer Simpson." She winced.

"Well, I'll do my best," Emily assured her. Her phone beeped. She had one text message from Spencer: Want to check out the new Ryan Gosling movie?

I wish but I'm working, Emily wrote back. Then she opened the gingerbread door and stepped outside. All the kids' heads swiveled around at the sight of her. "It's Santa!" one of them screamed. "Santa, Santa!" the rest of the kids wailed, jumping up and down.

The girl at the front of the line barreled for Emily before she could sit down, latching herself onto Emily's leg. "Hi, Santa!" she bellowed. "I'm Fiona!"

"Hello, Fiona," Emily said, deepening her voice. She lowered herself onto the throne, and the girl climbed up onto her lap. She was about five years old, had her hair in two blond pigtails, and smelled like Lucky Charms. "What would you like for Christmas?" Emily asked.

"A Little Mermaid doll," the girl said promptly.

Emily couldn't help but smile. "The Little Mermaid is one of my favorite movies, too." She'd kind of had a crush on Ariel.

Fiona's face brightened. "Really?" It was as though she'd just gotten a Santa exclusive.

"That's right," Emily said. "Ho ho ho!"

Mrs. Meriwether snapped a picture. Fiona gave her a huge hug, which filled Emily with a surprising sense of happiness. It was pretty cute. After the little girl skipped away, Emily assessed the line again. One child down. A zillion more to go.

The next kid, a boy of about seven, wanted a Star Wars Lego set. The girl after him wouldn't say a word, but Emily made her smile by pretending to pull a peppermint candy out of her ear. Fifteen or so kids later, a man in a police uniform and a badge that said O'Neal plopped his daughter on Emily's lap. The girl, whose name was Tina, recited a very long list of Christmas wants, from several different American Girl dolls to motorized car Emily had seen in an FAO Schwarz catalogue that cost $1,500. Her father nodded after each request, saying, "Santa will bring that for you, honey. And that, and that, and that." Emily wanted to scold him. On a cop's salary? Tina was definitely going to be disappointed Christmas morning.

There were some kids who cried, wiping their snot onto Emily's sleeve. There was one boy only a few years younger than Emily who was there with his little brothers, who wanted to sit on Emily's lap too, probably realizing she was a girl. Inevitably, a little girl peed on Emily's lap out of excitement. Her mother whisked her off immediately, apologizing profusely. "It's okay," Emily said, recalling Mrs. Meriwether's advice. She blotted the warm wet spot on her knee and tried not to gag.

"You're much nicer than you were the other day, Santa," the peeing offender said, showing off her missing front tooth. "You were mean to me then. You said I was dirty."

"Oh, that was just a joke," Emily said quickly. "I think you're great."

When there was a lull in the line, Mrs. Meriwether emerged from the gingerbread house and marched over to Emily. "You're doing a great job," she said. "Certainly better than our old Santa, anyway."

"It's been fun," Emily answered. It was true. The job was a whirlwind of activity, but it was fun to hear what the kids wanted for Christmas. It was even better when they squealed or hugged her, like she'd made their day.

Suddenly, Mrs. Meriwether gasped at something in the distance. Emily turned to see four girls ambling toward Santa Land. They were dressed in pointed hats, green dresses, striped stockings, and shoes that turned up at the toes. As they passed the Santa throne, Emily caught a strong whiff of cigarettes and peppermint schnapps.

The elves. Though they definitely didn't look merry.

"Girls," Mrs. Meriwether called, waving. "Can you come here for a minute?"

The tallest elf, who had bright blue hair, wore a lot of makeup, and looked vaguely familiar, rolled her eyes and started over. The others followed. One had dreads and a nose ring, another was an Asian girl with hippie braids and a tough expression, while the final girl was tiny with short hair and a tattoo of a smiling jester on the inside of her wrist. Their eyes flickered cagily over Emily as if they didn't like what they saw.

"Girls, this is our new Santa. Her name is Emily Fields." Mrs. Meriwether put a hand on Emily's arm.

The blue-haired girl guffawed. "A girl Santa?"

"She's doing a very good job, Cassie." Mrs. Meriwether's voice rose in pitch. "Emily, this is Cassie Buckley. And Lola Alvarez"—that was Dreads—"Sophie Chen"—Hippie Braids—"and Heather Murtaugh"—Jester Tattoo. "They'll be helping you out with whatever you need."

The elves chuckled and nudged one another, as if to say yeah right. Emily's gaze returned again to Cassie, the blue-haired girl. All of a sudden, she realized why she looked so familiar: Cassie Buckley had been on the Rosewood Day JV field hockey team with Ali. But what had happened to her? She used to look like all the other field hockey girls: long, blond, bronzed skin, and an extensive wardrobe from J. Crew. Now, there were rings through her lip and eyebrow, and she was glaring at Emily with such animosity Emily immediately felt like she'd done something very, very wrong.

"What are you looking at?" Cassie snapped, noticing Emily's stare.

Emily whipped her head down. "Nothing."

"You'd better be looking at nothing," Lola threatened.

Emily glanced around for Mrs. Meriwether, but she had vanished. She might as well have left Emily alone with four rabid, unleashed dogs.

"And you better leave us the hell alone, Santa," Sophie rasped in a low smoker's voice.

"Yeah, we have a good thing going here," Heather growled. "So don't screw up our shit. Got it?"

"Got it," Emily whispered.

The elves laughed raucously, linked arms, and sashayed away in a booze-smelling cloud. Emily's heart sank to the soles of her black Santa boots. What had she gotten herself into> there was no way she could infiltrate the elves. It made breaking into Ali's clique in sixth grade look easy.