Free The Holly Joliday by Megan McDonald Page A

into you — you know, to put in my order and everything.”
     
    “Well, I’m not making any promises,” Jack Frost said with a wink, “but I’ll sure keep my fingers crossed!”
     
    “Cool yule!” said Stink.
     

     
    Stink came back inside singing, “
Frosty the mailman was a jolly, happy soul . . .
Wow! You’re never gonna believe . . . Guess who I just met!”
     
    “Mr. Harvey, the mailman?” said Judy, looking up from her list.
     
    “Nope. Who’s got a beard that’s long and white?”
     
    “Must be Santa.”
     
    “Wrong again. Jack Frost. I just talked to Jack Frost! No lie!”
     
    “Really? Was the Sandman out there, too? How about the Tooth Fairy?” Judy laughed herself silly.
     

     
    “Hardee-har-har. That’s his real name,” said Stink. “Ask him.”
     
    “Our mailman’s name is Mr. Harvey,” said Judy.
     
    “Not anymore. There was a new guy out there. Mr. Frost. As in Jack. As in Jack Frost. He knows all about snow and everything. And he says I might get snow for Christmas.”
     
    “Stink, I hate to break it to you, but Jack Frost is invisible. Or as tiny as an elf or something.”
     
    “Or something,” said Stink.
     
    “First of all,” said Judy, counting off on her fingers, “you can’t just see him. Jack Frost sneaks around at night or way early in the morning to make frost on windows and maple leaves.”
     
    “That’s what I used to think!” said Stink.
     
    “Second, Jack Frost is NOT a mailman. I mean, what are the chances?”
     
    “Lots of people have more than one job,” Stink said.
     
    “Third, even if he is a mailman, he wouldn’t be in Virginia. He would be in Alaska or Minnesota —”
     
    “I know! What are the chances that Mr. Harvey would just disappear and Jack Frost would show up, right here on Croaker Road, this time of year? But did you ever think maybe that’s why he’s here — ’cause it’s
our
turn to have snow? I’m telling you — he can smell it coming. His bones told him, too.”
     
    “So this Jack Frost character also has talking bones?”
     
    “Yeah, and he said it would be no pressure to bring snow. Or low pressure. I forget.”
     
    “Stink, believe me, it hasn’t snowed here for like a million years.”
     
    “Not true!” said Stink. “Jack Frost said that one winter it snowed thirteen and a half inches here in one day!”
     

     
    “When was this?” asked Judy.
     
    “Back in 1980.”
     
    “Okay, so
half
a million years. Stink, I’m telling you —”
     
    “You’re not the weatherman,” Stink told Judy.
     
    “Neither is Jack Frost. He’s the
mailman,
Stink.” Judy let out a little puff of air. “Wait — now you have me believing this stuff.”
     

     

 

     
    Judy Moody went back to making a list and checking it twice. Not a think-up-nicknames-for-Stink list. Not a things-to-do-when-you’re-home-sick list.
     
    A T.P. (not Toad Pee) list. A toilet-paper list of all the stuff she wanted to get for Christmas. A
Totally Presents
list.
     
    It wasn’t easy writing on toilet paper. But T.P. was the only thing long enough to fit all the presents she wanted.
     
    Judy unrolled her T.P. list. It went out the door and into the hall and past Stink’s room and down the stairs. It rolled right across the
S
encyclopedia Stink was reading for the one hundredth time.
     
    “Hey!” yelled Stink.
     
    “Sorry,” said Judy. “Just making my list.”
     
    “This is like ten miles long!” said Stink.
     
    “So? That means I get ten miles of presents,” said Judy.
     
    Stink went back to his encyclopedia. He was reading about snowy owls and snowshoe hares. He was reading about snowdrop trees. He was reading about Snowflake Bentley.
     
    Judy didn’t get it. Usually Stink wanted tons and tons of stuff. Piles more stuff than Judy.
Miles
more stuff than Judy.
     

     
    “Stink, you better make a list,” Judy told him. “Only five more days till Christmas.”
     
    “I already have a list,” said