Free Tracy Tam: Santa Command by Krystalyn Drown Page A

hair and thick eyebrows just like her father. The fireplace had one red stocking and two green ones just like at her house. There was even a long brown sofa like the one she slept on when she was eight years old, hoping to get a glimpse of Santa.
    “Weird,” Tracy said.
    She pulled her feet up under her and reached for the cup of hot chocolate that was sitting on the table. She didn't remember it being there before, but figured she must have missed it. It had mini marshmallows floating in it and a cinnamon stick for stirring, just like her mom always made it. She gulped the drink down, then set the cup on the table and curled up into a ball with the book clutched to her chest and her eyes closed.



As she drifted to sleep, she thought less about her science project and Santa Command and more about the feeling the library gave her, that she was home and safe and happy.
    Her dream started with her living room and the brown couch and the fishing line tied around her finger. It was Christmas Eve, and she was waiting for Santa to slide down the chimney. She was lying on the couch with her eyes closed, but was too anxious for sleep. Every time she heard a noise, she would peek at the fireplace with one eye. It wasn't until the house grew completely silent that he showed up.
    “I'm here, Tracy,” came a soft, low voice from across the room.
    She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Santa? I've been looking for you.”
    He laughed in that merry way of his. His belly even shook. It made Tracy smile to see that he was just like the poem described him. “I see that. What can I do for you?”
    “I need…something.” But she couldn't remember what. She knew it wasn't a toy or a book or a doll. It was something much more important.
    “Did you send me a letter?”
    “No, I don't think I did.” Tiny memories tugged at the corners of her mind, but they wouldn't form a complete thought. “A letter wasn't enough. It wouldn't work.”
    Santa sat down on the sofa beside Tracy and sighed. “I get that a lot. Some kids have wishes, others have troubles.”
    “Yeah. A trouble, and I need you to fix it.”
    Santa wrapped his large, weathered hand around Tracy's small one. “You know,” he said in a way that made him seem very wise and very weary, “there are some troubles that even I can't fix.”
    “I know that, but I'm pretty sure you weren't the one that was supposed to fix it.” Tracy shook her head. It was like she had a hundred different puzzle pieces floating around in her mind, but they were from a bunch of different puzzles, so only a few pieces matched up. “It was something I had to do, but it had everything to do with you.”
    “Are you sure you don't need me? Sometimes, plans have to be modified.”
    Tracy looked up into Santa's soft blue eyes, and was comforted by what she saw. Centuries of kindness and wisdom had been etched into his very core. This was Santa. Maybe he did hold the answer to her problem. She just had to figure out what the problem was.
    She rubbed her fist across her eyes. “I should go back to sleep,” she said. Maybe her brain wouldn't feel so muddled in the morning. “Will I be able to find you when I wake up?”
    “Most people wouldn't be able to, but I'll bet you're a little different than most.”
    “Thank you.” Tracy laid her head on a fuzzy green throw pillow and as she drifted back to sleep, she heard Santa shuffling around in the living room, doing his job as only he could.
    Tracy didn't know how long she slept. There could have been other dreams, but they were the unimportant kind, usually filled with talking spatulas and shifting landscapes. The dream about Santa sneaked through, his words stuck in her brain as if he had stitched them there.
    Sometimes, plans have to be modified.
    “Tracy?” A popping sound came from nearby. “Hello?”
    Tracy rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, then blinked. Standing before her was a boy about her age. He was bigger than her though, like he might be