“Well, I’m not a little girl anymore,” I said, putting my head down on the table.

“Whatever you say,” Flynn said.

I sat there with my head on the desk, watching him work. He gets a very intense look about him when he works. Silver head bent over a toy, eyes narrowed in concentration. When he’s working, he doesn’t like to be disturbed. No elves do.

To his back, I asked, “Who … who are you taking to the Snow Ball, Flynn?” I held my breath. Don’t say Elinor. Anyone but Elinor.

He hesitated. And then, without turning around, he said, “Elinor,” and I could feel something in me wither.

“Why?”

“Because I always go with Elinor.”

“Oh. Right. Of course you do.”

If I had outright asked and not only hinted, would he have said yes? Would he have changed course? Or would it have been the same as it is every year?

Flynn, the handsomest of all the boy elves. And me, at the Snow Ball. I’ve got a good imagination, but even I have trouble picturing it.

We were both quiet. Too quiet. I had to speak, because if I didn’t, I would cry, and that wouldn’t do.

I got up and stood behind Flynn, and I tried to stand up tall, as tall as an elf. Shoulders back, chin up. Up, up so tears don’t fall. Up so high that I was looking at the ceiling and not straight ahead. I cleared my throat, and my voice came out thick like molasses. “I think you should go really dramatic in the bathroom. Gold faucets and black tiles. Also I think that the staircase you designed is sort of dated.”

“I’ve already told you, this is a mid-century modern dollhouse.” Flynn was annoyed but he was also relieved, I could tell. He was relieved I wasn’t pressing the issue. The issue of him and her.

I leaned in closer, as close as Elinor stood next to him. I could smell his hair; it smelled faintly of pine. “And I’m telling you, this house needs a more feminine touch. It’s looking too sterile.”

Another thing elves hate—to be criticized. “Can you please just let me work?” he asked.

“Not until you say you believe me about Lars.”

“I’m not going to say I believe something when I don’t.” Flynn finally turned his head to look at me. “I have a job, Natty. I mean, Natalie. We all do. Christmas Eve is—”

“I know. Twenty-five days away.”

Flynn nodded, satisfied that I got it, that we were on the same page, both of us understanding how great is the magnitude of twenty-five days away. He swiveled back around to his computer.

“Are you saying we all have jobs to do here but me?” I demanded.

Flynn turned back around. He looked perplexed when he said, “No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“My father says that my contributions to the cowgirl outfits were inspired. He—he said that it was the single most requested outfit for girls ages five to seven, so don’t you dare try to minimize what I do. And just so you know, I wasn’t lying about Lars. He really does exist, and he really was my first kiss. I don’t care if it’s in the database or not.”

I turned on my heel and left before he could say another word. I knew what I’d done. I picked a fight with my only friend because I was mad. Mad that Flynn picked Elinor. Mad that it wasn’t me.

I’m the foolish one for being surprised. There’s no such thing as elves and humans dating. It’s just elves and elves. They marry, they have elf children, and the North Pole keeps spinning and children keep getting their toys and everyone is happy. It’s the way it’s always been. Nothing ever changes here.

A few years from now, I can see it. Her in a silvery wedding gown made to match her hair, a wreath of ivy at the crown of her head, him, tall and slim, together in front of the marriage tree every North Pole elf has ever married in front of. Of course he will love her. Of course he will marry her. Who else would he love? Not me, obviously. I’m not an elf. I’m not like them.

*   *   *

I stepped outside of the Great Hall for a breath of fresh air, but then I just kept walking.

The air smells like peppermint all the time now. The candy-cane factory is just next door, and the confectionery elves are working round the clock.

It’s snowing, of course. There’s always snow on the ground here. It makes everything look diamond dusted. The thing about snow is, it’s very quiet. The air is hushed. It’s like church.

It’s reverential.

It’s dark, but it’s always dark this time of year. We won’t have sunshine for weeks. The elves don’t mind it, because it’s their natural habitat, but my papa worries I’ll get seasonal affective disorder, so in our house there are light-therapy boxes everywhere.

The sound of my boots crunching along the ground is the only sound I hear besides the sound of my heartbeat as I walk along the path from the Great Hall to our house. And then through the silence I hear Flynn call my name. “Natty, wait!”

I freeze. When I turn around he’s already caught up with me, and he’s just standing there, not wearing a coat. The cold doesn’t really bother the elves. I eye him warily. “Are you here to give me a lecture on holiday cheer and a joyful spirit?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh.” And then I draw up all my courage, and I just ask, because I have to know. “Why does it have to be her?”

“It’s only a Snow Ball, Natty.” But it isn’t. He knows it, and I know it.

Flynn looks up at the sky, at the North Star above us. Polaris, it’s called. A fixed point, more accurate than any compass. You always know where you are when you look up at it. Home. “The north celestial pole is shifting, did you know that? It’s because of the gravitational forces of the sun and moon. Polaris won’t always be what it is now.” I’m about to reply when he asks me, “Do you ever think about the future, Natalie?”

It thrills me to hear him say my name. So much so that I don’t answer so he’ll say it again.

“Natalie?”

“I’ve only ever thought about the future in days till Christmas,” I tell him. No more than three hundred sixty-four days ahead. It never occurred to me that anybody thought differently. Especially not elves. But I guess Flynn is different, and I guess I’ve always known that. It’s why we are friends. It’s why he knew I wasn’t okay, why he followed me out here to check. Whatever we are, we’ll always be friends.