Don't Call Me Christina Kringle by Chris Grabenstein Read Free Book Online Page A

hot chocolate,” she said. “Do you want anything from the coffee shop?”
    â€œNo, thank you,” said Guiseppe. “I am going home and crawling into bed. Maybe I fix more shoes in dreamland. Do not work too late.”
    â€œI won’t. I just have some homework to finish up.”
    â€œMaybe you will also write your letter to Santa Claus so I know what you want for Christmas?”
    â€œThat’s okay, Grandpa. I don’t really—”
    â€œChristina—we have two hundred dollars! You can ask Santa for anything you want. This year, he can afford it!”
    Christina smiled. “Go home, Grandpa. You need your sleep.”
    â€œGood night, Christina.”
    He crossed the street. She headed up the block.
    â€œWhere are you going?” her grandfather called after her. “Shoe World is the other way.”
    â€œGrandpa, for the last time …”
    He held up his hand. “Is okay. We play the games. We pretend you no fix the shoes. But, I tell you true—you are the most wonderful granddaughter in the world! Bless you, Christina! Bless you!”
    Christina shook her head.
    Grandpa still thought she was the one who fixed the shoes.
    He was still wrong.

Eighteen
    As soon as the front door to the shop was locked, a lamp snapped on to illuminate the worktable directly behind the drapes.
    â€œVery well, my friend,” said the professorial brownie, “what’s on our agenda this evening?”
    â€œAnother pair of shoes, natch. And this.” The tough brownie shoved a textbook across the table. “Homework. Mathematicals. The stuff with numbers and whatnot.”
    â€œVery well,” said the thin brownie, pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his pointy nose. “Which task do you prefer to undertake?”
    The gruff brownie, with a toothpick of a nail perched between his lips, put his hands on his hips. He was wearing a carpenter’s tunic with pockets for hardware and loops for hammers. He also wore fuzzy brown tights and a pointy hat because it was more or less part of the brownie dress code.
    â€œYou’re kidding, right? Like I even want to know what an isosceles triangle is. …”
    His dapper friend smiled and tipped his top hat. “Touché.” He straightened out the tails on his natty-looking waistcoat. He had on sleek black tights and black boots with curled toes, and looked like he was dressed for somebody’s wedding.
    He used the tip of his cane to pry open the math book.
    â€œLook, Nails!” he gushed to his friend. “Quadratic equations and polynomial fractions!”
    â€œEnjoy, Professor Pencilneck. Enjoy.”
    And with that, the two brownies set to work.

Nineteen
    A little while later, Christina came back from the corner coffee shop with a steaming cup of hot cocoa.
    Her friend the alley cat was waiting for her at the front door. Wispy snow had just started falling when Christina placed her order with Nick at the coffee shop. Now it was tumbling down in frosty clumps.
    â€œYou must be freezing,” she said to the shivering cat. “Come on. Grandpa went home. You can sleep inside and help me do my homework.”
    The cat meowed.
    â€œYes. There’s more milk.” She tapped the pocket of her coat. “And I picked up a tin of tuna down at the deli.”
    The cat rubbed against her ankles and purred.
    â€œCome on.”
    Christina unlocked the several locks on the front door and pushed it open.
    Before she even flicked on the overhead lights, the cat hissed.
    Then it leapt up to the counter and flew through the curtains into the back room.
    Shoes toppled and polish tins crashed to the floor.
    Then Christina heard voices in the back room:
    â€œGet outta here! Scram! Scat, cat!”
    â€œThe cat is most likely hungry.”
    â€œFor what? Finger sandwiches? Ouch! That’s my finger!”
    The voices sounded funny—like the burglars had been