Page 12 - My FlipBook

Sarah Sues Santa – P.J. Leonard

silk.
And there, sat in the biggest sofa of them all next to a roaring log fire, were her parents. Both of
them had laptops perched on their knees and phones placed on the armrests.
"Mum! Dad! What are you guys doing here?" said Sarah, pointing at them.
"It's rude to point dear," Mum said, not looking up from her screen as she typed away, "Go on, open
your presents from Santa."
"But..." Sarah searched around for the right words, "But this isn't our house. Those aren't my
presents under the tree."
"What are you talking about?" said Dad, checking his phone, "Of course they are. The names on the
presents are addressed to you."
Sarah looked to the mountain of presents under the tree, then back to her parents, and around the
whole house. An idea came over her.
"Just a sec," she said, and she ran from the living room, back into the entrance hall and to the front
door. It was big and heavy, and she broke into a sweat trying to pull it open. When she did, she
shielded her eyes from the snowflakes tumbling in and landing on the marble floor, and looked at
the number on the door. Twelve. The same number as their house. And underneath was a sign that
said, in swirly silver writing: The Pebbleton Residence.
Despite the blizzard, Sarah felt a hot wave rush over her. So...this really is home...but how? How
could it possibly...?
Dazed, she closed the door and walked slowly back to the living room. Everything seemed bright
and colourful, as though it had all been painted. Then she eyed the mountain of presents, and
excitement rippled through her. If these really are mine...
A huge grin spread across her face, and she leapt at the presents like it was a swimming pool. She
ripped through enough wrapping paper to make a pile as big as the Christmas tree, and every
present she opened made her gasp with shock. Santa had bought her a new computer, the latest
phone, a stack of new movies and music, huge soft toys as big as her, enough clothes to refill that
huge closet two times over...by the time she opened her tenth box of chocolates, her hands ached
from opening so many boxes. And I’m only half way through! She pushed aside two boxes as big as
sheds to see her parents, still sat on their laptops, typing away. Have they moved at all?
"Erm..." She called, "Can I get breakfast? I think I'm gonna need more fuel to open all of this."
"Of course, dear," her Mum said to the laptop screen, "Breakfast is in the kitchen, help yourself."

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