Christmas Day is always either secluded or hectic at my house. Oddly, I prefer both and have no favourite, quiet Christmases are always lovely with their calm cosiness but chaotic Christmases have some mad feeling of togetherness which I absolutely love.

The Christmas of 2012 at the Parkes household is somewhat a cross between the both. We aren't inviting as much family as we usually would have done, nor are only a handful of people coming. A couple of uncle and aunts and their children and grandparents take up most of the invite list, and though it'll be a quieter Christmas, it shouldn't be any less fun.

The past couple of hours have been occupied with greeting everyone and finally, at early afternoon, everyone is here, including really creepy cousin Billy. The fact he's my distant cousin seems to be a favourite of his to mention every time he sees me. A terrified part of me prays to God he doesn't hope to pursue some action under the mistletoe with me this Christmas. Every year he's been coming closer to making a move and every year I've bee coming nearer to throwing up Dad's carefully cooked Christmas turkey.

"So, have your freckles always been so... stunning?" Billy asks, leaning against the counter. We're both in the kitchen, where he just 'happened to find me' pouring myself a glass of Coke. I try hard to not just throw the fizzy drink at his face.

"I have no idea," I mumble back, deciding that taking a sip of the drink will go more smoothly.

"They're just really..." Billy's sentence drifts off as he shoves his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose before choosing to lean in, planting a hand far too near my backside. Oh god. Billy searches for the right word, his own freckled nose crinkling as he does so. I can't understand how he puts off the fact we're related so easily, we both have the exact same shade of dark red hair.

Billy doesn't find the right word to describe my apparently sexy freckles; instead his attention is diverted to a bottle of olive oil beside him. He grabs it suddenly, giggling as he reads its label.

"What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

He shoves the bottle toward me. "It says extra-virgin," Billy says before suppressing a loud snort of laughter. "Sounds like this oil hasn't had much action!" I don't bother hiding my annoyance at the idiot's childishness and choose to just leave, stalking off into the living room quickly so that he can't follow me.

There, I'm not greeted by a much better situation. Uncle Geoff, the notorious drunk among our family, and Aunt Shirley, equally notorious for being a bit batty, have taken centre stage in the room, they're situated right in the middle, dancing manically to some version of Jingle Bell Rock with all the kids dancing around at their feet with them.

"Oi, look up there!" Uncle Geoff suddenly yells. We all look up together to see some mistletoe I'd hung up on the ceiling. Aunt Shirley laughs giddily as her behind's clutched by Uncle Geoff before he declares, "Let's have some of that!" He then snogs her right in front of all the little kids. They squeal in disgust.

I groan as I look away, embarrassed by the antics of the middle-aged couple. Behind my shoulder, I hear a familiar, rumbling laugh and turn to see Granddad shaking his head at Geoff and Shirley who've started dancing again.

"They've always enjoyed some Christmas fun," Granddad says, laughing as he watches Evie struggle to keep up with the bizarre dance moves Aunt Madge has instigated.

"Haven't they?" Another voice asks and Granddad and I turn to see Uncle Clint standing a little way away. Uncle Clint is someone we usually don't see at all, never mind during Christmas, due to his hectic schedule. Mum jokes about resenting his job as an archaeologist but I can tell she gets upset about not seeing her brother as much as she'd like to.

Uncle Clint sports an out of place tan and freshly cut hair that doesn't suit his Christmas-tree printed jumper and the old pair of jeans he's wearing. He's been away to some place tropical but I can't remember the name.

"Clint," Granddad welcomes him warmly.

"Earl!" Uncle Clint replies, smiling widely. "How've you been?"

"Good, yes." Granddad nods as I stand watching their polite conversation of small-talk. "I've been staying here, it's been great."

"I should think so, judging by how things are going right now," Uncle Clint replies, "Marvin and Gwen always put on a good Christmas party." My head jerks up at the mention of my parent's names and Clint flashes me a smile.

"Yes, they do," Granddad agrees.

Uncle Clint suddenly loses his smile and begins to look a little forlorn. "Mind you, I guess... it's not the same is it?" he asks. My stomach twists a little in alarm, that look of sympathy creeping into his eyes and his words begin to set off alarm bells that have me glancing worriedly towards Granddad.

"What isn't?" Granddad says, though this time his voice is tight, as if he too can predict which way the conversation's heading.

"Without Evelyn here, it just doesn't really feel like Christmas, does it? Not without her famous eggnog..." Uncle Clint's voice trails off at the look of horror I must be wearing and the way Granddad's just turn stormy-eyed and ashen-faced.

There's a horrible, heavy silence that fills the air for a moment. I notice Granddad's fingers clenching together slightly and I'm almost afraid he's either going to start crying or shouting. He does neither. All he does is finally meet Uncle Clint's eyes before giving him a thin, weak smile and shaking his head.

"Excuse me."

With that he turns his back towards us and walks away to the kitchen. Beth and Ruth, two cousins from London, come scuttling out a moment later, suggesting that he's probably just asked them to leave.

Uncle Clint just looks alarmed and guilty, staring at me helplessly. I know he meant nothing by the comment; he was probably trying to be empathetic. I guess he just wasn't aware of how well Granddad can hide everything. And how all that effort of keeping up this façade can implode so easily at just the mention of someone's name.

"It's alright," I try and console Uncle Clint, "I'll talk to him."

I hurry to the kitchen, worried I'm going to find Granddad doing something he really shouldn't be. I poke my head into the room and gasp, my stomach lurching.

"Granddad!"

He peers back at me through watery eyes and gives a reassuring smile before lifting his glass of crimson coloured drink. "It's only cranberry juice."

I sigh in relief and slump against the kitchen doorframe, dragging a hand over my face. "Sorry... I just thought-"

"Don't worry," Granddad interrupts. He gives a sigh and I look up to see he's abandonded his drink. "What am I doing?"

"Uncle Clint was wrong to say it," I immediately come to his defence, "he should've known not to mention-"

"It's not Clint's fault at all," Granddad cuts through me again, looking wearily at me. His face suddenly appears to crumple and a hand immediately comes up to shield it. "God, I'm sorry, I'm ruining everyone's Christmas aren't I?"

I can't reply, all I can do is stare quietly at him, frozen at the idea of him crying. I've only seen him cry once, and the memory is worse than seeing Dad weep. Watching Granddad sobbing is like seeing a sturdy house come crashing down. It's terrifying.

Granddad eventually moves his hand away and I see his eyes are pink-rimmed. "It's been three years," he says, "who can blame Clint for bringing it up?"

"Me," I say, feeling relief to see a smile appearing on his face, however weak it is.

"You would," Granddad saysbefore straightening. "Madge wasn't glad to see that ugly plant's dying." He points towards the hideous plant that's found stuffed next to the microwave and well out of sight. Its leaves are a little withered and browned at the ends.

"Well it was a gift," I say, taking the opportunity he's given to change the subject.

"A hideous, foul-smelling gift," Granddad immediately grumbles.

"True."

"I haven't a clue why Evie likes it so much." Granddad shakes his head,

"Hopefully she won't like the same sort of things in guys," I joke, remembering how Evie always remembers to stroke the plant goodnight before she goes to bed. The kid is really weird.

Granddad suddenly goes quiet again. "I still feel gratified each time you say her name, Evie."

I smile softly, recalling Evie's name in my head: Evie Rose Parkes. The name suits my little, blonde-haired sister well.

"I remember how overwhelmed Evelyn was," Granddad says, his eyes misting over as he relives some distant memory. I'm almost certain which one it is.

I remember, as an eleven year old I'd had no idea why Grandma had started crying when Dad told her he and Mum had named their new daughter Evie. I thought she'd be happy to know Evie had been named after her own name, Evelyn Parkes.

Years later I now get it, they were tears of happiness, something that had never made sense to me as a child. Only a few months later, there had been many more tears shed, but none were happy. It seems so cruel now, thinking about it, that just as Evie's life had only really started beginning, Grandma's ended. And that's something Granddad's never been able to get over.

"I think I'll go help your Dad out with the Christmas lights, I think they're busting up again," Granddad suddenly says, nodding towards the window outside which displays the front lawn being lit up by weird, flickering lights.

I nod, looking after him as he already starts to leave. "Alright."

* * *

The majority of the holidays were spent revising for the mock examinations we were so wonderfully welcomed with when we went back to school. As soon as we got back in January the teachers wasted no time in piling up our workload to ensure we were prepared. We'd all been stressed out; even the likes of Oliver Fink had been seen putting off certain priorities, such as snogging, for a date with their textbooks instead.

Now, as we sit in a lesson of Geography with all the exams finally over, we can breathe. The lesson goes by quickly, usually Geography wouldn't have sped by so rapidly but the new topic of Ecosystems we're studying is definitely better than a gruelling test paper.

Another thing that accounts for the speed of time going by, I hate to admit, is Levi and Max. Over the past month I've actually come to like Max, he hasn't turned out to be the dim-witted guy I thought he was but someone actually pretty funny and kind. I can now get why Imogen likes him so much.

Levi, on the other hand, is just as annoying as he was before the Christmas holidays. That's proven so after a lesson of infuriating taunts and ridicule. By the end of the lesson I'm close to smacking him I have to move seats away from him. Actually, I'm close to hitting Imogen too, who still maddeningly believes there's something going on between Levi and me.

A fresh argument starts as soon as Mr Morris hands out our homework task in the form of small sheets near the end of the lesson.

"I've been busy!" I say to Imogen, who's just proposed I've stopped hanging out with Ryan as much I used to.

"Or infatuated," she rolls her eyes, keeping her voice low as Mr Morris explains the task in his usual droning voice. I'd like her voice to be quieter, just in case Levi's listening in.

"Infatuated! There's more chance of me being infatuated with a spoon," I retort, already getting bored and angry at the conversation. Ignoring anything else Imogen has to say, I focus my attention upon the homework task sheet. It instructs us to sort together all the ecosystem processes like trophic levels and the nutrient cycle into a fact-file with a partner.

I glance back up to see who I can do the task with, already knowing Imogen and Max are going to be together. Lately I've tried to be less pissed by the sudden absence of my friend and instead I just try to remind myself that this is Imogen's first, serious relationship.

I feel a little startled to see Levi's already looking at me. His eyebrows rise as he gestures at his own task sheet. "Want to be partners?"

I laugh sarcastically. "Because that will work."

"Well there's no one else to go with, Luke and Natalia have gone together," he says, nodding towards Luke who indeed appears to be paired with Natalia considering they're exchanging notes and talking quietly together.

Slowly, my stomach sinks and I try not to groan. I know Oliver's probably partnered with some girl and realise Levi's probably the only person left to go with.

I struggle to meet his dark eyes as I mull over how clever it'll be to partner up with him. I can already predict how awkward things will be. They always have been, ever since the ice-rink I haven't quite been been able to meet his eye. As soon as I do all I can remember is that moment during which he'd been holding my hands and asking what was going on between us.

Three weeks later, I'm still not able to answer him.

But still, I don't want to do this big homework task alone. Two of us doing the work together will mean it'll be done a whole lot quicker.

I swallow, slumping in my seat in defeat before giving a small nod.

"Fine."

I can practically see Levi grinning even though I'm glowering down at my desk.

"Try and cheer up, Bug, this should be fun," he says. All his mocking words do is just confirm that this homework project is going to be hellish. I look up at him and scowl.

"I want it done, quickly," I say as the bell rings and we all begin to pack up our stuff. Levi nods, surprisingly approving.

"I was thinking the same thing," he says, "so be over at mine, tomorrow at twelve in the afternoon."

"Why do we have to be at yours?" I cry, immediately panicked at the idea of having to go to Levi's house. "Why not the library or something?"

"It'll be easier for me." Levi simply shrugs before smirking, the arrogant smile brightening his features. "We won't be all alone, if you're worrying."

"I'm not worrying!" I immediately sputter, shoving my books into my bag aggressively and going red at what he's suggesting.

"Sure." Levi nods before getting up from his chair and striding out the classroom. I watch his tall figure leave the classroom, feeling an odd mixture of anger and something that's far too similar to amusement. The tiniest, most secret part of me has to admit I've kind-of, almost missed him.

Two weeks of not being tormented by the utter dickhead seemed oddly vacant and almost boring. There was also something pleasant about seeing that stupid face of his again, it was almost as though I'd forgotten how brown his eyes were or just how appealingly messy his hair was.

"Alright so you might not be infatuated," Imogen suddenly says, popping up behind me and giving me a start. "But you've got to admit, something's going on."

I gulp and attempt to scorn her but I can't, not when I've just been thinking of how I'd actually missed seeing Levi bloody Parker. Whatever this feeling is, this annoying, ridiculous emotion that seems to take over my mind every time I see Levi- there's no denying that it's there.

And all I hope for right now is that I hope it goes, and I hope it goes fast.