As soon as I stepped foot into that mall, I knew I was gonna regret it. Christmas had always been my family's favorite holiday. They all enjoyed wrapping presents, baking cookies and sipping huge glasses of eggnog, all while Bing Crosby's voice droned on and on, for twelve entire days. My little brother was buzzing with excitement, his cinnamon colored eyes darting left and right, like he was on a sugar high. "Calm down, Max, we'll get to see Santa eventually." "But I'm tired of waiting!" he exclaimed, tugging on my arm with so much force that I was surprised it didn't pop out of its socket. I didn't understand his anxiety; we'd only been in line for about fifteen minutes, and judging by how fast the line was moving, I assumed that these children weren't being as picky this year. This is why I don't like the holidays, I thought to myself. All these kids idolized some fat guy who only acknowledged them because he was getting paid by the hour. One day, my little brother's dreams are gonna be crushed when he realizes the face of X-mas was really a fake. He may turn into Michael Meyers. You never know with people these days. I was still grumbling to myself when I noticed Max settling on "Santa's" lap. He didn't look so anxious anymore; in fact, he was so relaxed that I was silently questioning if this was the same kid that I had brought in. "And what would YOU like for Christmas, little boy?" Max didn't answer at first, which surprised me. Everyone knew he was dying for a skateboard. He brought the frickin thing up almost twenty kajillion times a day. "Well," Max started, his voice small and weak, "I just wanted to give you this." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a Hershey's kiss wrapped in red foil. "My sister says that Christmas is the season of giving, so I wanted to give YOU something." I swear I had never cried so hard in my entire life. (Tell me if you like it. I feel like it's cringey.)