It was tough being cool, Harry thought, as he sauntered out of his room on Christmas morning. He cringed at the memories of previous years, when he and Abi had bounced downstairs, getting excited about the presents that “Santa” had left under the tree.
Now he was grown-up – nearly fifteen – he had no time for such childish things, and he ambled down to the living room where the family had been waiting for at least half an hour.
“Nice of you to join us,” Dad said. “Is it all right with you if we open our presents?”
“Oh, never mind that,” Mum said. “We’re all here now. Abi, why don’t you start dishing them out, so we can see what Santa’s brought?”
And so the annual ritual began. Harry slouched in his chair and tried – not very hard – to look pleased when he unwrapped yet another CD he’d never play or jumper he’d never wear.
It was always the same: a bunch of filler presents that didn’t really count, with the biggie held back till last. That was the only one that mattered: the question was, would it be bad enough to be worth sharing on Facebook?
His parcel was passed over, and everyone stopped to watch him unwrap it.
Harry opened it up to find – a shiny new iPhone! It really was something wicked! He fired it up, snapped a photo of the tree, and then looked for the result.
Odd; in the photos folder there were already several pictures. He opened one up.
It was a classic selfie: a grinning closeup, with the arm stretched out towards the camera.
But, in the background, alongside their tree, there was a large animal with antlers on its head. And the smiling face was bearded, and his sleeve was scarlet.