Free Ex-Rating by Natalie Standiford Page A

was.
    “A little vino?” Gabe asked, pouring red wine into each of four glasses. “After all, it’s Saturday night.”
    “Want to catch a movie later?” Rob asked Holly.
    Holly hesitated. She was jonesing for a make-out session with Rob, and a movie would be perfect. But … “I really should study
     for my history test. I guess I can cram tomorrow. And Lina and Mads and I promised each other we’d come up with five ways
     to save the Dating Game by Monday, or it’s finished forever! And we can’t let that happen, not after we’ve worked so hard
     on it … plus on top of all that I’ve got this giant history project. …”
    “You mean Cantwell’s modern world history extravaganza?” Rob asked. “The end-of-semester blowout that counts for fifty percent
     of your grade?”
    “That’s the one,” Holly said. “It’s due in a couple of weeks and I don’t even know what my topic is. What did you do for yours
     last year?”
    “Built a diorama,” Rob said.
    Gabe snorted. “A diorama? How lame can you get?”
    “Hey, man, it was the mother of all dioramas,” Rob said. “It was practically the size of this kitchen island. It showed the
     city of Paris during the French Revolution, from the palace to the senate to the barricades in the streets. I even made a
     working guillotine where I could cut my little doll peoples’ heads off—and red food coloring leaked out for blood.”
    “Cool,” Holly said.
    “I got an A,” Rob said. “But it took weeks of work. You better get started, Holls.”
    “Did you have Cantwell for history, Gabe?” Holly asked.
    “Yup. I didn’t get an A, though.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I tried to show the birth of the trade unions after the Triangle Shirtwaist Company’s fire,” Gabe said. “So I basically drew
     some windows on a shoebox and set it on fire. Cantwell said it didn’t show much thought or research.”
    “Talk about lame,” Rob said.
    “I know. I got a D. I sucked at history.”
    Holly’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it. Mads was texting her.
    Lina had brilliant idea. Ramona—rod’s office—ax-s codes!
    What? Holly texted back.
    We can hack on2 schl site! Call me Itr.
    “Everything cool?” Rob asked.
    “Very,” Holly said. “Looks like we found a way to fight back. Against Rod, I mean.”
    “Is dinner ready yet?” Julia walked in wearing a bathrobe and drying her hair with a towel.
    “Almost.” Gabe gave the tomato sauce a stir and glanced at Julia. “But I require proper attire at my restaurant. Jeez, Julia,
     at least put some jeans on. You’re as bad as Mom.”
    “All right, all right.” Julia left. Gabe shook his head and clucked maternally. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl.”
    A few minutes later, Gabe was tossing the pasta in the sauce while Rob mixed the salad. Julia came in, dressed in sweats,
     plopped down next to Holly, and handed her a sheet of paper.
    “What’s this?” Holly asked.
    “It’s a list of things I need you to do for me tomorrow,” Julia said.
    Holly looked at it.
    1. Call photographer and confirm booking.
    2. Pick up summer dresses from cleaners.
    3. Call salon—make hair, makeup, and manicure appointments for day before ceremony. …
    The list went on. Holly stared at Julia in disbelief.
    This was the bulk of the wedding work. “Um, shouldn’t
you
be doing all this stuff?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, you’re the bride,” Holly said. “I’m just the bride’s brother’s girlfriend. I don’t mind giving you my opinion on a
     few details, but—”
    “I’m doing a lot of work, too,” Julia said. “But it’s so hard to do it alone, and Mom’s no help. Please, please, Holly. I
     really need you. You’re so good at this stuff, and I’m such a space case. And this way you get to spend time with Rob.”
    Rob had only been half-listening, but he turned from the counter at the sound of his name and waved.
    “Like you said, you’re his girlfriend,” Julia said.