Ex-Rating

by Natalie Standiford

  “Well, nobody can blame you for being obsessed with Dan,” Ramona said. “You’re only human.”

  “It was so stupid,” Lina said. “And now … I really like Walker. And I’m afraid I missed my chance.”

  “Timing,” Ramona said. “It’s the key to love. I’m beginning to see that now.”

  “It’s everything,” Lina said.

  “Like, if I’d only been born about seven years earlier, I’d be the right age for Dan,” Ramona said. “But on the other hand, I wouldn’t be in high school, so I might never have met him. I just can’t get the timing right.”

  “Remember Romeo and Juliet?” Lina said. “They had the worst timing ever.”

  “Yeah, bad timing can actually kill you,” Ramona said. “It’s spooky. And now you and Walker—another casualty of fate. Another chance for happiness, missed. Two lives ruined because you couldn’t get yourself together—”

  “He’s got a new girlfriend,” Lina wailed. “I’m too late!”

  “Probably,” Ramona said. “But not necessarily. People break up, you know.”

  “But what if they don’t? Or what if they do but it’s not for years and years, when I’m an old lady?”

  “Then you and Walker will be old geezers together,” Ramona said. “Better late than never.”

  Lina didn’t find this funny. “Ramona, what am I going to do?”

  “Don’t give up so easily,” Ramona said. “You heard Flynn: Things are in the early stages. She’s not too sure of him yet. She’s afraid to leave him alone this summer. So you’ve still got a chance to lure him.”

  “But how?”

  “I’ll start on some love potions right away,” Ramona said. “The hard part is slipping them into his food without him knowing—that’s always tricky. But I can manage it. And we’ll take it from there.”

  Love potions. Was she reduced to that? Lina’s heart sank. She didn’t put much faith in Ramona’s abilities as a shaman. She hadn’t seen one of her spells work yet.

  “This is all my fault,” Lina said. “He liked me when we first met, and I pushed him away. And pushed and pushed. Of course he gave up and went for another girl.”

  “You can get him back,” Ramona said. “If he liked you once, he can like you again.”

  “I don’t know,” Lina said. “I really like him as a friend, too. Is it going to be weird between us now that I know he has a girlfriend? What if I just swallow my feelings and pretend nothing’s wrong? Do you think we can be friends the way we used to be while he’s going out with Flynn?”

  “You guys will never be friends the way you used to be,” Ramona said. “You never were friends the way you think you were. He had a crush on you. You were clueless. End of story. I’m beginning to think guys and girls can’t be friends, anyway.”

  “Yes, they can,” Lina said. “I can do it. I’ll just put my feelings aside. Be professional. He’ll see that I’m cool with whatever is happening, and that nothing he does can hurt me.”

  “That is a total lie.”

  “I know that. But he doesn’t have to. I’ve already humiliated myself enough. If I can’t have Walker, at least I can have my dignity.”

  “Dignity? Please. Love and dignity have nothing to do with each other.”

  “I will rise above,” Lina said. “You’ll see. Tomorrow is Spring Sports Saturday. That will be the ultimate test.”

  Spring Sports Saturday was like homecoming except it happened in spring instead of fall. Most of the sports teams had major contests, and Lina and Walker would be working together all day, covering the games for The Seer. If things were awkward between them, it would be a long, long day.

  “I’ll show him that I’m above jealousy. Sure, I asked him out and he said no. He has a new girlfriend. That won’t bother me. I’m a journalist. I’ll do my job no matter what. And nothing he does can bother me. Because I’m already over him.”

  Ramona snorted. “He won’t buy that for a second. This is going to be a disaster.” She smushed her lunch bag into a ball and stood up. “I’ve got to hit the office. See you.”

  The office, Lina thought. Ramona works in the office. There’s got to be a way to use that. But how?

  “Hey, Lina.” Sebastiano had a prime seat on the front bleacher at the softball field, right behind the home bench. Lina sat down next to him. “What’s happening? I logged onto the Dating Game and there was this Big Brother-ish note from Rod saying the school site would no longer carry it. What did you do to piss him off?”

  “Nothing,” Lina said. “Some parents complained and he shut us down. Too sexy.”

  “Hello, that’s the whole point,” Sebastiano said. “I wouldn’t bother with it otherwise.”

  “We’re going to get it back,” Lina said. “Somehow.” She had a glimmer of an idea, but it was so risky she didn’t want to tell Sebastiano about it. It involved Ramona, and Lina would only share it on a need-to-know basis. That meant Holly and Mads—not Sebastiano. “What’s the score?”

  Spring Sports Saturday had arrived. Lina had just watched the boys’ varsity lacrosse blow a lead and lose to archrival Draper. The game had gone into overtime, and Lina had missed half of the tennis tournament. She couldn’t remember if she or Walker was supposed to cover tennis, anyway. But she knew he was doing girls’ softball.

  “It’s 3-3 in the sixth,” Sebastiano said. “We’ve got the winning run at the plate right now.”

  Lina checked out the RSAGE batter at the plate, who was knocking dirt out of her cleats and getting ready for the pitch. The visitor’s pitcher threw a strike.

  “I didn’t know you were a softball fan,” Lina said to Sebastiano.

  “I’m not,” Sebastiano said. “I’m scouting a Draper player for Holly. Apparently some Rosewood guy X-Rated her highly, and Holly wanted me to check her out.” Holly was spending the day dress shopping with Julia. “Of course, now that there’s no Dating Game, it doesn’t make much difference.”

  “Holly has a hard time turning off her matchmaking instinct,” Lina said. “Which girl are you scouting?”

  “Right field. Hard to see her from here,” Sebastiano said. “My first impression is she’s a hot-tempered spitfire type.”

  “Is that good or bad?” Lina asked.

  “Depends,” Sebastiano said.

  “Have you see Walker?”

  “Right in front of you.” Sebastiano pointed to the players’ bench just six feet away. Walker was sitting with his back to them in deep discussion with Flynn.

  “Here comes the pitch,” Sebastiano said. “And—strike two!”

  Lina watched Walker. His head was turned toward Flynn, away from the game. He hadn’t even seen that pitch! How could he write a decent story on the game if he wasn’t even watching?

  “Full count,” Sebastiano said. “Here comes the crucial pitch … and—ball four! No—the ump calls a strike!”

  The batter and the umpire began to argue over the controversial pitch. Lina fumed. Walker hadn’t even seen it! She got up and marched over to him. “Walker!” she snapped.

  He looked up from his conversation with Flynn. “Hey, Lina.”

  “Are you covering this game?” Lina asked.

  “Uh-huh. Shouldn’t you be watching the tennis tournament?”

  “I wasn’t sure,” Lina said. “That’s what I came to ask you. But you’re not even paying attention. You missed the last at bat—and it was the most crucial one of the game.”

  Walker’s eyes trailed over to home plate, where the batter was kicking dirt on the umpire’s shoes. “Bad call,” he said. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “How do you know it’s a bad call?” Lina asked. “You didn’t see the pitch.”

  “Flynn, you’re up,” the softball coach called.

  “Good luck,” Walker said. Flynn leaned close to him, and he gave her a little kiss. Then she picked up her bat and bounced over to home plate. That little kiss made Lina’s blood boil. So much for cool and professional. She felt ornery and
spoiling for a fight.

  “You shouldn’t fraternize with the athletes while you’re covering a game,” Lina said, hating the snippy sound of her voice even as the words escaped her.

  Walker stared at her. “I’m not fraternizing. I’m getting the inside dope.”

  She didn’t really care how Walker covered the softball game. She just wished he wouldn’t be so into Flynn that he stopped paying attention. That wasn’t like him. It wasn’t the Walker she knew. The Walker she knew was the best reporter at the paper.

  “What are you going to do, tell on me?” Walker said. “Go ahead. It’s not like I’m getting paid or anything. What do you think Kate will do, fire me?”

  “I don’t care,” Lina said. “I don’t care what happens.” She stormed away. She sensed someone running after her. She was afraid to look back, but she hoped—maybe it was Walker. Maybe he wanted to apologize.

  “Lina!” It was Sebastiano. “Talk about hot-tempered spitfires. Not that it’s any of my business, but I have to butt in—what was that little tiff about?”

  “Nothing,” Lina said.

  “It didn’t look like nothing to me,” Sebastiano said. “Looked like a little lovers spat. Is there something going on I don’t know about?”

  “No,” Lina said. “It was a sports argument. We’re friends.” And that’s all, she thought as she trudged off to the tennis courts. She wished she didn’t have to cover the tournament. She would rather have gone home, gone to bed, and pulled the covers over her head.

  9

  A Member of the Clan

  To: hollygolitely

  From: your daily horoscope

  HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CAPRICORN: Don’t try to do too much today. (For anyone else it would be a normal workload, but for you … ’nuff said.)

  A few parents complain, and the principal completely shuts us down,” Holly was explaining the problem to Julia, who had brought Holly to the cake designer for a tasting. But Holly wasn’t in a tasting mood—she couldn’t get the Dating Game off her mind. “Did you have Alvarado when you were at Rosewood?”

  “Holly, focus,” Julia said. “You’re not tasting!” She popped a piece of chocolate cake into Holly’s mouth. Holly swallowed.

  “That’s good,” Holly said. She speared another morsel of chocolate-iced chocolate cake and quickly ate it. “Chocolate is always good. So, anyway, my friends and I are trying to think of some way to get our blog back on the school site—”

  “Did you try the strawberry cake?” Julia asked.

  Holly had tried the strawberry. “It’s not bad. But everybody loves chocolate. How can you go wrong?”

  “There must be some people who don’t like it, or all cakes would be chocolate,” Julia said, licking the icing off her lips. There were so many options: carrot, vanilla, red velvet, strawberry … But taste-wise, chocolate won hands down.

  “You can have a chocolate cake base,” the designer, a small, neat woman named Carmen, said. “But if you want chocolate icing, that means a brown wedding cake. Most brides aren’t into that.”

  “What do you think, Holly?” Julia asked.

  “I see what she means,” Holly said. “Brown isn’t very bridal. And you don’t want to get chocolate stains on your wedding dress when Michael smushes cake into your face.”

  “He won’t do that,” Julia said. “I forbid it.”

  “That might not stop him,” Holly said. “It wouldn’t stop Rob. But you know Michael and I don’t, so—”

  Julia ate another chocolaty bite. “Mmmm … But it’s so good. Even if the cake were brown, wouldn’t my guests thank me for sending them to choco-nirvana?”

  “What about your dream scheme?” Holly reached into her bag and pulled out a colorful page torn from a magazine. It showed a five-tiered yellow cake trimmed in pale pink and green roses. “Remember the pink-and-green retro-seventies palette?”

  That morning Julia had said that she saw a pink-and-green Lily Pulitzer-style preppy wedding in a dream and that that was what she wanted. On the other hand, two days earlier she’d wanted Tiffany blue and silver. Holly was beginning to notice that Julia changed her mind a lot.

  Carmen looked at the picture. “With a cake like that, I’d do lemon or vanilla.”

  “Lemon!” Julia sighed. “That sounds so refreshing. Summery. And I wasn’t going to let it sway me, but before I left the house, Mom said, ‘Whatever you do don’t pick chocolate.’ I forget why. I think her whole side of the family is allergic to it or something.’”

  Julia had originally planned on bringing Mrs. Safran cake tasting and dress shopping with her, but when Mrs. Safran’s daily migraine arrived, Holly was called in to sub. Holly didn’t really mind, but she was looking forward to the arrival of Julia’s friends from Boston next week. Maybe they could take over some of the wedding duties. They were Julia’s bridesmaids, after all.

  “I need your decision this week,” Carmen reminded them. “If you want the cake in time for the wedding.”

  “I like peppermint a lot, too,” Julia said. “Do you make peppermint cakes?”

  “I’d suggest mint ice cream,” Carmen said. “Not with lemon, though.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Julia said. “I wish I could have five different cakes.”

  “That’s always an option,” Carmen said. “But it would probably run you close to—”

  “Julia, you can’t have five cakes,” Holly said. “Just pick one—it’s no big deal.”

  “I can’t,” Julia said. “Look—it’s almost six. Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

  Holly looked at Carmen, who seemed annoyed. She bustled about, getting ready to close her shop. “We’ll have to get back to you about the cake,” Holly said.

  “All right, but do it soon,” Carmen said.

  Holly and Julia gathered up their shopping bags and got into Holly’s yellow VW Beetle. “You were no help,” Julia said.

  “What do you mean?” Holly asked. “You want me to choose your cake for you? How hard is it to pick a cake?”

  “You’re right,” Julia said. “I just get overwhelmed. We made so many choices already today—”

  Actually, Holly thought, that wasn’t true. Julia looked at wedding dresses in four different shops but couldn’t narrow it down to fewer than six. She asked Holly which dresses she liked best for the rehearsal dinner, Holly chose her three favorites, and Julia bought them all, unable to decide.

  Holly pulled up at the Safrans’ house. “I probably shouldn’t stay for dinner,” she said. “I’ve got a history test to study for, and this big history project to work on that I’ve barely started, and then there’s the blog. We can’t just let it die!”

  She wanted to see Rob, but at the Safrans’ house there wasn’t much point. They were hardly ever alone there.

  “Oh, blog schmog,” Julia said. “If you don’t come in you’ll hurt Rob’s feelings. I wonder what Gabe’s making tonight?”

  Gabe had taken over most of the cooking since Mrs. Safran didn’t feel much like doing it. Rob helped him sometimes. Their specialty was pasta.

  Holly and Julia walked in, their arms full of shopping bags. The kitchen windows were steamy, and Rob and Gabe stood at the island chopping onions. Actually, Gabe was chopping them and Rob was juggling them.

  “How’d you do, girls?” Gabe asked. “How many credit cards did you max out today?”

  Holly put down her bags, and Rob tossed her an onion. She caught it and tossed it back. “Stay for dinner, Holls?” Rob asked. “We’re making Spaghetti ala Gabe.”

  “Smells good,” Holly said. “What’s in it?”

  “Turkey meatballs,” Gabe said

  Rob pulled her close and breathed into her ear: “Please? Maybe we can escape later.”

  Her pulse quickened. “Okay, I’ll stay,” Holly said.

  He kissed her ear to show her he was glad. Then he rubbed his nose in her hair. “Mmm, you smell better than the spaghetti sauce.”

  “Break
it up, you two. Where’s Mom?” Julia asked.

  “Resting,” Gabe said.

  “Come on, Holly. Help me bring the bags into my room.”

  Holly broke away from Rob and followed Julia into her room, dropping the bags on the bed. “Call me when dinner’s ready,” Julia said. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Holly returned to the kitchen. She felt so at home there that she set the table without having to ask where anything 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.”