Page 9 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

“How’s your column coming on last week’s game?” I asked her.

“Almost done,” she said. “I’ll be happy when their season is over. Basketball is so not my sport. Can’t wait to write about soccer in a few months.”

I chuckled. “Easy to write about a sport you kick ass in.”

She smiled. “Precisely.”

When the bell rang a few minutes later, we packed up and walked toward the front of the school to meet up with Sam before heading toward Government.

“Are you coming over to Nona’s later for Mr. Paxton’s reception?” I asked her. “Mom can give you a ride if you need one. She said she’d be coming straight from the studio. Apparently, she’s got a painting to finish while she waits for some new pieces firing in her kiln.”

“Cool. I’ll text my dads.” She stopped and refilled her water bottle at the fountain. “Do we have to dress, like, nice for something like this?”

“I don’t think so.” I adjusted my book bag strap on my shoulder and waved to Sam, who stood chatting with Isaiah at the end of the hallway. “Nona just said ‘come hungry.’ ”

Jo scoffed. “As if that would stop her from shoving food down my throat.” She held her hands up the way Nona did and spoke with an over-the-top Italian accent. “Buon Dio, Josephine Collins! You are-ah so thin that Marco could-ah pick you up with-ah one finger.”

I threw my hands up and added, “Stai scherzadno! Are you kidding me?”

Isaiah raised his eyebrows. “Something wrong?”

“Just doing our best Nona.” I pulled out a nut-free granola bar from the side pocket of my book bag and opened it, offering Sam half before he could ask.

“Grazie,” he replied with a far better accent than Jo. “Did you guys do the homework?”

Jo and I stopped short. “Homework?” we asked.

He winked and ran a hand through his floppy hair.

“Hilarious.” I smacked his arm.

Whoa.

Did the Holt family buy him a gym membership or something?

“Gianna.” Sam snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Can I have my arm back, please?”

My hand was still gripping the spot below his shoulder. Oops. I let go. “Sorry. All yours.”

Isaiah made a face, but before I could decipher its meaning, sleigh bells suddenly sounded behind us, and the boys pulled Jo and me out of the way of an oncoming caravan of students wearing Santa hats. Each of them carried fliers, probably for the upcoming Mistletoe Masquerade Ball.

“Oh man.” Sam sighed. “I forgot that the Santagrams will start tomorrow.”

Santagrams were the way people in Mullings Creek High asked each other to the ball. Starting the first day of December, anyone could interrupt a class (as long as there wasn’t a test in progress) with a gram. Theater kids did the best ones with the most festive costumes, but most students held up signs with corny Christmas rhymes or riddles during lunch or in between classes.

Since none of us ever had a serious relationship—outside of Jo’s four-month stint with Douchebag Darren—she, Sam, Isaiah, and I would usually skip the ball and watch Christmas movies at someone’s house instead.

“Maybe since we’re seniors, we should go this year?” Jo offered as we entered Mr. Bennington’s classroom. We all grabbed a folded-up piece of paper from his fishbowl; each had a short current event and a reflective question that we were supposed to “think about” before class began so we could have a discussion after the tardy bell rang.

“I mean, other than the ball and prom, that’s it, right?” Jo continued.

I froze.

Prom.

I completely forgot that I’d be missing my senior prom by going overseas next semester. Not that I was a big dance person. I didn’t go to my junior prom last year, but still.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, maybe we should.”