Can True Love Survive High School? by Natalie Standiford Page B

it.”
    A few minutes later, Britta was off the phone, wailing. Holly and Rob ran to her.
    “What is it?” Holly asked. “What's the matter now?”
    “I'm—just—so—in—love—with—him,” Britta choked out.
    “Um, you know what? I think I'm going to go now,” Rob said. He was practically squirming with discomfort. Holly felt sorry for him. Most boys, ordinary boys, couldn't handle this level of emotion.
    “I'm sorry, Rob,” she said, walking him to the door. “I can't leave her like this.”
    “I know. I'll call you later. Maybe we can catch a late movie? If she's gone by then, I mean.”
    “Okay.” More wails issued from the couch. Holly turned her head.
    “I'd better go.” Rob left quickly. Holly hurried back to the couch.
    “He's coming over,” Britta said. “That's okay, isn't it?”
    “Of course it is,” Holly said. “But he's got to leave before Curt and Jen get home, or your parents will find out—”
    “He will, he will.”
    “Britta, you've really got to stop crying now,” Holly said. She grabbed a box of Kleenex and started dabbing at Britta's eyes. “There's nothing to cry about, right? Ed's coming over!”
    Britta nodded happily. Holly helped her straighten her clothes in preparation for Ed's arrival. She felt like the nurse in Romeo and Juliet, helping the young lovers arrange a rendezvous. So much excitement, so much emotion. This wasn't high school. This was real life.
    I hope this happens to me one day,
Holly thought. She was happy to play nurse to Britta. But someday she wanted to be Juliet.

10
    Naked Halloween
    To: linaonme
    From: your daily horoscope
    HERE IS TODAY'S HOROSCOPE: CANCER: An irresistible opportunity presents itself today. Which is too bad for you, since resisting it is the only way to avoid catastrophe. But the stars say you won't, so I guess you're doomed.
----
    L ina! This is it! The goddess is smiling down on us!” Ramona was running down the hall toward her, waving a piece of paper. Lina sat on the floor in front of her locker, trying to squeeze in a last-minute cram for her history quiz. She closed her book. It was a lost cause now.
    Ramona sat down next to her. “Look. It's the answer to everything.”
    Lina didn't have to ask what Ramona was talking about. What was Ramona always talking about? Or almost always? Dan.
    Lina read the piece of paper. It was a flyer announcing Rosewood's annual Writer's Potluck Supper, for all students who write for school publications. This included Lina, of course, and Ramona, who was an editor and poet, specializing in death imagery, for
Inchworm
, one of the school's two literary journals. Lina was sure it would be somewhat fun, for a school party, but she didn't get what Ramona was so excited about.
    “So?” Lina asked.
    “Look where it's being held.”
    Lina read the smaller type at the bottom of the page.
Date, time, and address: the home of Dan Shulman,
Inchworm
Faculty Advisor.
Aha.
    “There's got to be a way we can use this,” Ramona said. “I mean, we're going to be
inside his house!
For a legitimate reason!”
    “But what can we do?” Lina asked. “Chain ourselves to the bed?”
    “I know—we'll steal something of his. And he'll have to ask you back to return it … No! We'll find his journal, or some personal letters or something, and blackmail him with them. He has to kiss you or we'll publish them on your Web site.”
    “That's horrible,” Lina said. “Very mean. And it won't make him like me at all.”
    “You're right. It will make him hate you. Both of us. But what can we do? There's got to be something.”
    They sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking. Slowly a plan began to take shape in Lina's mind.
I'm really sick,
she thought as the hazy details gradually became clearer.
    “I've got it,” she said. “When the party is winding down, I'll hide in his bedroom closet. His bedroom has got to have a closet, right?”
    “I'm liking this so far,” Ramona said.
    “Then, after everyone is