How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend by Janette Rallison

voting on some sort of escort service. This was student body president. And besides, Dante was as hot as Wilson, only in a less footbally, more Italian way.
    The girls of Bickham should have seen right through all of those “You look great. Did you change your hair?” comments. I mean, we’re girls. Of course we’ve changed our hair. That’s what we do.
    By lunchtime, the latest gossip centered on who Wilson would take to prom. He hadn’t asked anyone, but suddenly a lot of junior girls thought they should go dress shopping just in case.
    I still managed to get fifteen signatures, but these consisted mostly of geeky freshman boys who seemed far too happy to be invited to a party at my house. Several of them asked for my phone number.
    I hoped Dante appreciated what I was doing for him.
    Raine got people from the track team to sign. Charity hit up people from her church, and Daphne—well, Daphne was able to garner an easy fifteen signatures from junior guys who all wanted to date her.
    After school, while Dante and I riffled through the refrigerator for snacks, Dante ranted about Wilson’s tactics. “He purposely set out to sabotage my party. The guy is a total—” He glanced at Skipper, who sat eating Cheez-Its at the table. “S.O.B.”
    â€œWhat does S.O.B. spell?” Skipper asked.
    â€œSob,” I said. “It means to cry.”
    Skipper’s eyebrows scrunched together like she still didn’t understand, but she popped another Cheez-It into her mouth instead of asking more questions.
    â€œYou know who else is a sob?” Dante asked. “Jesse is a total sob. He invited the whole basketball team to Wilson’s party. He invited the entire second period biology class. He even invited my friends. I’m glad you broke up with him.”
    I fingered the grapes in my hand, not hungry anymore since the subject of Jesse had come up. And to think he’d told me he was going to use good sportsmanship. If this was friendly campaigning, what exactly was Jesse’s definition of the unfriendly variety?
    Dante took a package of lunch meat out of the fridge and tossed it on the counter. “We’ve got to stop Wilson from ruining our party. Let’s change the date of ours.”
    â€œHow would we let everyone know our new time? We’re not sure who’s coming as it is. We invited a bunch of people and are only hoping some of them show up.”
    â€œThen we’ll have a better party.”
    I popped a grape into my mouth. It was sour, of course. I ate it anyway. “Better than a heated swimming pool? Better than at the mayor’s house? While we’re passing out potato chips, Wilson will have his party professionally catered by some French chef named Jacques.”
    â€œThen we’ll ruin Wilson’s party somehow.” Dante ripped open a lunch meat package, folded up a piece of ham, and ate it without the bread. “Do you know anyone from your days in detention who could take care of the job?”
    â€œTake care of the job how?”
    â€œI don’t know. We could set fire to his lawn ornaments or something.”
    I let out a grunt and waved one of my grapes at Dante. “You might have forgotten this, but I’ve already spent more than enough time talking to policemen. If you’ll remember, I’m on probation.”
    â€œI know, I know. I was kidding.” His eyes got a far-off look, and his voice slowed. “Still, I like the idea of a few of those potted palms going up in smoke. I mean, if you put trees in little bowls on your lawn, you’re just asking someone to torch them.”
    â€œDon’t do it,” I said. “You might want to apply for something someday—like, say, college or a job—and tree-torching would look bad on your police record.”
    This was something I unfortunately knew too much about.
    Dante threw a couple of slices of ham on a piece of bread,