Do-Over Read Online Free

worst picture to everyone and say, “Doesn’t Val look so cute in this picture? Isn’t it so lucky for her that Georg’s parents let her tag along on his ski trip?” or something like that.
    I raise my head and start tapping out an emergency missive. I’m tempted to put “Save My Ass!” in the subject line of the e-mail, but I know Dad won’t appreciate my language or the humor. And I’ve gotta stay on his good side, since he’s the only person who can help me now.
    Assuming I handle this correctly.
    I settle for “Major Emergency!” and type a note explaining the situation in the nicest language I can muster (since this is going to the palace, after all). Then I hit send.

Two
    Four hours after I get home from school, still no Dad.
    Georg has come and gone. I’ve not only finished my homework, but I’ve worked ahead, super geek that I am. I’ve been forced to find dinner for myself (horrors), and worst of all, even if Dad walks through the door right this very minute, I’m going to have seriously limited shopping time. Unlike stores in the forward-thinking United States, most of Schwerinborg’s shops tend to close right around dinnertime.
    Unable to distract myself with food, I leave my microwaved carnage on the table and go check my e-mail for the zillionth time.
    Nothing.
    Not even the usual spam offering me low mortgage rates or asking if I want to increase my size to please my partner (and those messages never do mean my pathetic barely-B cups.)
    How is this possible?
    I open my sent folder to make sure I used the correct e-mail addy for Dad. Of course I did.
    I groan out loud. The man clearly doesn’t understand my emergency. It’s Wednesday. If we leave for our ski trip on Friday right after school . . . well, the clock is ticking. Even if he had some government event to attend tonight, you’d think he’d take two secs to e-mail me back and let me know.
    Just to cover my ass (so to speak), I decide to e-mail my best buddy Christie in Virginia. Like Ulrike, Christie is one of those perfect people I could hate based on looks alone if she didn’t possess an uncommon cool quotient. Since her fashion sense is as good as my Dad’s—and Christie’s a lot less likely to ridicule my ski pants dilemma—I figure she’ll be able to steer me in the right direction.
    Since she’s six hours behind me, if I’m really lucky she’ll be sitting at a computer at school.
    At worst, she’ll check e-mail when she gets home in a couple of hours. Either way, she’s probably going to be able to help before Dad.
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: Fashion Assistance, Please!!
    Hey, Christie!
    Three things: First, I’m really glad I got to see you, Jules, and Natalie over winter break. You have no clue (and I mean none) how much I’ve missed you guys while I’ve been here. I’m making friends, but it’s just not the same as hanging with my A-listers.
    Second, things with Georg are going way better than when I got there for vacation. Remember how I told you he met me at the airport when I came back to Schwerinborg? Well, we’re totally on track and back together now.
    Which brings me to number three: Dad is taking me skiing this weekend and he said Georg can come. (I know! I’m totally psyched . . .) However, I have a major fashion problem. Ski pants. I e-mailed Dad at work and asked him to take me shopping tonight, since he’s usually good at helping me find stuff that doesn’t look hideous. (Remember I told you aboutthat killer dress I wore to that palace dinner I got to attend with Georg? That was all Dad.) But if you have any suggestions at all . . . HELP!!! I’m gonna have to shop either tonight or tomorrow, ‘cause we’re leaving on Friday.
    Freaking out in Schwerinborg,
    Val
    PS—How’s everything with Jeremy? He’s not mad that you hung out with me, Jules, and Natalie for most of vacation, is he? If he is, just blame me. Tell him I had a boyfriend crisis and a