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mom crisis at the same time (both of which are totally true) and he should be good with that.
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: Rɛ: Fashion Assistance, Please!!
    VAL!!!
    This is really Twilight Zone, because I was writing an e-mail to you at the exact second yours appeared in my in-box. (I’m in the library . . . we’re supposed to be doing research on World War I for Mrs. Bennett’s class.) I was worried about you and Georg, so I’m thrilled everything is cool on that front. He sounds incredible (and I know he looks incredible!)! Lucky you!
    Jeremy was totally okay with me hanging out with you over break. He’s all obsessed with training for a marathon, if you can believe it, so he has zero time for me these days anyway. It was a big deal when we all went to that Heath Ledger movie together while you were here.
    Yeah, I know. I wish he’d chill out over the marathon too.
    On the ski pants thing—the ones you already own aren’t that bad. Does your mom have them? ɛ-mail or call her and have her overnight them to you immediately. It’s probably pricey to send them from Virginia, but I bet it’s cheaper than buying new pants.
    Now, I’m not saying you can’t do better. What you need to look for are black ski pants (pretty much all they sell anyway). Skip the overalls type. Too hard to pee. Look for something with a good boot cut and that hugs your rear end and lifts. I’ll send you a few links to web pages to show you what I’m talking about. And if you have to wear your old pair, no biggie. Besides, I bet Georg won’t care.
    BTW—you did tell him you went out with David Anderson a couple times when you were here over break, didn’t you? He must’ve handled it pretty well!
    Write soon!
    Christie
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: RE: Fashion Assistance, Please!!
    Christie,
    1—Checked web pages. Gotcha. Will also have Mom overnight the old pants (though I think they might have a hole in a bad location . . . will have to check.) Thankyou, thankyou, for saving my tail on this one, literally and figuratively. Will report back on what I end up wearing.
    2—What is up with Jeremy? He’s always been obsessive about running, but a marathon is insane. Think of the chafing!
    And has he not looked at you lately? Does he not realize that you are beyond beautiful and that some other guy will snag you if he doesn’t pay attention? (Okay, you and I both know you’d never break up with Jeremy for another guy. But Jeremy doesn’t know that. Work it just a little bit. Seriously. Like, compliment another guy on his shirt or something where Jeremy can hear you and that’ll be enough to wake him up.)
    3—No, I didn’t tell Georg. It hasn’t come up. AND IT WON’T.
    4—Dad’s finally here. Gotta go. Will write soon!
    Love, Val

    My dad is a freakin’ miracle worker. As I pull on my ski helmet just outside the lodge, I shoot a smile at him. He’s sitting on a bench about fifteen feet away, closing the latches on his boots and watching me at the same time. I mouth a “thank you” and give a little pull at my pants so he knows what I mean. He just winks at me and goes back to work on his boots.
    Not only did he come home with dinner for me on Wednesday night (leftover cordon bleu from some government dinner that was way better than the preprocessed hunk o’ meat I nuked in the microwave and ended up tossing in the trash can), he also brought four pairs of ski pants. He took part of his after-noon off from work to buy them, then rushed back to the palace for an evening meeting with Prince Manfred about an upcoming state visit from the Georgian President (not Georgia as in plantation tours and the Atlanta Braves, but Georgia as in the former Russian republic, and apparently a very important trade partner of Schwerinborg), meaning no time to call or e-mail. He walked into the apartment around eight thirty, rightafter I fired off that last e-mail to