The quiet evening in Wellsbury was deceptively peaceful. Georgia Randolph had just poured herself a glass of wine and settled into the couch, finally relaxing after an eventful day. But the calm was short-lived.

"Georgia," Paul called from the hallway, his tone hesitant but edged with a hint of dread. "Holt's truck is back."

The words hit Georgia like a slap to the face. She shot up from her seat, her wine glass teetering precariously on the edge of the table. "What do you mean, it's back? I thought it was still at the shop!"

Paul shrugged. "Guess the tow truck worked faster than you thought."

Georgia groaned, pacing the living room like a caged animal. "Unbelievable. That man is like a bad penny—he just keeps turnin' up."

Paul leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "What's he even doin' now?"

"Oh, I don't know," Georgia said, throwing her hands up. "Probably planning his next petty stunt. Or practicing his speech about the Cadborosaurus again."

Paul chuckled. "You really think he's gonna run for governor?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Georgia muttered, narrowing her eyes.


Upstairs, Ginny was hunched over her desk, surrounded by textbooks and a laptop as she worked on her AP Econ project. Her focus was razor-sharp—until Georgia popped her head in.

"Hey, sugar," Georgia said softly, leaning against the doorframe. "Burnin' the midnight oil, huh?"

Ginny sighed, rubbing her temples. "AP Econ isn't gonna ace itself."

Georgia stepped inside, sitting on the edge of Ginny's bed. "I remember takin' Econ back in high school. Tough as nails, that class. But you know what helped me?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "What?"

Georgia grinned. "Pretendin' like I already knew everything. Confidence is half the battle, baby. Walk into that classroom like you invented supply and demand."

Ginny chuckled despite herself. "Pretty sure my teacher won't care how confident I am if my graphs are wrong."

"Well, that's why you've got me," Georgia said, pointing to herself. "If there's one thing I know, it's how to make a chart look like it means somethin'—even if it doesn't."

Ginny laughed. "That doesn't exactly scream 'solid advice.'"

Georgia leaned forward, her tone softening. "Listen, sugar. I know it's tough, but you're one of the smartest people I know. You've got this. And when you feel like you don't? Just remember—it's okay to fake it till you make it."

Ginny smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Thanks, Mom."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, a rare but cherished mother-daughter moment. Then, just as Ginny was about to return to her project, a noise shattered the peace.

"Georgia Randolph!" A familiar voice boomed from outside, loud enough to shake the windows.

"What in the—" Georgia shot up, rushing to the window with Ginny close behind.

Through the curtains, they saw Holt Scotto standing in the middle of the street, holding a megaphone. He was wearing nothing but a tropical-themed speedo, a harbormaster hat perched jauntily on his head. A Bluetooth speaker by his feet blasted Britney Spears's Breathe On Me, echoing through the quiet neighborhood.

"Oh, my God," Ginny said, her jaw dropping. "What is he doing?"

Georgia's face twisted in horror. "He's lost his damn mind."

Holt raised the megaphone to his lips again. "Georgia Randolph!" he bellowed, his voice carrying into the night. "Don't pretend you're not watching!"

The neighbors' lights started flickering on, and windows opened as curious and groggy residents peeked out to see what the commotion was about. Holt didn't seem to care. He adjusted his stance and continued his rant.

"I know what you did, Georgia!" he shouted. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Sabotaging my truck, deflating my tires, and sneaking around like some kind of ninja! Well, guess what? Your reign of terror ends tonight!"

Ginny clutched her sides, laughing uncontrollably. "Mom, this is insane. He's actually out here—like this!"

Georgia glared at Holt from the window, fuming. "Oh, I'll end somethin', alright."

As if on cue, Holt lowered the megaphone just long enough to bend over and unleash the loudest, most obnoxious fart imaginable. The sound echoed, and a few neighbors groaned in disgust.

Ginny doubled over, tears streaming down her face. "I can't—this is too much!"

Georgia was seething. She yanked the window open and shouted, "Holt Scotto, you get off my street right now, or I swear—"

"Oh, you swear?" Holt interrupted, holding the megaphone up again. "You don't get to swear, Georgia. Not after what you've done. You think you're innocent? Ha!"

He laughed maniacally before turning serious, pointing directly at her window. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced to the neighbors, "let me tell you about your so-called Southern Belle. She's a menace. A saboteur. A borderline psychopath!"

Georgia couldn't take it anymore. She stormed downstairs, flinging open the front door and marching straight toward him. "Holt, if you don't shut that mouth of yours right now, I'm gonna—"

"Gonna what?" Holt taunted, smirking down at her. "Call the police? Again? Oh, please. They're already tired of your antics."

Georgia jabbed a finger at his chest. "You don't get to stand here, half-naked, and yell at me like you're some kind of martyr. You're the one sneakin' around, causin' trouble!"

"Trouble?" Holt said mockingly, stepping back with exaggerated shock. "Trouble is what you bring to this neighborhood, Georgia. Admit it—you're obsessed with me."

"Obsessed?!" Georgia's voice rose an octave. "I wouldn't be caught dead obsessed with you, you oversized man-child!"

By now, the neighbors were either laughing, recording the spectacle, or shaking their heads in disbelief. Holt, ever the showman, took a mock bow and grinned. "You know, Georgia, this has been fun. But next time, maybe keep your sabotage to yourself. I'd hate to escalate things further."

He turned on his heel and sauntered back to his house, still in his speedo and hat, laughing loudly as Georgia stood there, fists clenched and glaring daggers at his retreating figure.

As Holt reached his door, he turned back and called out, "Sleep tight, Georgia!"

Georgia marched back into her house, slamming the door behind her. Ginny was waiting in the hallway, still laughing as she wiped tears from her eyes.

"So... that happened," Ginny said, grinning.

Georgia let out a frustrated groan, throwing her hands up. "That man is insufferable."

Ginny shrugged. "Well, on the bright side, the neighbors will be talking about this for weeks."

Georgia shot her a look. "Oh, they'll be talkin', alright. But not about me. Next time, Holt Scotto's gonna learn what it means to mess with a Randolph."