The quiet hum of the Randolph house was a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few days. The family had gone to bed, and Georgia Randolph, dressed in her silk pajamas and holding a cup of chamomile tea, was making her nightly rounds. Her last stop was Ginny's room, where she found her daughter hunched over her desk, surrounded by notebooks, her laptop, and a mess of sticky notes.

"Ginny," Georgia said softly, peeking her head through the door. "How's that AP Econ project comin' along?"

Ginny groaned, rubbing her temples. "It's not. I've been staring at these numbers for hours, and nothing's clicking. It's due tomorrow, and I'm so screwed."

Georgia stepped inside, setting her tea on the desk and pulling up a chair. "Alright, sugar. Let's see what we're workin' with."

"It's this stupid supply-and-demand graph," Ginny said, gesturing to her laptop. "I have to analyze these trends and explain why there's a shift, but I don't even know where to start."

Georgia furrowed her brow, leaning over the screen. "Okay, first of all, take a deep breath. Stressin' ain't gonna get this done any faster. Second, let's start with the basics. What's causin' the shift?"

"I think it's... price elasticity?" Ginny guessed, though her voice lacked confidence.

"Well, let's double-check," Georgia said, pulling out her phone and quickly googling the topic. "Alright, so price elasticity is about how demand changes when the price changes. Think of it like... when everyone started panic-buyin' toilet paper during the pandemic. That's a shift in demand."

Ginny blinked. "That actually makes sense."

Georgia grinned. "See? You're smarter than you think. Now, let's build on that."

The two of them worked together, piecing the project into something coherent. Georgia googled terms and examples while Ginny typed furiously, her confidence slowly returning. But just as they were making real progress, a burst of colorful flashing lights streamed through the window, casting an array of neon hues across Ginny's walls.

"What the hell?" Ginny muttered, glancing toward the window.

Georgia froze, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, you've got to be kiddin' me."

They both got up and peered through the curtains. Sure enough, there was Holt Scotto, perched on the trunk of his truck in full harbormaster uniform. The truck bed was rigged with string lights that blinked obnoxiously in rainbow colors, and Holt was holding his ever-present megaphone.

"Georgia Randolph!" Holt's voice boomed through the megaphone, echoing across the neighborhood. "You thought you could get rid of me, but I'm still here!"

Ginny groaned, stepping back from the window. "Mom, this is so embarrassing."

"Oh, sugar," Georgia said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Embarrassin' doesn't even begin to cover it."

Holt continued his rant, his voice carrying into the quiet night. "Thanks to you, I was disqualified from the governor election! And let's not forget the little incident at city hall that's now viral! You've turned me into a joke, Georgia!"

Georgia huffed, turning to Ginny. "Stay here. I'll handle this."

"Please," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Just... don't make it worse."


Georgia stormed downstairs and out the front door, her slippers slapping against the driveway as she marched toward Holt's truck. He smirked at her, adjusting his harbormaster hat as if it were a crown.

"Holt!" Georgia shouted. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"Publicly airing my grievances," Holt said, lifting the megaphone to his mouth. "You dragged my name through the mud, Georgia. Now it's my turn."

"Oh, for the love of—" Georgia threw up her hands. "Holt, this all started because of you! You were the one shoutin' at me through a megaphone in a speedo, remember?"

Holt leaned forward, his smirk widening. "And you were the one who escalated it at city hall, Georgia. Let's not pretend you're innocent in all this."

"Innocent?!" Georgia snapped, her voice rising. "You sabotaged my car, threw crabs on my lawn, and turned my life into a circus. You're toxic, Holt. You're worse than Gil Timmins."

Holt's eyes flashed with something unspoken. "Oh, so now you're comparing me to Gil? That's rich, Georgia. You sure you're not projecting?"

Georgia's jaw tightened, but before she could respond, Holt raised the megaphone directly in front of her face, his voice amplified to an obnoxious volume. "Ladies and gentlemen, Georgia Randolph: Queen of Petty!"

The sound was deafening, and Georgia instinctively stepped back, her ears ringing. She glared at Holt, who was clearly enjoying himself far too much.

"You're unbelievable," she said, her voice shaking with frustration.

"And you're predictable," Holt shot back, lowering the megaphone just enough to smirk at her. "Always taking the bait."

Georgia opened her mouth to retort but closed it again, realizing he wasn't worth the energy. She turned on her heel and marched back inside, slamming the door behind her.


Back in Ginny's room, Georgia flopped onto the bed, clearly fuming. Ginny glanced up from her laptop, raising an eyebrow. "How'd it go?"

"Oh, just peachy," Georgia said sarcastically. "Your mother got a front-row seat to the Holt Scotto Comedy Hour."

Ginny sighed. "Mom, maybe... I don't know, don't engage?"

Georgia sat up, pointing a finger at her. "Listen here, sugar. That man is a menace. I'm not gonna just sit back and let him walk all over me."

Ginny shrugged, turning back to her project. "Well, if you're done with him, I could still use some help."

Georgia took a deep breath, letting the tension roll off her shoulders. "Alright. Let's get this project finished."

As they returned to work, the colorful lights from Holt's truck faded away, leaving the Randolph house in peace—for now. Georgia knew the feud wasn't over, but at least tonight, she still had one victory: helping her daughter succeed. And that, she thought, was worth more than any argument with Holt.