41
DURING CHEMISTRY, PETER WRITES ME a note that says, Can I come over tonight to study for the test?
I write back, I don’t remember study sessions being in the contract. After he reads it, he turns around and gives me a wounded look. I mouth, I’m kidding!
*
At dinner I announce that Peter’s coming over to study and we’re going to need the kitchen, and my dad raises his eyebrows. “Leave the door open,” he jokes. We don’t even have a door to the kitchen.
“Daddy,” I groan, and Kitty groans with me.
Casually he asks, “Is Peter your boyfriend?”
“Um . . . something like that,” I say.
After we eat and Kitty and I do the dishes, I set up the kitchen like a study room. My textbook and notes are stacked up in the center of the table, with a row of highlighters in blue, yellow, and pink, a bowl of microwave kettle corn, and a plate of peanut-butter brownies I baked this afternoon. I let Kitty have two but that’s it.
He said he’d be over around eight. At first I think he’s just late as usual, but the minutes tick by and I realize he’s not coming. I text him once but he doesn’t text back.
Kitty comes down between commercial breaks, sniffing around for another brownie, which I give her. “Is Peter not coming?” she asks. I pretend I’m so absorbed in my studying I don’t hear.
Around ten he sends a text that says, Sorry something came up. I can’t come over tonight. He doesn’t say where he is or what he’s doing, but I already know. He’s with Genevieve. At lunch he was distracted; he kept texting on his phone. And then, later in the day, I saw them outside the girls’ locker room. They didn’t see me, but I saw them. They were just talking, but with Genevieve it’s never just anything. She put her hand on his arm; he brushed her hair out of her eyes. I may only be a fake girlfriend, but that’s not nothing.
I keep studying, but it’s hard to concentrate when your feelings are hurt. I tell myself it’s just because I went to the trouble of baking brownies and cleaning up the downstairs. I mean, it’s rude to just not show up somewhere. Does he not have manners? How would he like it if I did that? And really, what’s the whole point of this charade if he’s just going to keep going back to her anyway? What’s even in it for me anymore? Things are better with Josh and me, practically normal. If I wanted to I could just call the whole thing off.
The next morning, I wake up still mad. I call Josh to ask him for a ride to school. For a second I worry he might not pick up; it’s been so long since we hung out. But he does, and he says no problem.
Let’s see how Peter likes it when he comes to my house to pick me up and I’m not there.
Halfway to school I start to feel uneasy. Maybe Peter had a legitimate reason for not coming over. Maybe he wasn’t with Genevieve and now I’ve just done a very petty thing out of spite.
Josh is looking at me with suspicious eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t believe me, I can tell. “Did you and Kavinsky have a fight?”
“No.”
Josh sighs and says, “Just be careful.” He says it in a patronizing older-brother kind of way that makes me want to scream. “I don’t want to see you hurt by that guy.”
“Josh! He won’t hurt me. Geez.”
“He’s a douche. I’m sorry, but he is. All the guys on the lacrosse team are. Guys like Kavinsky, they only care about one thing. As soon as they get what they want, they’re bored.”
“Not Peter. He dated Genevieve for almost four years!”
“Just trust me. You haven’t had much experience with guys, Lara Jean.”
Quietly I ask, “How would you know?”
Josh gives me an Oh, come on look. “Because I know you.”
“Not as well as you think.”
We’re quiet the rest of the way.
It won’t be that big of a deal. Peter will stop by my house, see that I’m not there, and then he’ll leave. Big deal, so he had to go five minutes out of his way. I waited for him last night for two friggin’ hours.
When we get to school, Josh heads for the senior hall and I go straight to the junior hall. I keep sneaking peeks down the hallway at Peter’s locker, but he doesn’t arrive. I wait at my locker until the bell rings, and he still doesn’t come. I run off to first period, my backpack banging against my back as I go.
Mr. Schuller is taking attendance, when I look up and see Peter standing in the doorway glaring at me. He gestures at me to come out. I gulp and quickly look down at my notebook and pretend like I didn’t see him. But then he hisses my name, and I know I have to talk to him.
Shakily I raise my hand. “Mr. Schuller, can I go the bathroom?”
“You should have gone before class,” he grumbles, but he waves me on.
I hurry out to the hallway and pull Peter away from the door so Mr. Schuller can’t see.
“Where were you this morning?” Peter demands.
I cross my arms and try to stand tall. It’s hard, because I’m so short and he really is tall. “You’re one to talk.”
Peter huffs, “At least I texted you! I’ve called you like seventeen times. Why is your phone off?”
“You know we’re not allowed to have our phones on at school!”
He huffs, “Lara Jean, I waited in front of your house for twenty minutes.”
Yikes. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“How’d you get to school? Sanderson?”
“Yes.”
Peter exhales. “Listen, if you were pissed I couldn’t come over last night, you should’ve just called and said so instead of the shit you pulled this morning.”
In a small voice I say, “Well, what about that shit you pulled last night?”
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Did you just say ‘shit’? It sounds really funny coming out of your mouth.”
I ignore that. “So . . . where were you? Were you with Genevieve?” I don’t ask what I really want to know, which is, Did you guys get back together?
He hesitates and then he says, “She needed me.”
I can’t even look at him. Why is he such a dummy? Why does she have such a hold on him? Is it just the amount of time they’ve been together? Is it the sex? I don’t understand. It’s disappointing, how little self-control boys have. “Peter, if you’re just going to go running every time she beckons, I don’t see a point to any of this.”
“Covey, come on! I said I was sorry. Don’t be pissed.”
“You never said you were sorry,” I say. “When did you say you were sorry?”
Chastened, he says, “Sorry.”
“I don’t want you to go to Genevieve’s anymore. How do you think that makes me look to her?”
Peter looks at me steadily. “I can’t not be there for Gen, so don’t ask me to.”
“But Peter, what does she even need you for when she has a new boyfriend?”
He flinches, and right away I’m sorry I said it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s fine. I don’t expect you to understand it. Gen and I . . . we just get each other.”
He doesn’t know it, but when Peter talks about Genevieve, he gets a certain softness in his face. It’s tenderness mixed with impatience. And something else. Love. Peter can protest all he wants, but I know he still loves her.
Sighing, I ask, “Did you at least study for the test?”
Peter shakes his head, and I sigh again.
“You can look at my notes during lunch,” I say, and I head back to my class.
It’s starting to make sense to me. Why he’d go along with a scheme like this, why he’d spend his time with someone like me. It’s not so he can move on from Gen. It’s so he can’t. I’m just his excuse. I’m holding Genevieve’s place for her. When that piece makes sense, everything else starts to.