65
PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO FILE back on the bus. I can feel their eyes on me so I keep my head turned toward the window. I run my finger along the edge of the foggy glass. The window is cold, so it leaves a trail.
Chris slides in next to me. In a low voice she says, “Um, I just heard something cray-cray.”
Dully I say, “What did you hear? That Peter and I had sex in the hot tub last night?”
“Oh my God! Yeah! Are you okay?”
My chest feels really tight. If I get in a good breath, I am going to start crying again, I know it.
I close my eyes. “We didn’t have sex. Who told you that?”
“Charlie.”
Peter’s making his way down the aisle. He stops at our seat. “Hey, why didn’t you come back to the table? Is everything okay?” Peter is looming over the seat, looking at me with concerned eyes.
In a quiet voice I say, “Everybody’s saying how we had sex in the tub.”
Peter groans. “People need to mind their own business.” He doesn’t sound surprised, not at all.
“So you already knew?”
“Some of the guys were asking me about it this morning.”
“But . . . where did they even get that idea?” I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Peter shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe somebody saw us. What does it even matter? It’s not true.”
I screw my lips together tight. I can’t cry right now, because if I start, I’ll never be able to stop. I will cry the whole way home, and everyone will see, and I can’t have that. I fix my gaze somewhere over Peter’s shoulder.
“I don’t get it. Why are you mad at me?” He’s still confused.
People are starting to bottleneck behind Peter. They need to get to their seats. “People are waiting behind you,” I say.
Peter says, “Chris, can I have my seat?”
Chris looks at me and I shake my head.
“It’s my seat now, Kavinsky,” she says.
“Come on, Lara Jean,” Peter says, touching my shoulder.
I jerk away from him and his mouth drops open. People are looking at us and whispering and snickering. Peter glances over his shoulder, his face red. Then he finally makes his way down the aisle.
“Are you okay?” Chris asks.
I can feel my eyes welling up. “No. Not really.”
She sighs. “It’s not fair for the girl. Guys have it easy. I’m sure they were all congratulating him, pounding him on the back for being such a stud.”
Sniffling, I say, “Do you think he’s the one who told people?”
“Who knows?”
A tear trickles down to my cheek and Chris wipes it away with her sweater sleeve. “It might not have been him. But it doesn’t matter, Lara Jean, because even if he didn’t encourage all the talk, I doubt he discouraged it, if you know what I’m saying.”
I shake my head.
“What I’m saying is, I’m sure he denied it—with a shit-eating grin on his face. That’s how guys like Peter are. They love to look like the man, have all the other guys look up to them.” Bitterly she says, “They care more about their reputation than yours.” She shakes her head. “But what’s done is done. You’ve just gotta hold your head up and act like you don’t give a shit.”
I nod, but more tears leak out.
“I’m telling you, he isn’t worth it. Let Gen have him.” Chris tousles my hair. “What else can you do, kid?”
Genevieve comes on board last. I quickly straighten up and wipe my eyes and brace myself. But she doesn’t go directly to her seat. She stops at Bethy Morgan’s seat and whispers something in her ear. Bethy gasps and turns in her seat—and looks right at me.
Oh my God.
Chris and I watch as Genevieve goes from seat to seat.
“Bitch,” Chris breathes.
Tears burn my eyes. “I’m just gonna go to sleep now,” and I rest my head on Chris’s shoulder, and I cry. She keeps her arm tight around me.