“Could he have driven his own car?” John asks.
I shake my head. “He never does.” I grab my phone out of my bag and text him.
Where are you?
No reply. Something’s wrong, I know it. Peter never misses a game. He even played when he had the flu.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell John, and I jump out of the car and run for the field. The guys are warming up. I find Gabe on the sideline lacing his cleats. I call out, “Gabe!”
He looks up, surprised. “Large! What’s up?”
Breathlessly I ask him, “Where’s Peter?”
“I don’t know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “He told Coach he had a family emergency. It sounded pretty legit. Kavinsky wouldn’t miss a game if it wasn’t important.”
I’m already running back to the car. As soon as I’m in, I pant, “Can you drive me to Peter’s?”
I see her car first. Parked on the street in front of his house. The next thing I see is the two of them, standing together on the street for all to see. He has his arms wrapped around her; she is leaning in to him like she can’t stand on her own two feet. Her face is buried in his chest. He is saying something in her ear, petting her hair tenderly.
It all happens in the span of seconds, but it feels like time goes in slow-motion, like I’m moving through water. I think I stop breathing; my head goes fuzzy; everything around me blurs. How many times have I seen them stand just like that? Too many to count.
“Keep driving,” I manage to say to John, and he obeys. He drives right past Peter’s house; they don’t even look up. Thank God they don’t look up. Quietly I say, “Can you take me home?” I can’t even look at John. I hate that he saw too.
John begins, “It might not be . . .” Then he stops. “It was just a hug, Lara Jean.”
“I know.” Whatever it was, he missed his game for her.
We’re almost at my house when he finally asks, “What are you going to do?”
I’ve been thinking it over this whole ride. “I’m going to tell Peter to come over tonight, and then I’m going to tag him out.”
“You’re still playing?” He sounds surprised.
I stare out the window, at all the familiar places. “Sure. I’m going to take him out and then I’m going to take Genevieve out and I’m going to win.”
“Why do you want to win so badly?” he asks me. “Is it the prize?”
I don’t answer him. If I open my mouth, I will cry.
We’re at my house now. I mumble, “Thanks for the ride,” and I get out of the car before John can reply. I run into the house, kick off my shoes, and run up the stairs to my room, where I lie down and stare at the ceiling. I put glow-in-the-dark stars up there years ago, and I scraped most of them off except for one, which hung on tight as a stalactite.
Star light, star bright, the first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I wish not to cry.
I text Peter: Come over after you’re finished hanging out with Genevieve.
He writes back one word: Okay.
Just “okay.” No denials, no explanations or clarifications. All this time I’ve been making excuses for him. I’ve been trusting Peter and not trusting my own gut. Why am I the one making all these concessions, pretending to be okay with something I’m not actually okay with? Just to keep him?
In the contract we said we’d always tell each other the truth. We said we’d never break each other’s hearts. So I guess two times now he’s broken his word.
41
PETER AND I ARE SITTING on my front porch; I can hear the TV on in the living room. Kitty’s watching a movie. There is an interminably long silence between us, only the sound of crickets chirping.
He speaks first. “It isn’t what you think, Lara Jean; it really isn’t.”
I take a moment to gather my thoughts together, to string them into something that makes any kind of sense. “When we first started all this, I was really happy just being at home with my sisters and my dad. It was cozy. And then we started hanging out, and it was like . . . it was like you brought me out into the world.” At this his eyes go soft. “At first it was scary, but then I liked it too. Part of me wants to just stay next to you forever. I could easily do that. I could love you forever.”
He tries to make his voice light. “Then just do that.”
“I can’t.” I take a shaky breath. “I saw you two. You were holding her; she was in your arms. I saw everything.”
“If you’d seen everything, you’d know that it wasn’t anything like what you’re saying,” he begins. I just stare at him, and his face falls. “Come on. Don’t look at me like that.”
“I can’t help it. It’s the only way I can look at you right now.”