Relief floods over me. Thank God.
Peter jumps out of his seat and picks me up and swings me around. “Lara Jean just got into William and Mary!” he shouts to the table and anyone who is listening. Everyone at our table cheers.
“See?” Peter crows, hugging me. “I told you everything would work out.”
I hug him back tightly. More than anything else, I feel relieved. Relieved to be in, relieved to have a plan.
“We’ll make it work until you’re here,” he says in a soft voice, burrowing his face in my neck. “It’s two hours away—that’s nothing. I bet your dad would let you take the car. It’s not like Kitty needs it yet. And I’ll do the trip with you a few times to get you comfortable with it. It’s gonna be all good, Covey.”
I’m nodding.
When I sit back down, I send a group text to Margot, Kitty, Ms. Rothschild, and my dad.
I got into W&M!!!
I throw in those exclamation marks for good measure, to show how excited I am, to make sure they know they shouldn’t feel sorry for me anymore, that everything is great now.
My dad sends back a string of emojis. Ms. Rothschild writes, You go girl!!!!! Margot writes, YAYYYYYYY! We will celebrate IRL next week!
After lunch, I stop by Mrs. Duvall’s office to tell her the good news, and she is thrilled. “I know it’s your second choice, but in some ways it might be an even better fit than UVA was. It’s smaller. I think a girl like you could really shine there, Lara Jean.”
I smile at her, receive her hug, but inside I’m thinking, I guess she didn’t think a girl like me could really shine at UVA.
*
By the end of the week, I get into James Madison and University of Richmond, too, which I’m happy about, but I’m still set on William and Mary. I’ve been to Williamsburg plenty of times with my family, and I can picture myself there. It’s a small campus, a pretty one. And it really isn’t far from home. It’s less than two hours away. So I’ll go, I’ll study hard, and then after a year I’ll transfer to UVA, and everything will be exactly the way we planned.
11
I’M THE ONE WHO GOES to the airport to pick up Margot and Ravi, while Daddy puts finishing touches on dinner and Kitty does her homework. I put the address into the GPS, just in case, and I make it there without incident, thank God. Our airport is small, so I just circle around while I wait for the two of them to come out.
When I pull up to the curb, Margot and Ravi are waiting, sitting on their suitcases. I park and then jump out and run over to Margot and throw my arms around her. Her hair is freshly bobbed around her chin, she’s wearing a sweatshirt and leggings, and as I squeeze her tight, I think Oh, how I’ve missed my sister!
I let go, and then I take a good look at Ravi, who is taller than I realized. He is tall and skinny with dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes and long lashes. He looks so unlike Josh, but so like a boy that Margot would date. He has one dimple, on his right cheek. “It’s nice to meet you in real life, Lara Jean,” he says, and right away I’m bowled over by his accent. My name sounds so much fancier all dressed up in an English accent.
I’m feeling nervous, and then I see that his T-shirt says DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY, and I relax. He’s a Potter person, like us. “It’s nice to meet you, too. So what house are you?”
He grabs both Margot’s and his suitcases and loads them into the trunk. “Let’s see if you can guess. Your sister got it wrong.”
“Only because you were trying to impress me for the first month I knew you,” she protests. Ravi laughs and climbs into the backseat. I think it’s a good sign of his character that he doesn’t automatically go for shotgun. Margot looks at me. “Do you want me to drive?”
I’m tempted to say yes, because I always like it better when Margot drives, but I shake my head, jingle my keys high. “I’ve got it.”
She raises her eyebrows like she’s impressed. “Good for you.”
She goes to the passenger side, and I get in the front seat. I look at Ravi in my rearview mirror. “Ravi, by the time you leave our house, I will have figured out your house.”
*
When we get home, Daddy and Kitty and Ms. Rothschild are waiting for us in the living room. Margot looks startled to see her there sitting on the couch with Daddy, her bare feet in his lap. I’ve grown so used to it, to her being around, that it feels to me like Ms. Rothschild is part of the family now. It hadn’t occurred to me how jarring it would be for Margot. But the truth is, Ms. Rothschild and Margot haven’t spent a lot of time together because she’s been away at school; she wasn’t around when Ms. Rothschild and Daddy first started dating and she’s only been home once since, for Christmas.
As soon as Ms. Rothschild sees Margot, she jumps up to give her a big hug and compliments her on her hair. She hugs Ravi, too. “God, you’re a tall drink of water!” she quips, and he laughs, but Margot just has a stiff smile on her face.
Until she sees Kitty, who she wraps up in a bear hug and then, seconds later, squeals, “Oh my God, Kitty! Are you wearing a bra now?” Kitty gasps and glares at her, her cheeks a dull angry red.
Abashed, Margot mouths, Sorry.
Ravi hurries to step forward and shake Daddy’s hand. “Hello, Dr. Covey, I’m Ravi. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Oh, we’re glad to have you, Ravi,” Daddy says.
Then Ravi smiles at Kitty and lifts his hand in greeting and says, a tad awkwardly, “Hi, Kitty.”
Kitty nods at him without making eye contact. “Hello.”
Margot is still staring at Kitty in disbelief. I’ve been here all along, so it’s harder for me to see how much Kitty has grown in the past year, but it’s true, she has. Not so much in the chest department—the bra is merely ornamental at this point—but in other ways.
“Ravi, can I get you something to drink?” Ms. Rothschild chirps. “We have juice, Fresca, Diet Coke, water?”
“What’s a Fresca?” Ravi asks, his brow furrowed.
Her eyes light up. “It’s a delicious grapefruity soda. Zero calories! You have to try it!” Margot watches as Ms. Rothschild goes to the kitchen and opens up the cabinet where we keep our cups. Filling a glass with ice, she calls out, “Margot, what about you? Can I get you something?”
“I’m fine,” Margot answers in a pleasant enough tone, but I can tell she doesn’t appreciate being offered a drink in her own home by someone who doesn’t live there.
When Ms. Rothschild returns with Ravi’s Fresca, she presents it to him with a flourish. He thanks her and takes a sip. “Very refreshing,” Ravi says, and she beams.