AFTER SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY I’m sitting on a bench, waiting for Peter out front, when Genevieve walks out the double doors on her phone. “If you don’t tell her, I will. I swear I’ll do it.”
My heart stills. Who is she talking to? Not Peter.
Her friends Emily and Judith burst out the doors then, and she abruptly hangs up. “Where the hell have you bitches been?” she snaps.
They exchange a look. “Gen, chill out,” Emily says, and I can tell she is walking that tightrope, a little bit feisty but careful not to further incur her wrath. “We still have plenty of time to shop.”
Genevieve notices me then, and her peevish expression disappears. Waving, she says, “Hey, Lara Jean. Are you waiting for Kavinsky?”
I nod, and blow on my fingers just to have something to do. Also, it’s cold.
“That boy’s always running late. Tell him I’ll call him later tonight, okay?”
I nod without thinking, and the girls walk away, arms linked.
Why did I nod? What is wrong with me? Why can’t I ever come up with a good comeback? I’m still berating myself when Peter appears. He slides onto the bench beside me and slings his arm around my shoulders. Then he ruffles the top of my head the way I’ve seen him to do to Kitty. “What up, Covey.”
“Thanks for making me wait for you outside in the cold,” I say, pressing my freezing fingers on his neck.
Peter yelps and jumps away from me. “You could’ve waited inside!”
He has a point. That’s not what I’m mad about anyway. “Gen says to tell you she’ll call you later tonight.”
He rolls his eyes. “She’s such a shit stirrer. Don’t let her get to you, Covey. She’s just jealous.” Standing up, he offers me his hands, which I accept begrudgingly. “Let me take you for a hot chocolate to warm up your poor frozen body.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
In the car, he keeps sneaking peeks at me, checking to see if I’m still annoyed. I don’t keep up my chilly routine for much longer, though; it takes up too much energy. I let him buy me a hot chocolate and I even share it with him. But I tell him he can’t have any of the marshmallows.
That night my phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I know without looking that it’s Peter looking for more reassurance. I take off my headphones and pick it up. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?” His voice is low; I can tell he’s lying down.
“My homework. What about you?”
“I’m in bed. I just called to say good night.” There’s a pause. “Hey, how come you never call me to say good night?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never thought of it. Do you want me to?”
“Well. You don’t have to—I just wondered why not.”
“I thought you hated the whole ‘last call’ thing. Remember? You put it in the contract. You said that Genevieve insisted that she be your last call every night, and it was annoying.”
He groans. “Can we please not talk about her? Also, why is your memory so good? You remember everything.”
“It’s my gift and my curse.” I highlight a paragraph and try to balance the phone on my shoulder, but it keeps slipping. “So wait, do you want me to call you every night or not?”
“Ugh, just forget it.”
“Ugh, fine,” I say, and I can hear him smiling through the phone.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Wait—can you bring me one of those yogurt drinks for lunch?”
“Say please.”
“Please.”
“Say pretty please.”
“Bye.”
“Byeeee.”
It takes me another two hours to finish my homework, but when I fall asleep that night, I fall asleep smiling.
