I can feel my face get all flush again. I try not to sound too eager as I say, “Like different how?” I know I’m digging for a compliment, but I don’t care.

“You’re easy to be with. You don’t make me get all crazy and worked up; you’re . . .” Peter’s voice trails off as he looks at my face. “What? What did I say?”

My whole body feels tight and stiff. No girl wants to hear what he just said. No girl. A girl wants to get a boy crazy and worked up—isn’t that part of being in love?

“I mean that in a good way, Lara Jean. Are you mad? Don’t be mad.” He rubs his face tiredly.

I hesitate. Peter and I tell each other the truth; that’s how it’s been since the beginning. I’d like it to stay that way, on both sides. But then I catch the sudden worry in his eyes, the uncertainty, and it’s not something I’m used to seeing on him. I don’t like to see it. We’ve only been back together a couple of weeks, and I don’t want to start a new fight when I know he didn’t mean any harm. I hear myself say, “No, I’m not mad,” and just like that, I’m not anymore. After all, I’m the one who was worrying about going too far too fast with Peter. Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t get crazy and worked up over me.

The clouds in his face clear away instantly, and he is sunny and bright again. That’s the Peter I know. He gulps at his tea. “See, that’s what I mean, Lara Jean. That’s why I like you. You just get it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

15

EARLY MORNING BEFORE SCHOOL, JOSH is chiseling ice off his windshield when I run out to my car. Daddy’s already scraped the ice off mine and started the engine and turned on the heat. By the looks of Josh’s car, he’s not going to make it to school on time.

We’ve hardly seen Josh since Christmas; after all the strangeness with me and then the breakup with Margot, he’s been a ghost in this house. He leaves a little earlier for school now, comes home a little later. He never reached out to me when all the video stuff happened either, though part of me was relieved for that. I didn’t want to hear I told you so from Josh about how he was right about Peter.

I back out my driveway, and at the last second I open the window and lean toward it. “Do you want a ride?” I call out to Josh.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Yeah. Sure.” He throws his ice scraper into his car and grabs his backpack, then comes running over. Climbing in, he says, “Thanks, Lara Jean.” He warms his hands on the heating vents.

We make our way out of the neighborhood, and I’m driving carefully, because the roads are icy from the night before.

“You’ve gotten really good at driving,” Josh says.

“Thanks.” I have been practicing, on my own and with Peter. I still get nervous sometimes, but each time I get in the car and drive, it’s a little bit less, because now I know I can do it. You only know you can do something if you keep on doing it.

We’re a few minutes from school when Josh asks, “When are we going to talk again? Just tell me so I have a general idea.”

“We’re talking right now, aren’t we?”

“You know what I mean. What happened with me and Margot was between us—can’t you and I still be friends like we were before?”

“Josh, of course we’ll still be friends. But you and Margot have been broken up less than a month.”

“No, we broke up in August. She decided she wanted to get back together three weeks ago, and I said no.”

I sigh. “Why did you say no, though? Was it just the distance?”

Josh sighs too. “Relationships are hard work. You’ll see. After you’ve been in it with Kavinsky longer, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a know-it-all. The biggest know-it-all I ever met, besides my sister.”

“Which one?”

I can feel a giggle bubbling up inside of me, which I push down. “Both. They’re both know-it-alls.”

“One more thing.” He hesitates, then keeps going. “I was wrong about Kavinsky. The way he’s handled this whole video thing, I can tell he’s a good guy.”

“Thanks, Joshy. He really is.”

He nods, and there is a comfortable quiet between us, and I’m glad for the bad weather we had last night, glad for the ice on his windshield this morning.

16

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.

17

I THINK MY DAD IS on a date. tonight he said he had plans with a friend, and he shaved and put on a nice button-down shirt and not one of his ratty sweaters. He was in a hurry to leave, so I didn’t ask who the friend was. Someone from the hospital, probably. Daddy doesn’t exactly have wide social circles. He’s shy. Whoever it is, this sounds like a good thing.