by Jenny Han
61
AT SIX THIRTY IN THE morning the day of the ski trip, Daddy drops me off at school. It’s not even light out yet. It seems like every day the sun takes longer and longer to come up. Before I hop out of the car, my dad pulls a hat out of his coat pocket. It’s light pink yarn with a pom-pom on top. He fits it on my head so it covers my ears. “I found this in the hall closet. I think it was one of your mom’s. She was such a great skier.”
“I know. I remember.”
“Promise me you’ll go out on the slopes at least once.”
“I promise.”
“I’m so glad you’re doing this. It’s good for you to try new things.”
I smile weakly. If he only knew what went down at the ski trip, he wouldn’t be so glad then. Then I spot Peter and his friends messing around outside by the charter bus. “Thanks for the ride, Daddy. See you tomorrow night.” I give him a peck on the cheek and grab my duffel bag.
“Zip up your coat,” he calls out as I shut the car door.
I zip up my coat and watch his car drive off. Across the parking lot, Peter’s talking to Genevieve. He says something that makes her laugh. Then he sees me and gestures at me to come over. Genevieve walks away, looking down at her clipboard. When I get there, he takes my duffel bag off my shoulder and puts it next to his. “I’ll put this on the bus.”
“It’s freezing,” I say, my teeth chattering.
Peter pulls me in front of him and puts his arms around me. “I’ll keep you warm.” I look up at him like so cheesy, but his attention is somewhere else. He’s watching Genevieve. He snuggles against my neck, and I squirm away from him. “What’s with you?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
* * *
Ms. Davenport and Coach White are looking through kids’ bags—Ms. Davenport’s doing the girls and Coach White is doing the boys. “What are they looking for?” I ask Peter.
“Alcohol.”
I whip out my phone and text Chris.
Don’t bring alcohol! They are checking!
No response.
Are you awake??
Wake up!
But then her mom’s SUV pulls into the parking lot and she stumbles out of the passenger seat. She looks like she just woke up.
What a relief! Peter can talk to Genevieve all he wants; I’ll be sharing a seat with Chris and eating the snacks I packed. I have strawberry gummies and the wasabi peas that Chris loves, and Pocky sticks.
Peter groans. “Chris is coming?”
I ignore him and wave at her.
Genevieve’s standing by the bus with her clipboard when she spots Chris too. She has a big frown on her face. She marches right up to Chris and says, “You didn’t sign up.”
I run over to them and hover next to Chris. In a small voice I say, “In the announcements last week they said there were still spots left.”
“Yeah, that you had to sign up for.” Genevieve shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but Chrissy can’t come if she didn’t sign up or give a deposit.”
I wince. Chris hates being called “Chrissy.” She always has. She started going by Chris as soon as we got to high school, and the only people who still call her that are Genevieve and their grandma.
Peter shows up beside me out of nowhere. “What’s going on?” he asks.
Folding her arms, Genevieve says, “Chrissy didn’t sign up for the ski trip, so I’m sorry, but she can’t come.”
I’m panicking, but all the while Chris is smirking and saying nothing.
Peter rolls his eyes and says, “Gen, just let her come. Who gives a shit if she didn’t sign up?”
Her cheeks flush with anger. “I didn’t make the rules, Peter! Should she just get to come for free? How is that fair to everybody else?”
Chris finally speaks. “Oh, I already talked to Davenport and she said it was cool.” Chris makes a kissy face at Genevieve. “Too bad, Gen.”
“Fine, whatever, I don’t care.” Genevieve turns on her heel and spins off in Ms. Davenport’s direction.
Chris watches her go, grinning. I tug on her coat sleeve. “Why didn’t you say so from the beginning?” I whisper.
“Obvi because it was more fun that way.” She slings her arm around my shoulder. “It’s going to be an interesting weekend, Covey.”
Worried, I whisper, “You didn’t bring any alcohol, did you? They’re checking bags.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m covered.”
When I give her a dubious look, she whispers back, “Shampoo bottle filled with tequila at the bottom of my bag.”
“I hope you washed it out really well! You could get sick!” I’m envisioning Chris and company trying to take shots of bubbly tequila and then having to go to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped.
Chris ruffles my hair. “Oh, Lara Jean.”
* * *
We file onto the bus and Peter slides into a seat in the middle and I shuffle forward. “Hey,” he says, surprised. “You’re not going to sit with me?”
“I’m sitting with Chris.” I try to keep walking down the aisle, but Peter grabs my arm.
“Lara Jean! Are you kidding me? You have to sit with me.” He looks around to see if anybody’s listening. “You’re my girlfriend.”
I shake him off. “We’re breaking up soon, aren’t we? We might as well make it look more realistic.”
When I slide into the seat next to her, Chris is shaking her head at me.
“What? I couldn’t just let you sit alone. You came here for me, after all.” I open up my backpack and show her the snacks. “See? I brought your favorite things. What do you want to eat first? Gummies or Pocky?”
“It’s barely even morning,” she grouses. Then: “Hand me the gummies.”
Smiling, I rip open the bag for her. “Have as much as you want.”
I stop smiling when I see Genevieve get on the bus and sit down in the seat next to Peter.
“You did that,” Chris says.
“For you!” Which isn’t true, not really. I think maybe I’m just tired of all this. This in-betweenness of being somebody’s girlfriend but not really.
Chris stretches. “I know you’re all about hos before bros, but if I were you, I’d be careful. My cousin’s a barracuda.”
I stuff a gummy into my mouth and chew. It’s hard to swallow. I watch Genevieve whisper something in Peter’s ear, and Chris falls asleep right away just like she said, her head on my shoulder.
* * *
The lodge is exactly the way Peter described—there’s a big fireplace and bearskin rugs and lots of little nooks. It’s snowing outside, tiny little whisper flakes. Chris is in good spirits—halfway through the bus ride she woke up and started flirting with Charlie Blanchard, who’s going to take her out on the black diamond slopes. We even lucked out with a double room instead of a triple, because all the other girls had signed up for triples together.
Chris went off to snowboard with Charlie. She invited me to come along, but I said no thanks. I tried to ski next to Margot when she snowboarded once, and it ended up with us coming down the slopes at different times and waiting for each other and then losing each other all day.
If Peter were to invite me to go snowboarding with him, I think I’d go. But he doesn’t, and I’m hungry anyway, so I go to the lodge to eat lunch.
Ms. Davenport is there looking at her cell phone and eating a bowl of soup. Ms. Davenport is young, but she presents herself old. I think it’s her heavy foundation and her severe part down the middle. She isn’t married. Chris told me she saw her having an argument with some guy outside the Waffle House once, so I guess she has a boyfriend.
When she spots me sitting alone, eating a sandwich by the fireplace, she waves me over. I carry my plate to her table and sit down across from her. I’d rather eat alone and read my book, but it’s not like I have much of a choice in the matter. I ask her, “Do you have to stay here in the lodge all weekend, or can you go ski too?”
“I’m officially hom
e base,” she says, wiping the corners of her mouth. “Coach White’s on slope duty.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“I don’t mind. I actually like sitting in the lodge. It’s peaceful. Besides, somebody has to be here for emergencies.” She takes another bite of soup. “What about you, Lara Jean? Why aren’t you out on the slopes with everybody else?”
“I’m not the best skier,” I say, feeling embarrassed.
“Oh, really? I hear Kavinsky’s a very good snowboarder. You should get him to teach you. Aren’t you two dating?”
Ms. Davenport loves being in on student drama. She calls it having her finger on the pulse, but really she’s just a gossip. If you give her an opening, she’ll burrow in for as much dirt as she can. I know she and Genevieve are close.
I have a quick flash of Genevieve and Peter on the bus with their heads close together, and the picture makes my heart squeeze. Our contract isn’t over yet. Why should I let her have him back even one second early? “Yes,” I say. “We’re together.” Then I stand up. “You know what? I think I will go check out the slopes.”
62
I’M BUNDLED UP IN MARGOT’S pink ski bib and the pom-pom hat and my parka and I feel like an Easter treat—a strawberry-flavored marshmallow. As I try to click into my skis, a group of girls from school walk by in cute yoga-ish ski pants. I didn’t even know those existed.
I always think I could like skiing and then I go on a ski trip and I remember, oh yeah, I hate it. All the other kids are on the black diamond slopes and I’m on green circle, aka the bunny slope. I pizza wedge down the whole way, and little kids keep zooming by me, which makes me lose my concentration because I’m terrified they’re going to run into me. They whoosh back and forth like Olympic skiers. Some of them aren’t even using poles. They’re like Kitty. She can go down black diamond slopes. She and my dad love it. Margot, too, though Margot prefers snowboarding to skiing now.
I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for Peter but I haven’t seen him yet, and it’s starting to feel a bit bleak out here all alone.
I’m considering giving the intermediate slope a try, just for kicks, when I spot Peter and all his friends carrying their snowboards. No Genevieve in sight. “Peter!” I call out, feeling very relieved.
He turns his head and I think he sees me, but he keeps walking.
Huh.
He saw me. I know he saw me.
* * *
After dinner, Chris goes back to the slopes to snowboard. She says she’s addicted to the rush. I’m heading back to the room when I run into Peter again, this time in swimming trunks and a hoodie. He’s with Gabe and Darrell. They have towels around their necks. “Hey, Large,” Gabe says, flicking me with his towel. “Where you been all day?”
“I’ve been around.” I look over at Peter, but he won’t meet my eyes. “I saw you guys on the slopes.”
Darrell says, “Then why didn’t you holler at us? I wanted to show off my ollies for you.”
Teasingly I say, “Well, I called Peter’s name, but I guess he didn’t hear me.”
Peter finally looks me in the eyes. “Nope. I didn’t hear you.” His voice is cold and indifferent and so un-Peterlike, the smile fades from my face.
Gabe and Darrell exchange looks like oooh and Gabe says to Peter, “We’re gonna head out to the hot tub,” and they trot off.
Peter and I are left standing in the lobby, neither of us saying anything. I finally ask, “Are you mad at me or something?”
“Why would I be mad?”
And then it’s back to quiet again.
I say, “You know, you’re the one who talked me into coming on this trip. The least you could do is talk to me.”
“The least you could do was sit next to me on the bus!” he bursts out.
My mouth hangs open. “Are you really that mad that I didn’t sit next to you on the bus?”
Peter lets out an impatient breath of air. “Lara Jean, when you’re dating someone, there are just . . . certain things you do, okay? Like sit next to each other on a school trip. That’s pretty much expected.”
“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” I say. How can he be this mad over such a tiny thing?
“Forget it.” He turns like he’s going to leave, and I grab his sweatshirt sleeve. I don’t want to be in a fight with him; I just want it to be fun and light the way it always is with us. I want him to at least still be my friend. Especially now that we’re at the end.
I say, “Come on, don’t be mad. I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal. I swear I’ll sit next to you on the way home, okay?”
He purses his lips. “But do you get why I was pissed?”
I nod back. “Mm-hmm.”
“All right then, you should know that you missed out on mocha sugar donuts.”
My mouth falls open. “How’d you get those? I thought the shop didn’t open that early!”
“I went out and got them last night specifically for the bus ride,” Peter says. “For you and me.”
Aw. I’m touched. “Well, are there any left?”
“Nope. I ate them all.”
He looks so smug that I reach out and swat at his hoodie strings. “You creep,” I say, but I mean it affectionately.
Peter grabs my hand mid-swat and says, “Wanna hear something funny?”
“What?”
“I think I started liking you.”
I go completely still. Then I pull my hand away from his, and I start to gather my hair into a ponytail, and then I remember I don’t have a hair tie. My heart is thudding in my chest and it’s hard to think all of a sudden. “Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing. Why do you think I kissed you that day at McClaren’s house back in seventh grade? It’s why I went along with this thing in the first place. I’ve always thought you were cute.”
My face feels hot. “In a quirky way.”
Peter grins his perfect grin. “So? I guess I must like quirky, then.”
Then he leans his head closer to mine, and I blurt out, “But aren’t you still in love with Genevieve?”
Peter frowns.
“Why are you always bringing up Gen? I’m trying to talk about us, and all you want to do is talk about her. Yeah, Gen and I have history. I’m always going to care about her.” He shrugs. “But now . . . I like you.”
People are walking in and out of the lodge; a guy from school walks by and claps Peter on the shoulder. “What up,” Peter says. When he’s gone, Peter says to me, “So what do you say?” He’s looking at me expectantly. He’s expecting me to say yes.
I want to say yes, but I don’t want to be with a boy whose heart belongs to somebody else. Just once, I want to be somebody’s first choice. “You might think you like me, but you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t still like her.”
Peter shakes his head. “What Gen and I have is completely separate from you and me,” he says.
“How can that be true when from the very first minute, this has been about Genevieve?”
“That’s not fair,” he objects. “When we started this thing, you liked Sanderson.”
“Not anymore.” I swallow hard. “But you still love Genevieve.”
Frustrated, Peter backs away from me and runs his hands through his hair. “God, what makes you such an expert on love? You’ve liked five guys in your life. One was gay, one lives in Indiana or Montana or some place, McClaren moved away before anything could actually happen, one was dating your sister. And then there’s me. Hmm, what do we all have in common? What’s the common denominator?”
I feel all the blood rush to my face. “That’s not fair.”
Peter leans in close and says, “You only like guys you don’t have a shot with, because you’re scared. What are you so scared of?”
I back away from him, right into the wall. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“The hell you’re not. You’d rather make up a fantasy version of somebody in your head than be with a real person.�
��
I glare at him. “You’re just mad because I didn’t die of happiness because the great Peter Kavinsky said he liked me. Your ego really is that enormous.”
His eyes flash. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t show up on your doorstep with flowers and profess my undying love for you, Lara Jean, but guess what, that’s not real life. You need to grow up.”
That’s it. I don’t have to listen to this. I turn on my heel and walk away. Over my shoulder I say, “Enjoy the hot tub.”
“I always do,” he calls back.
* * *
I’m shaking.
Is it true? Could he be right?
Back at the room, I change into my flannel nighty and put on thick socks. I don’t even go wash up. I just turn out the lights and crawl into bed. I can’t fall asleep, though. Every time I close my eyes, I see Peter’s face.
How dare he say I need to grow up? What does he know about anything? As if he’s so mature!
But . . . is he right about me? Do I only like the boys I can never have? I’ve always known Peter was out of my reach. I’ve always known he didn’t belong to me. But tonight he said he liked me. The thing I’ve been hoping for, he said it. So why didn’t I just tell him I liked him back when I had the chance? Because I do. I like him back. Of course I do. What girl wouldn’t fall for Peter Kavinsky, handsomest boy of all the Handsome Boys. Now that I really know him, I know he’s so much more than that.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to be brave. I want . . . life to start happening. I want to fall in love and I want a boy to fall in love with me back.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I put on my puffy coat, slip my keycard in my pocket, and head off to the hot tub.
63
THE HOT TUB IS BEHIND the main lodge, tucked in the woods on a wooden platform. On the way there, I run into kids with wet hair who are on their way back to their rooms before curfew. Curfew is at eleven, and it’s already ten forty-five. There’s not much time left. I hope Peter’s still out there. I don’t want to lose my nerve. So I quicken my pace and that’s when I spot him, alone in the hot tub, his head tipped back with his eyes closed.
“Hi,” I say, and my voice echoes into the woods.