P.S. I Still Love You(20)

In French class, I hear Emily Nussbaum whisper to Genevieve, “If it turns out she’s preggo, do you think Kavinsky will pay for the abortion?”

Genevieve whispers back, “No way. He’s too cheap. Maybe half.” And everyone laughs.

My face burns in mortification. I want to scream at them, We didn’t have sex! We are brisket! But that would only give them more satisfaction, to know they’re getting a rise out of me. That’s what Margot would say anyway. So I hold my chin up even higher, as high as I can, so high my neck hurts.

Maybe Gen did do it. Maybe she really does hate me that much.

Ms. Davenport grabs me on my way to my next class. She puts her arm around me and says, “Lara Jean, how are you holding up?”

I know she doesn’t care about me, not really. She just wants gossip. She’s the biggest gossip of all the teachers, maybe even the students. Well, I’m not going to be faculty-lounge fodder. “I’m great,” I say sunnily. Chin up, chin up.

“I saw the video,” she whispers, eyes darting around to see if anyone’s listening. “Of you and Peter in the hot tub.”

My jaw is clenched so tight my teeth hurt.

“You must be really upset about the comments, and I don’t blame you.” Ms. Davenport really needs to get a life if all she’s doing over her winter break is looking at high school kids’ Instagrams! “Kids can be very cruel. Trust me, I know this from personal experience. I’m not that much older than you guys.”

“I’m really fine, but thanks for checking in.” Nothing to see here, folks. Keep it moving.

Ms. Davenport’s lower lip pushes out. “Well, if you need to talk to someone, you know I’m here for you. Let me be a resource. Come hang out with me anytime; I’ll write you a note.”

“Thank you, Ms. Davenport.” I slither out of from under her arm.

Mrs. Duvall, the guidance/college counselor stops me on my way to English. “Lara Jean,” she begins, then falters. “You’re such a bright, talented girl. You’re not the type of girl to get caught up in these sorts of things. I’d hate to see you go down a wrong path.”

I can feel tears coming up the back of my throat, pushing their way to the surface. I respect Mrs. Duvall. I want her to think well of me. All I can do is nod.

She tips my chin up tenderly. Her perfume smells like dried rose petals. She’s an older woman; she’s worked at the school forever. Mrs. Duvall really cares about the students. She is the one kids come back and say hi to when they’re home from college for winter break. “Now is the time to buckle down and get serious about your future, not high school drama. Don’t give colleges a reason to turn you down, okay?”

Again I nod.

“Good girl,” she says. “I know you’re better than that.”

The words echo in my ears: Better than that. Better than what? Than who?



During lunch, I escape to the girls’ bathroom so I don’t have to speak to anybody. And of course there Genevieve is, standing in front of the mirror, dabbing on lip balm. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Hi there.” It’s the way she says it—hi there. So smug, so sure of herself.

“Was it you?” My voice echoes against the walls.

Genevieve’s hand goes still. Then she recovers, and screws the top back on her lip balm. “Was what me?”

“Did you send that video to Anonybitch?”

“No,” she scoffs. Her mouth turns up to the right, the smallest of quivers. That’s when I know she’s lying. I’ve seen her lie to her mom enough times to know her tell. Even though I suspected it, maybe even knew it deep down, this confirmation takes my breath away.

“I know we’re not friends anymore, but we used to be. You know my sisters, my dad. You know me. You knew how much this would hurt me.” I clench my fists to keep from crying. “How could you do something like this?”

“Lara Jean, I’m sorry this happened to you, but it honestly wasn’t me.” She gives me a pseudosympathetic shrug, and there it is again: The corner of her mouth turns up.

“It was you. I know it was. Once Peter finds out . . .”

She raises one eyebrow. “He’ll what? Kick my ass?”

I’m so angry my hands shake. “No, because you’re a girl. But he won’t forgive you either. I’m glad you did it if it proves to him what kind of person you really are.”