P.S. I Still Love You(43)

“That’s not the only present I brought you. It’s not even the best one.” He peels away from me and pulls a little velvet jewelry box out of his backpack. I gasp. Pleased, he says, “Hurry up and open it already.”

“Is it a pin?”

“It’s better.”

My hands fly to my mouth. It’s my necklace, the heart locket from his mom’s antique store, the very same necklace I admired for so many months. At Christmas when Daddy said the necklace had been sold, I thought it was gone from my life forever. “I can’t believe it,” I whisper, touching the diamond chip in the middle.

“Here, let me put it on for you.”

I lift my hair up, and Peter comes around and fastens the necklace around my neck. “Can I even accept this?” I wonder aloud. “It was really expensive, Peter! Like, really really expensive.”

He laughs. “I know how much it cost. Don’t worry, my mom cut me a deal. I had to sign over a bunch of weekends to driving the van around picking up furniture for the store, but you know, no biggie. It’s whatever, as long as you’re into it.”

I touch the necklace. “I am! I’m so, so into it.” Surreptitiously I look around the cafeteria. It’s a petty thought, a small thought, but I wish Genevieve were here to see this.

“Wait, where’s my valentine?” Peter asks me.

“It’s in your locker,” I say. Now I’m sort of wishing I didn’t listen to Kitty and let myself go a little overboard this first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend. With Peter. Oh, well. At least there are the cherry turnovers still warm in my backpack. I’ll give them all to him. Sorry, Chris and Lucas and Gabe.



I can’t stop looking at myself in this necklace. At school, I wear it over my sweater, so all can see and admire. That night I show it to Daddy, to Kitty, to Margot over video chat. As a joke I show it off to Jamie Fox-Pickle. Everyone’s impressed. I don’t take it off, ever: I wear it in the shower; I wear it to sleep.

It’s like in Little House in the Big Woods, when Laura got a rag doll for Christmas. It had black button eyes, and berry-stained lips and cheeks. Red flannel stockings and a pink-and-blue calico dress. Laura couldn’t take her eyes off of it. She held that doll tight and forgot the rest of the world. Her mother had to remind her to let the other girls hold it.

That’s how I feel. When Kitty asks to try it on, I hesitate for a tiny second and then feel guilty for being so stingy. “Just be careful with it,” I tell her as I unclasp the necklace.

Kitty pretends to drop the locket off the chain and I shriek. “Just kidding,” she giggles. She goes over to my mirror and looks at herself, her head tilted, neck arched. “Not bad. Aren’t you so glad I set this whole you-and-Peter thing in motion?”

I throw a pillow at her.

“Can I borrow it for a special occasion?”

“No!” Then I think of Laura and the doll again. “Yes. If it’s a very special occasion.”

“Thank you,” Kitty says. Then she cocks her head and looks at me with serious eyes. “Lara Jean, can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything,” I say.

“It’s about boys.”

I try not to look too eager as I nod. Boys! So we’re here already. All right. “I’m listening.”

“And you promise you’ll answer honestly? Sister swear?”

“Of course. Come sit by me, Kitty.” She sits down next to me on the floor and I put my arm around her, feeling generous and warm and maternal. Kitty really is growing up.

She looks up at me, doe-eyed. “Are you and Peter doing it?”

“What?” I shove her away. “Kitty!”

Gleefully she says, “You promised you’d answer!”

“Well, the answer is no, you sneaky little fink. God! Get out of my room.” Kitty skips off, laughing like a mad hyena. I can hear her all the way down the hallway.





26


JUST WHEN I THOUGHT THE hot-tub-video ordeal was well and truly over with, another version pops up and reminds me that this particular nightmare will never be over. Nothing on the Internet ever dies; isn’t that what people say? This time I’m in the library, and out of the corner of my eye I see two sophomore girls sharing a pair of earbuds, watching the video, giggling. There I am, in my nightgown, draped all over Peter’s lap like a blanket. For a few seconds I just sit there, trapped in my indecision. To confront or not to confront. I remember Margot’s words about rising above it and acting like I couldn’t care less. And then I think, Screw it.