P.S. I Still Love You(44)

I stand up, stalk over to them, and snatch the earbuds out of the laptop. “Part of Your World” comes blasting out the speakers.

“Hey!” the girl says, whirling in her seat.

Then she sees it’s me, and she and her friend exchange a panicky look. She slams the laptop shut. “Go ahead, play it,” I say, crossing my arms.

“No thanks,” she says.

I reach over her and open it and push play. Whoever’s made this video has spliced it with scenes from The Little Mermaid. “When’s it my turn? Wouldn’t I love, love to explore that shore up above . . .” I snap the computer shut. “Just so you know, watching this video is the equivalent of child pornography, and you guys could be charged for it. Your IP address is already in the system. Think about that before you forward it on. That’s distribution.”

The red-haired girl gapes. “How is this child porn?”

“I’m underage and so is Peter.”

The other girl smirks and says, “I thought you guys claimed you weren’t having sex.”

I’m stumped. “Well, we’ll let the Justice Department sort that out. But first I’m notifying Principal Lochlan.”

“It’s not like we’re the only ones looking at it!” the red-haired girl says.

“Think about how you’d feel if it were you in that video,” I say.

“I’d feel great,” the girl mutters. “You’re lucky. Kavinsky’s hot.”

Lucky. Right.



It catches me off guard how upset Peter is when I show him the Little Mermaid video. Because nothing bad ever sticks to Peter; it just rolls off his back. That’s why people like him so much, I think. He’s sure of himself; he’s self-possessed. It sets people at ease.

But it’s the Little Mermaid video that breaks him. We watch it in his car, on his phone, and he’s so mad I’m afraid he’s going to throw the phone out the window. “Those f*ckers! How dare they!” Peter punches the steering wheel, and the horn beeps. I jump. I’ve never seen him upset like this. I’m not sure what to say, how to calm him down. I grew up in a house full of women and one gentle dad. I don’t know anything about teenage boys’ tempers.

“Shit!” he yells. “I hate that I can’t protect you from this.”

“I don’t need you to,” I say, and I realize as I say it that it’s true. I’m coping on my own just fine.

He stares straight ahead. “But I want to. I thought I fixed it before, but here it is again. It’s like f*cking herpes.”

I want to comfort him, to make him laugh and forget. Teasingly I ask him, “Peter, do you have herpes?”

“Lara Jean, it’s not funny.”

“Sorry.” I put my hand on his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

Peter starts the car. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere. Nowhere. Let’s just drive.” I don’t want to run into anybody, I don’t want any knowing looks or whispers. I want to hide. Peter’s Audi, our little haven. To cover up my bleak thoughts, I give Peter a bright smile, bright enough to make him smile back, just.

The drive calms Peter down, and by the time we get to my house, Peter seems to be in good spirits again. I ask him if he wants to come inside and have pizza, it being pizza night and all. I tell him he can order whichever toppings he wants. But he shakes his head, says he should get home. For the first time he doesn’t kiss me good-bye, and it makes me feel guilty, how bad he feels. It’s partly my fault, I know it is. He feels like he has to make things right for me, and now he knows he can’t, and it’s killing him.



When I walk into the house, Daddy is waiting for me at the kitchen table, just sitting and waiting, eyebrows knit together. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Sorry . . . my battery died. Is everything okay?” Judging by the serious look on his face, everything is definitely not okay.

“We need to talk, Lara Jean. Come sit down.”

Dread hits me like a tidal wave. “Why, Daddy? What’s wrong? Where’s Kitty?”

“She’s in her room.” I put down my bag and make my way over to the kitchen table, feet moving as slow as I can make them. I sit down next to him and he sighs heavily, hands folded.

Just as I say, “Is this about the dating profile I set up for you? Because I haven’t even activated it yet,” he says, “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on at school?”