She purses her lips. “What’s your side?”

“My side is, it’s complicated. Peter still has feelings for Genevieve—”

“He doesn’t think of her that way anymore. Don’t make an excuse.”

“You didn’t see what I saw, Kitty!” I burst out.

“What did you see?” she challenges, chin thrust out like a weapon. “Tell me.”

“It isn’t just what I saw. It’s what I knew all along. Just—never mind. You wouldn’t understand it, Kitty.”

“Did you see him kiss her? Did you?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing.” She squints at me. “Does this have anything to do with that guy with the weird name? John Amberton McClaren or whatever?”

“No! Why would you say that?” I let out a gasp. “Wait a minute! Have you been reading my letters again?”

She screws up her face, and I know she has, the fiend. “Don’t change the subject! Do you like him or not?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with John McClaren. It’s just about me and Peter.”

I want to tell her that he knew it was Genevieve who made that video, spread it around. He knew and he still protected her. But I can’t mar her little-girl notion of who Peter is. It would be too cruel a thing to do to her. “Kitty, it doesn’t matter. Peter still has feelings for Genevieve, and I’ve always known it. And besides, what’s even the point of a serious thing with Peter when we’re only going to break up like Margot and Josh did? High school romances hardly ever last, you know. And for a good reason. We’re too young to be so serious.” Even as I’m saying the words, tears are leaking out the corners of my eyes.

Kitty softens. She puts her arm around me. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’m tearing up a little.”

Sighing heavily, she says, “If this is love, no thanks. I don’t want any part of it. When I’m older, I’m just going to do my own thing.”

“What does that mean?” I ask her.

Kitty shrugs. “If I like a boy, fine, I’ll date him, but I’m not going to sit at home and cry over him.”

“Kitty, don’t act like you never cry.”

“I cry over important things.”

“You cried the other night because Daddy wouldn’t let you stay up to watch TV!”

“Yes, well, that was important to me.”

I sniffle. “I don’t know why I’m arguing over this stuff with you.” She’s too little to understand. Part of me hopes she never does. It was better when I didn’t.

That night, Daddy and I are doing the dishes when he clears his throat and says, “So Kitty told me about the big breakup. How are you holding up?”

I rinse off a glass and set it in the dishwasher. “Kitty has such a big mouth. I was going to tell you about it later.” Maybe deep down I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.

“Do you want to talk about it? I can make some Night-Night tea. Not as good as Mommy’s, but still.”

“Maybe later,” I say, just to be kind. His version of Night-Night tea isn’t the best.

He puts his arm around my shoulders. “It’ll get easier, I promise. Peter Kavinsky isn’t the only boy in the world.”

Sighing, I say, “I just don’t want to hurt like this ever again.”

“There’s no way to protect yourself against heartbreak, Lara Jean. That’s just a part of life.” He kisses me on the top of my head. “Go upstairs and rest. I’ll finish up here.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” I leave him alone in the kitchen, humming to himself as he dries a pan with a dishcloth.

My dad said Peter isn’t the only boy in the world. I know this is true, of course it’s true. But look at Daddy. My mom was the only girl in the world for him. If she wasn’t, he’d have found somebody new by now. Maybe he’s been trying to protect himself from heartbreak too. Maybe we’re more alike than I ever realized.

45

IT’S RAINING AGAIN. I’D HAD the thought that I might take Kitty and Jamie to the park after school, but that’s out now. Instead I sit in bed and curl my hair and watch the rain shoot down like silver pellets. Weather to match my mood, I suppose.

In the midst of our breakup, I forgot about the game. Well, now I’m remembering all too well. I will win. I will take her out. She can’t have Peter and win the game. It’s too unfair. And I will think of some perfect wish, some perfect something to take from her. If only I knew what to wish for!

I need help. I call Chris, and she doesn’t pick up. I’m about to call again, but at the last second I text John:

Will you help me take out Genevieve?

It takes a few minutes for him to write back.

It would be my honor.

John settles into the couch and leans forward, looking at me intently. “All right, so how do you want to do this? Do you want to flush her out? Go black ops on her?”

I set down a glass of sweet tea in front of him. Sitting next to him, I say, “I think we have to run surveillance on her first. I don’t even know what her schedule is like.” And . . . if in winning this game, I find out her big secret, well, that would be a nice bonus.

“I like where your head is at,” John says, tipping his head back and drinking his tea.

“I know where they keep the emergency key. Chris and I had to pick up a vacuum cleaner from her house once. What if . . . what if I try to get under her skin? Like I could leave a note on her pillow that says I’m watching you. That would really creep her out.”