“Superhero movies, horror movies, period films, documentaries, foreign films—”

Peter makes a face, grabs the pen and paper from me, and writes down, NO FOREIGN FILMS. He also writes, Lara Jean will make Peter’s picture her phone wallpaper. “And vice versa!” I say. I point my phone at him. “Smile.”

Peter smiles, and ugh, it’s annoying how handsome he is. Then he reaches for his phone and I stop him. “Not right now. My hair looks sweaty and gross.”

“Good point,” he says, and I want to punch him.

“Can you also write down that under no circumstances can either of us tell anyone the truth?” I ask him.

“The first rule of Fight Club,” Peter says knowingly.

“I’ve never seen that movie.”

“Of course you haven’t,” he says, and I make a face at him. Also: mental note, watch Fight Club.

Peter writes it down, and then I sit next to him and take the pen and underline “under no circumstances” twice. “What about an end date?” I ask suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how long are we going to do this for? Like, two weeks? A month?”

Peter shrugs. “For as long as we feel it.”

“But—don’t you think we should have something set—”

He cuts me off. “You need to relax, Lara Jean. Life doesn’t have to be so planned. Just roll with it and let it happen.”

I sigh and say, “Words of wisdom from the great Kavinsky,” and Peter wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Just as long as it’s over by the time my sister comes back for Christmas break. She can always tell when I’m lying.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely be done by then,” he says.

“Good,” I say, and then I sign the paper, and so does he, and we have our contract.

I’m too proud to ask for a ride, and Peter doesn’t offer, so I put my helmet back on and ride Kitty’s bike back home. I’m halfway there when I realize we never exchanged phone numbers. I don’t even know my own supposed boyfriend’s phone number.

26

I’M AT MCCALLS BOOKSTORE, PICKING up a copy of The Glass Menagerie for English and scanning the store for Josh. Now that Peter and I have everything worked out, I can triumphantly crow all about it. That’ll show him for thinking I’m just a homebody no boy would want to date.

I spot him setting up a display of new books in the nonfiction section. He doesn’t see me, so I sneak up behind and yell, “Boo!”

He jumps and drops a book on the floor. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“That was the point, Joshy!” I’m having a giggle fit. The look on his face! I wonder, why is it so deliciously funny to sneak up on people?

“All right, all right. Quit laughing. What are you here for?”

I hold up my book and wave it in his face. “I have Mr. Radnor for English. You had him, right?”

“Yeah, he’s good. He’s strict but fair. I still have my notes if you want them.”

“Thanks,” I say. Brightly I add, “So guess what. Peter and I aren’t broken up after all. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Oh yeah?” Josh starts stacking books into a column.

“Mm-hmm. I saw him yesterday and we talked and talked, for hours. I feel like I could talk to him about anything, you know? He just really gets me.”

Josh’s forehead wrinkles. “What do you guys talk about?”

“Oh, everything. Movies, books, the usual stuff.”

“Huh. I never saw him as the reading type.” He squints and looks over my shoulder. “Hey, I’ve gotta go help Janice out at the counter. When you’re ready to check out, come to my register so I can give you my discount.”

Hmm, this isn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I barely even got a chance to crow. “Sounds good,” I say, but he’s already walking away.

I hug my book to my chest. Now that Josh knows I’m not in love with him anymore and I’m with Peter, I guess everything will slide right back into place and be normal again. Like my letter never happened.

27

“MARGOT CALLED WHEN YOU WERE out today,” my dad says over dinner.

Dinner is just salad. Salad for me and Daddy and cereal for Kitty. There were supposed to be chicken breasts, but I forgot to take them out of the freezer this morning, so there’s just lettuce and carrot with balsamic dressing. Daddy’s supplementing his with two boiled eggs, and I have a piece of buttered toast. Some dinner. Cereal and lettuce. I need to get to the grocery store stat.

Since Margot left, I’ve only spoken to her twice, and once was over video chat with all of us crowded around my laptop. I didn’t get to ask her about the good stuff—the real deal, all the adventures she’s been going on and the people she’s been meeting. I think I heard that British people drink absinthe at pubs. I wonder if she’s tried it by now. I’ve e-mailed Margot so many times and have only gotten back one e-mail in return so far. I understand that she is busy, but the least she can do is e-mail back once a day. For all she knows, I could be dead in a ditch. “What did she say?” I ask as I cut my carrot into tiny pieces.

“She’s thinking about trying out for the shinty club team,” my dad says, wiping salad dressing off his chin.

“What’s shinty?” Kitty asks me, and I shrug.

“It’s a Scottish sport that’s similar to field hockey,” Daddy explains. “It started out as safe swordfight practice in medieval Scotland.”