“Damn it!” Ms. Rothschild shrieks. Ms. Rothschild has spilled coffee on her hand. She does this at least twice a week. I don’t know why she doesn’t just slow down or maybe just put the top on the thermos or not fill it up so high.

Just then Peter drives up, and his black Audi is even shinier in the daylight. I get up and say, “Come on, Kitty,” and she trails behind me.

“Who’s that?” I hear her whisper.

His windows are down. I come up close to the passenger side and stick my head in. “Is it okay if we drop my little sister off at the elementary school?” I ask. “She has to be there early today for a field trip.”

Peter looks annoyed. “Why didn’t you mention it yesterday?”

“I didn’t know about it yesterday!” Behind me I can feel rather than hear Kitty fidgeting.

“This is a two-seater,” Peter says, as if I can’t see with my own two eyes.

“I know that. I’ll just put Kitty in my lap and the seat belt over us.” Which my dad would kill me for if he knew, but I’m not telling, and neither will Kitty.

“Yeah, ’cause that sounds really safe.” He’s being sarcastic. I hate when people are sarcastic. It’s so cheap.

“It’s two miles!”

He sighs. “Fine. Get in.”

I open the door and slide in, laying my bag at my feet. “Come on, Kitty.” I make space for her between my legs, and she climbs in. I strap us in tight, my arms around her. “Don’t tell Daddy,” I say.

“Duh,” she says.

“Hey. What’s your name?” Peter asks her.

Kitty hesitates. More and more this happens. With new people she has to decide if she’ll be Kitty or Katherine.

“Katherine.”

“But everyone calls you Kitty?”

“Everyone who knows me,” Kitty says. “You can call me Katherine.”

Peter’s eyes light up. “You’re tough,” he says admiringly, which Kitty ignores, but she keeps sneaking peeks at him. He has that effect on people. On girls. Women, even.

We drive through the neighborhood in silence. At last Kitty says, “So who are you?”

I look over at him and he’s looking straight ahead. “I’m Peter. Your sister’s, um, boyfriend.”

My mouth drops. We never said anything about lying to our families! I thought this was going to be an at-school-only thing.

Kitty goes completely still in my arms. Then she twists around to look at me and shrieks, “He’s your boyfriend? Since when?”

“Since last week.” At least that much is the truth. Sort of.

“But you never said anything! Not one frigging word, Lara Jean!”

Automatically I say, “Don’t say ‘frig.’ ”

“Not one frigging word,” Kitty repeats with a shake of her head.

Peter cracks up, and I give him a dirty look. “It all happened really fast,” he offers. “There was barely time to tell anybody—”

“Was I talking to you?” Kitty snaps. “No, I don’t think so. I was talking to my sister.”

Peter’s eyes widen, and I can see him trying to keep a straight face.

“Does Margot know?” she asks me.

“Not yet, and don’t you go mentioning it to her before I have a chance to.”

“Hmph.” This seems to appease Kitty a tiny bit. Knowing something first, before Margot, is a big deal.

Then we’re at the elementary school, and thank God the bus is still there in the parking lot. All the kids are lined up in front of it. I let out the breath I’ve been holding the whole way over, and Kitty is already untangling herself from me and bounding out of the car. “Have a good time on the field trip!” I call out.

She spins back around and points an accusing finger at me. “I want to hear the whole story when I get home!” With that decree she’s off running for the bus loop.

I rebuckle my seat belt. “Um, I don’t remember us deciding to tell our families that we’re boyfriend-girlfriend.”

“She was going to have to find out at some point, with me chauffeuring you and her around town.”

“You didn’t have to say ‘boyfriend.’ You could’ve just said ‘friend.’ ” We’re getting close to school now, just two more lights. I give my side braid a nervous tug. “Um, so have you talked to Genevieve at all?”

Peter frowns. “No.”

“She hasn’t said a word to you about it?”

“Nope. But I’m sure she will soon.”

Peter speeds into the parking lot and zooms into a space. When we get out of the car and head for the entrance, Peter’s fingers lace through mine. I think he’s going to drop me off at my locker like he did before, but he leads us in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

“Cafeteria.”

I’m about to protest, but before I can, he says firmly, “We need to start hanging out in public more. The caf is where we’ll get the most bang for our buck.”

Josh won’t be in the cafeteria—that’s for popular people—but I know who will most certainly be there: Genevieve.

When we walk in, she’s holding court at their lunch table—her and Emily Nussbaum and Gabe and Darrell from the lacrosse team. They’re all eating breakfast and drinking coffee. She must have a sixth sense where Peter is concerned, because she beams lasers at us immediately. I start slowing down, which Peter doesn’t seem to notice. Peter makes a beeline for the table, but at the last second I chicken out. I tug on his hand and say, “Let’s sit over here,” and point to an empty table in their line of vision.