Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 60
The boys come over every day to freeload and also because their house is already filled with sand. We’ve nicknamed it the Sandcastle. Just sitting on their couch, it’s like getting a body scrub, and you stand up feeling exfoliated and not in a good way.
I wonder if this is what it would feel like to live in a sorority house. At first it’s kind of charming, like those boarding houses in the 1940s, borrowing nail polish and playing music while we get ready, eating ice cream in bed. But then on Wednesday, Kaila and Harley get into a screaming fight at one in the morning over who left the flatiron on and our neighbors call the police. That same night Pammy gets drunk, and I sit next to her on the beach for hours while she cries, because she feels guilty about breaking her word to her parents. The next night, some of the girls go out to a club and bring back three guys from Montana. One has shifty eyes and I make sure to lock my bedroom door that night. In my and Chris’s room, I text Peter, who’s already gone back to his house. He comes right back and camps out downstairs “to keep my eye on them.”
Peter and I spend our days at the beach, where I sit and read and he goes for long runs. Since we’ve been here, he goes running all the time, because he can’t work out like he does at home, in the gym. He goes for a long run in the morning before it gets hot, a short one midday, and another long one at dusk. Except for the day I make him go with me to the Wright Brothers museum in Kill Devil Hills. I went there as a kid with my family, before Kitty was born, but I was too little to climb up to the monument. We go all the way to the top and take in the view.
All week, Peter has been as winsome and winning as ever, especially in front of other people—always with an easygoing smile on his face, always the first to suggest an activity, a game. But with me he’s been distant. Like even though he’s right here next to me, he feels far away. Unreachable. I’ve tried to broach the topic of his dad again, but he just laughs it off. He hasn’t brought up my trip to Korea again either.
Every night there’s a party at one of the houses—except ours. We never host, because Pammy is worried about losing our security deposit. The nice thing about it is, all the different groups are hanging out in a way that people didn’t in high school. There is something freeing about knowing it’s all over. We won’t all be together like this again, so why not? In that spirit, Chris hooks up with Patrick Shaw, a guy from Josh’s anime club.
Tonight the party is at Peter’s house. I have no idea how they’re getting their security deposit back, because the place is in sandy shambles: One of the wicker chairs on the deck is broken, there are beer cans everywhere, and someone sat down on the beige living room couch in a wet orange towel and now there’s a big orange spot in the middle. I’m making my way through the kitchen when I see John Ambrose McClaren, going through the refrigerator.
I freeze. Peter’s been in such an unpredictable mood; I don’t know what he’ll do when he sees John at his house.
I’m trying to decide if I should go find Peter and tell him John’s here, when John’s head pops up behind the refrigerator door. He’s holding a carrot and munching on it. “Hey! I thought I might see you here.”
“Hi!” I say, cheerfully, as if I weren’t just contemplating backing away before he saw me. I come over and he gives me a one-armed hug, because he’s still holding the carrot. “Have you seen Peter?” I ask him. “This is the house he’s staying in.”
“Nah, we just got here.” John looks tan, his hair is bleached from the sun, and he’s wearing a worn blue-and-white-checked shirt and khaki shorts. “Where are you staying?”
“Really close to here. What about you?”
“We got a house in Duck.” He smiles and then offers me his carrot. “Want a bite?”
I laugh. “No thanks. So where did you decide on for school?”
“William and Mary.” John holds his hand up for a high five. “So I’ll see you there, right?”
“Actually . . . I’m going to Chapel Hill. I got in off the wait list.”
John’s jaw drops. “Are you serious? That’s awesome!” He pulls me in for a hug. “That’s amazing. It’s actually the perfect place for you. You’re going to love it there.”
I’m looking toward the kitchen door, thinking of how I can gracefully exit this conversation, when Peter strolls into the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He stops short when he sees us. I’m cringing inside, but he just grins and shouts, “McClaren! What up!” They do a guy hug, where they pull each other in and then just kind of bump into each other. When they back away, Peter’s eyes linger on the carrot in John’s hand. Every day, Peter’s made himself a carrot-and-berry protein shake, and I just know he’s smarting over John taking one. He’s counted out exactly how many carrots he needs for the rest of the week.
“Lara Jean was just telling me she got into Carolina,” John says, resting his back against the countertop. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, you always wanted to go there, right?” Peter’s eyes are still on the carrot.
“Ever since I was a kid. It was my top choice.” John gives me a playful nudge. “This girl snuck in there like a thief in the night. Took my spot right out from under me.”
Smiling, I say, “Sorry about that.”
“Nah, I’m just kidding with you.” John takes a bite of his carrot. “I really might transfer, though. We’ll see.”
Peter puts his arm around my waist and takes a swig of beer. “You should. We could all go to a Tar Heels game together.” He says it genially enough, but I can hear the tension underneath.
John doesn’t miss it either. “For sure,” he says. Then he polishes off the rest of his carrot and tosses the stem into the sink. “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend, Dipti. She’s around here somewhere.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends her a text.
We’re still standing around when she finds us. She is taller than me, sporty-looking, shoulder-length black hair, dark skin, maybe Indian. She has a nice white smile and one dimple. She’s wearing a silky white romper and sandals. I’m regretting my decision to wear a UVA T-shirt of Peter’s and cutoffs. We introduce ourselves, and then she hops up on the countertop and asks, “So how do you guys know each other?”
I wonder if this is what it would feel like to live in a sorority house. At first it’s kind of charming, like those boarding houses in the 1940s, borrowing nail polish and playing music while we get ready, eating ice cream in bed. But then on Wednesday, Kaila and Harley get into a screaming fight at one in the morning over who left the flatiron on and our neighbors call the police. That same night Pammy gets drunk, and I sit next to her on the beach for hours while she cries, because she feels guilty about breaking her word to her parents. The next night, some of the girls go out to a club and bring back three guys from Montana. One has shifty eyes and I make sure to lock my bedroom door that night. In my and Chris’s room, I text Peter, who’s already gone back to his house. He comes right back and camps out downstairs “to keep my eye on them.”
Peter and I spend our days at the beach, where I sit and read and he goes for long runs. Since we’ve been here, he goes running all the time, because he can’t work out like he does at home, in the gym. He goes for a long run in the morning before it gets hot, a short one midday, and another long one at dusk. Except for the day I make him go with me to the Wright Brothers museum in Kill Devil Hills. I went there as a kid with my family, before Kitty was born, but I was too little to climb up to the monument. We go all the way to the top and take in the view.
All week, Peter has been as winsome and winning as ever, especially in front of other people—always with an easygoing smile on his face, always the first to suggest an activity, a game. But with me he’s been distant. Like even though he’s right here next to me, he feels far away. Unreachable. I’ve tried to broach the topic of his dad again, but he just laughs it off. He hasn’t brought up my trip to Korea again either.
Every night there’s a party at one of the houses—except ours. We never host, because Pammy is worried about losing our security deposit. The nice thing about it is, all the different groups are hanging out in a way that people didn’t in high school. There is something freeing about knowing it’s all over. We won’t all be together like this again, so why not? In that spirit, Chris hooks up with Patrick Shaw, a guy from Josh’s anime club.
Tonight the party is at Peter’s house. I have no idea how they’re getting their security deposit back, because the place is in sandy shambles: One of the wicker chairs on the deck is broken, there are beer cans everywhere, and someone sat down on the beige living room couch in a wet orange towel and now there’s a big orange spot in the middle. I’m making my way through the kitchen when I see John Ambrose McClaren, going through the refrigerator.
I freeze. Peter’s been in such an unpredictable mood; I don’t know what he’ll do when he sees John at his house.
I’m trying to decide if I should go find Peter and tell him John’s here, when John’s head pops up behind the refrigerator door. He’s holding a carrot and munching on it. “Hey! I thought I might see you here.”
“Hi!” I say, cheerfully, as if I weren’t just contemplating backing away before he saw me. I come over and he gives me a one-armed hug, because he’s still holding the carrot. “Have you seen Peter?” I ask him. “This is the house he’s staying in.”
“Nah, we just got here.” John looks tan, his hair is bleached from the sun, and he’s wearing a worn blue-and-white-checked shirt and khaki shorts. “Where are you staying?”
“Really close to here. What about you?”
“We got a house in Duck.” He smiles and then offers me his carrot. “Want a bite?”
I laugh. “No thanks. So where did you decide on for school?”
“William and Mary.” John holds his hand up for a high five. “So I’ll see you there, right?”
“Actually . . . I’m going to Chapel Hill. I got in off the wait list.”
John’s jaw drops. “Are you serious? That’s awesome!” He pulls me in for a hug. “That’s amazing. It’s actually the perfect place for you. You’re going to love it there.”
I’m looking toward the kitchen door, thinking of how I can gracefully exit this conversation, when Peter strolls into the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He stops short when he sees us. I’m cringing inside, but he just grins and shouts, “McClaren! What up!” They do a guy hug, where they pull each other in and then just kind of bump into each other. When they back away, Peter’s eyes linger on the carrot in John’s hand. Every day, Peter’s made himself a carrot-and-berry protein shake, and I just know he’s smarting over John taking one. He’s counted out exactly how many carrots he needs for the rest of the week.
“Lara Jean was just telling me she got into Carolina,” John says, resting his back against the countertop. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, you always wanted to go there, right?” Peter’s eyes are still on the carrot.
“Ever since I was a kid. It was my top choice.” John gives me a playful nudge. “This girl snuck in there like a thief in the night. Took my spot right out from under me.”
Smiling, I say, “Sorry about that.”
“Nah, I’m just kidding with you.” John takes a bite of his carrot. “I really might transfer, though. We’ll see.”
Peter puts his arm around my waist and takes a swig of beer. “You should. We could all go to a Tar Heels game together.” He says it genially enough, but I can hear the tension underneath.
John doesn’t miss it either. “For sure,” he says. Then he polishes off the rest of his carrot and tosses the stem into the sink. “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend, Dipti. She’s around here somewhere.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends her a text.
We’re still standing around when she finds us. She is taller than me, sporty-looking, shoulder-length black hair, dark skin, maybe Indian. She has a nice white smile and one dimple. She’s wearing a silky white romper and sandals. I’m regretting my decision to wear a UVA T-shirt of Peter’s and cutoffs. We introduce ourselves, and then she hops up on the countertop and asks, “So how do you guys know each other?”
