Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 62
“Y’all are going to the same school. It’s different.” Kaila regards me. “I don’t think I could ever do long distance.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“I like seeing my man every day. I don’t want to wonder what he’s up to. Like, am I a possessive person? Yes. But also, I don’t want to have to play catch-up at the end of the day. I need to be a part of his daily life and he needs to be a part of mine.” She crunches ice with her teeth.
That’s what happened with Margot and me when she went to college. The distance came slowly, like seawater filling up a boat, without us even realizing it. Before you know it you’re underwater. We made it through, but we’re sisters. Sisters always find their way back to each other. I don’t think it’s the same for boyfriends. The thought of it happening to Peter and me fills me with such sadness. How will we ward it off? By talking every day? Visiting at least once a month? He said it himself—his life is going to be so busy and so full because of lacrosse. He’s already changing, with his healthy diet and his workouts. And we’re fighting, and we never fight, not really. Not the kind of fights you can’t take back. So what now? How do we negotiate this next step?
I stay a few more minutes, and when Emily and Kaila start talking about whether or not to rush a sorority, I make my escape to find Peter. Between this conversation and last night’s fight, I just want him close, while we’re still in the same vicinity. I find him standing around with a bunch of guys who are building a bonfire. He already seems so far away, and I want so badly for things to feel normal between us again. I take big sip of my grown-up Shirley Temple, for courage. Our eyes meet, and I mouth, Do you want to go? He nods. I start to head back inside, and he follows me.
As I take another sip of my grown-up Shirley Temple, he asks, “What are you drinking?”
“Something Chris made me.”
He takes the red Solo cup from me and tosses it in the trash on our way out.
Our walk back to my house is pretty quiet, except for the sound of the ocean waves. I don’t think either of us knows what to say, because whatever is wrong between us, we both know it wasn’t John Ambrose McClaren, or the carrots.
As we make our way down the street, I hear Peter’s subdued voice. “Are you still mad about last night?”
“No.”
“Okay, good,” he says. “I saw the carrots you bought in the fridge. Sorry I didn’t eat your French toast.”
“Why didn’t you? I know it wasn’t because of your diet.”
Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know what my problem was. I’ve just been in a weird mood.”
I look over at him; his face is obscured by the dark. “We only have a little bit of time before I leave for Korea. Let’s not waste it.” Then I slide my hand in his, and he squeezes it.
The house is completely empty, for the first time all week. All the other girls are still at the party, except for Chris, who ran into somebody she knows through Applebee’s. We go up to my room, and Peter takes off his shoes and gets in my bed. “Want to watch a movie?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head.
No, I don’t want to watch a movie. Suddenly my heart is racing, because I know what I want to do. I’m ready.
I sit down on the bed next to him as he says, “Or we could start a new show—”
I press my lips to his neck, and I can feel his pulse jump. “What if we don’t watch a movie or a show? What if we . . . do something else instead.” I give him a meaningful look.
His body jerks in surprise. “What, you mean like now?”
“Yes.” Now. Now feels right. I start planting little kisses down his throat. “Do you like that?”
I can feel him swallow. “Yes.” He pushes me away from him so he can look at my face. “Let’s stop for a second. I can’t think. Are you drunk? What did Chris put in that drink she gave you?”
“No, I’m not drunk!” I had a little bit of a warm feeling in my body, but the walk home woke me right up. Peter’s still staring at me. “I’m not drunk. I swear.”
Peter swallows hard, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure you want to do this now?”
“Yes,” I say, because I really, truly am. “But first can you put on Frank Ocean?”
He grabs his phone, and a second later the beat kicks in and Frank’s melodious voice fills the room. Peter starts fumbling with his shirt buttons and then gives up and starts to pull my shirt up, and I yelp, “Wait!”
Peter’s so startled, he jumps away from me. “What? What’s wrong?”
I leap off the bed and start rummaging through my suitcase. I’m not wearing my special bra and underwear set; I’m wearing my normal every day cappuccino-colored bra with the frayed edges. I can’t lose my virginity in my ugliest bra.
“What are you doing?” he asks me.
“Just wait one second.”
I run to the bathroom and change out of my old bra and underwear and put on the lacy ones. Then I brush my teeth, look at my face in the mirror. This is it. I, Lara Jean Song Covey, am about to lose my virginity to Peter K.
Peter calls out, “Is everything okay?”
“Just a sec!” Should I put my clothes back on or just come out in my bra and underwear? He’s never seen me in just my underwear before. Well, I guess he’s about to see me without any clothes at all, so I might as well.
I step out of the bathroom, carrying my clothes in front of me like a shield, and Peter does a double take when he sees me and quickly takes his shirt off. I can feel myself blush. I stuff my bra and underwear in my suitcase, and then dig around inside until I find the packet of condoms. I take one out and then climb back into bed and get under the sheets. “Okay, now I’m ready.”
“I like your bra,” Peter says, peeling the sheet away from me.
“Thank you.”
He moves closer to me and kisses my eyelid. First the left, then the right. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“We don’t have to do anything tonight, Covey.”
“No, I want to.” I hold up the condom, and Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “From my dad’s kit. Remember, I told you he made me a contraception kit?”
Taking the condom from me, he kisses my neck and says, “Can we not talk about your dad right now?”
“Why not?” I ask.
“I like seeing my man every day. I don’t want to wonder what he’s up to. Like, am I a possessive person? Yes. But also, I don’t want to have to play catch-up at the end of the day. I need to be a part of his daily life and he needs to be a part of mine.” She crunches ice with her teeth.
That’s what happened with Margot and me when she went to college. The distance came slowly, like seawater filling up a boat, without us even realizing it. Before you know it you’re underwater. We made it through, but we’re sisters. Sisters always find their way back to each other. I don’t think it’s the same for boyfriends. The thought of it happening to Peter and me fills me with such sadness. How will we ward it off? By talking every day? Visiting at least once a month? He said it himself—his life is going to be so busy and so full because of lacrosse. He’s already changing, with his healthy diet and his workouts. And we’re fighting, and we never fight, not really. Not the kind of fights you can’t take back. So what now? How do we negotiate this next step?
I stay a few more minutes, and when Emily and Kaila start talking about whether or not to rush a sorority, I make my escape to find Peter. Between this conversation and last night’s fight, I just want him close, while we’re still in the same vicinity. I find him standing around with a bunch of guys who are building a bonfire. He already seems so far away, and I want so badly for things to feel normal between us again. I take big sip of my grown-up Shirley Temple, for courage. Our eyes meet, and I mouth, Do you want to go? He nods. I start to head back inside, and he follows me.
As I take another sip of my grown-up Shirley Temple, he asks, “What are you drinking?”
“Something Chris made me.”
He takes the red Solo cup from me and tosses it in the trash on our way out.
Our walk back to my house is pretty quiet, except for the sound of the ocean waves. I don’t think either of us knows what to say, because whatever is wrong between us, we both know it wasn’t John Ambrose McClaren, or the carrots.
As we make our way down the street, I hear Peter’s subdued voice. “Are you still mad about last night?”
“No.”
“Okay, good,” he says. “I saw the carrots you bought in the fridge. Sorry I didn’t eat your French toast.”
“Why didn’t you? I know it wasn’t because of your diet.”
Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know what my problem was. I’ve just been in a weird mood.”
I look over at him; his face is obscured by the dark. “We only have a little bit of time before I leave for Korea. Let’s not waste it.” Then I slide my hand in his, and he squeezes it.
The house is completely empty, for the first time all week. All the other girls are still at the party, except for Chris, who ran into somebody she knows through Applebee’s. We go up to my room, and Peter takes off his shoes and gets in my bed. “Want to watch a movie?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head.
No, I don’t want to watch a movie. Suddenly my heart is racing, because I know what I want to do. I’m ready.
I sit down on the bed next to him as he says, “Or we could start a new show—”
I press my lips to his neck, and I can feel his pulse jump. “What if we don’t watch a movie or a show? What if we . . . do something else instead.” I give him a meaningful look.
His body jerks in surprise. “What, you mean like now?”
“Yes.” Now. Now feels right. I start planting little kisses down his throat. “Do you like that?”
I can feel him swallow. “Yes.” He pushes me away from him so he can look at my face. “Let’s stop for a second. I can’t think. Are you drunk? What did Chris put in that drink she gave you?”
“No, I’m not drunk!” I had a little bit of a warm feeling in my body, but the walk home woke me right up. Peter’s still staring at me. “I’m not drunk. I swear.”
Peter swallows hard, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure you want to do this now?”
“Yes,” I say, because I really, truly am. “But first can you put on Frank Ocean?”
He grabs his phone, and a second later the beat kicks in and Frank’s melodious voice fills the room. Peter starts fumbling with his shirt buttons and then gives up and starts to pull my shirt up, and I yelp, “Wait!”
Peter’s so startled, he jumps away from me. “What? What’s wrong?”
I leap off the bed and start rummaging through my suitcase. I’m not wearing my special bra and underwear set; I’m wearing my normal every day cappuccino-colored bra with the frayed edges. I can’t lose my virginity in my ugliest bra.
“What are you doing?” he asks me.
“Just wait one second.”
I run to the bathroom and change out of my old bra and underwear and put on the lacy ones. Then I brush my teeth, look at my face in the mirror. This is it. I, Lara Jean Song Covey, am about to lose my virginity to Peter K.
Peter calls out, “Is everything okay?”
“Just a sec!” Should I put my clothes back on or just come out in my bra and underwear? He’s never seen me in just my underwear before. Well, I guess he’s about to see me without any clothes at all, so I might as well.
I step out of the bathroom, carrying my clothes in front of me like a shield, and Peter does a double take when he sees me and quickly takes his shirt off. I can feel myself blush. I stuff my bra and underwear in my suitcase, and then dig around inside until I find the packet of condoms. I take one out and then climb back into bed and get under the sheets. “Okay, now I’m ready.”
“I like your bra,” Peter says, peeling the sheet away from me.
“Thank you.”
He moves closer to me and kisses my eyelid. First the left, then the right. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“We don’t have to do anything tonight, Covey.”
“No, I want to.” I hold up the condom, and Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “From my dad’s kit. Remember, I told you he made me a contraception kit?”
Taking the condom from me, he kisses my neck and says, “Can we not talk about your dad right now?”
