Always and Forever, Lara Jean
Page 7
I lean back against the post. He’s changing the subject, and I know it but I play along. “So we’d be going as the Leo and Claire version of Romeo and Juliet.”
“Yeah.” He tugs on my braid. “I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”
I touch his hair. “Would you be willing to consider growing your hair out a little bit? And maybe . . . dyeing it blond? Otherwise people might think you’re just a knight.”
Peter is laughing so hard I doubt he hears the rest of my sentence. “Oh my God, Covey. Why are you so hilarious?”
“I was joking!” Half joking. “But you know I take costuming seriously. Why bother doing something if you’re only going to do it halfway?”
“Okay, I would maybe wear a wig, but I’m not promising anything. It’ll be our first UVA Halloween.”
“I’ve been to UVA for Halloween before.” The first fall Margot got her driver’s license, we took Kitty trick-or-treating on the lawn. She was Batman that year. I wonder if she might like to do that again.
“I mean we’ll finally be able to go to UVA Halloween parties. Like, legit go to them and not have to sneak in. Sophomore year me and Gabe got kicked out of an SAE party and it was the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
I look at him in surprise. “You? You’re never embarrassed.”
“Well, I was that day. I was trying to talk to this girl who was dressed up in a Cleopatra costume and these older guys were like, ‘Get your ass out of here, scrub,’ and she and her friends laughed. Jerks.”
I lean down and kiss him on both cheeks. “I would never laugh.”
“You laugh at me all the time,” he says. He lifts his head up and pulls my face closer and we are kissing an upside-down Spider-Man type of kiss.
“You like it when I laugh at you,” I say, and, smiling, he shrugs.
4
IT’S THE FIRST DAY OF senior week, and during Senior Week, every day there’s a theme. Today’s theme is school spirit, and I’m wearing Peter’s lacrosse jersey and pigtails with yarn ribbons in our school colors, light blue and white. Peter has painted his face half blue and half white. When he picked me up this morning, I screamed when I saw him. The rest of the week goes: Tuesday seventies day, Wednesday pajamas day, Thursday characters day (the day I am truly looking forward to), and Friday we’re off on our senior trip. The vote was between New York City and Disney World, and New York won. We’re driving up on a charter bus for the three-day weekend. It’s perfect timing for a trip like this, because the seniors are going crazy waiting to hear from colleges and we could all use a distraction. Except for those of us who applied early decision and already know where they’re going, like Peter, and Lucas Krapf, who’s going to Sarah Lawrence. The majority of my class will stay in state. It’s like our guidance counselor, Mrs. Duvall, is always saying: What’s the point of living in Virginia if not to take advantage of all the great state schools? I think it’s nice that so many of us will still be here in Virginia, that we aren’t scattering off to the four corners of the earth.
At lunchtime, when Peter and I walk into the cafeteria, the a cappella group is serenading a junior girl with the song “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” but with the words “Will You Go to Prom with Me, Gina?” We stop and listen before we get in line for our food. Prom isn’t for another few months, but promposals have already started in earnest. So far the most impressive was last week, when Steve Bledell hacked into the announcements board and replaced the day’s events with Will you go to prom with me, Liz? and it took two days for the IT department to figure out how to fix it. Just this morning, Darrell filled Pammy’s locker with red roses, and he spelled out PROM? in petals on the door. The janitor yelled at him for it, but the pictures look amazing on Pammy’s Instagram. I don’t know what Peter’s planning. He’s not exactly one for big romantic gestures.
When we’re in line for food, Peter reaches for a brownie and I say, “Don’t—I brought cookies,” and he gets excited.
“Can I have one now?” he asks. I pull my Tupperware out of my bag and Peter grabs one. “Let’s not share with anybody else,” he says.
“Too late,” I say, because our friends have spotted us.
Darrell is singing, “Her cookies bring all the boys to the yard,” as we walk up to the table. I set the Tupperware down on the table and the boys wrestle for it, snatching cookies and gobbling them up like trolls.
Pammy manages to snag one and says, “Y’all are beasts.”
Darrell throws his head back and makes a beastlike sound, and she giggles.
“These are amazing,” Gabe groans, licking chocolate off his fingers.
Modestly I say, “They’re all right. Good, but not amazing. Not perfect.” I break a piece off of Peter’s cookie. “They taste better fresh out of the oven.”
“Will you please come over to my house and bake me cookies so I know what they taste like fresh out of the oven?” Gabe bites into another one and closes his eyes in ecstasy.
Peter snags one. “Stop eating all my girlfriend’s cookies!” Even a year later, it still gives me a little thrill to hear him say “my girlfriend” and know that I’m her.
“You’re gonna get a gut if you don’t quit with that shit,” Darrell says.
Peter takes a bite of cookie and lifts up his shirt and pats his stomach. “Six-pack, baby.”
“You’re a lucky girl, Large,” Gabe says.
Darrell shakes his head. “Nah, Kavinsky’s the lucky one.”
Peter catches my eye and winks, and my heart beats quicker.
I have a feeling that when I’m Stormy’s age, these everyday moments will be what I remember: Peter’s head bent, biting into a chocolate chip cookie; the sun coming through the cafeteria window, bouncing off his brown hair; him looking at me.
After school, Peter has lacrosse practice, and I sit in the stands and do my homework. Of all the guys on the team, Peter is the only one going to a division one school, and Coach White is already crying about what the team will look like when Peter’s gone. I don’t understand all the ins and outs of the game, but I know when to cheer and when to boo. I just like to watch him play. He thinks every shot he takes will go in, and they usually do.
“Yeah.” He tugs on my braid. “I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”
I touch his hair. “Would you be willing to consider growing your hair out a little bit? And maybe . . . dyeing it blond? Otherwise people might think you’re just a knight.”
Peter is laughing so hard I doubt he hears the rest of my sentence. “Oh my God, Covey. Why are you so hilarious?”
“I was joking!” Half joking. “But you know I take costuming seriously. Why bother doing something if you’re only going to do it halfway?”
“Okay, I would maybe wear a wig, but I’m not promising anything. It’ll be our first UVA Halloween.”
“I’ve been to UVA for Halloween before.” The first fall Margot got her driver’s license, we took Kitty trick-or-treating on the lawn. She was Batman that year. I wonder if she might like to do that again.
“I mean we’ll finally be able to go to UVA Halloween parties. Like, legit go to them and not have to sneak in. Sophomore year me and Gabe got kicked out of an SAE party and it was the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
I look at him in surprise. “You? You’re never embarrassed.”
“Well, I was that day. I was trying to talk to this girl who was dressed up in a Cleopatra costume and these older guys were like, ‘Get your ass out of here, scrub,’ and she and her friends laughed. Jerks.”
I lean down and kiss him on both cheeks. “I would never laugh.”
“You laugh at me all the time,” he says. He lifts his head up and pulls my face closer and we are kissing an upside-down Spider-Man type of kiss.
“You like it when I laugh at you,” I say, and, smiling, he shrugs.
4
IT’S THE FIRST DAY OF senior week, and during Senior Week, every day there’s a theme. Today’s theme is school spirit, and I’m wearing Peter’s lacrosse jersey and pigtails with yarn ribbons in our school colors, light blue and white. Peter has painted his face half blue and half white. When he picked me up this morning, I screamed when I saw him. The rest of the week goes: Tuesday seventies day, Wednesday pajamas day, Thursday characters day (the day I am truly looking forward to), and Friday we’re off on our senior trip. The vote was between New York City and Disney World, and New York won. We’re driving up on a charter bus for the three-day weekend. It’s perfect timing for a trip like this, because the seniors are going crazy waiting to hear from colleges and we could all use a distraction. Except for those of us who applied early decision and already know where they’re going, like Peter, and Lucas Krapf, who’s going to Sarah Lawrence. The majority of my class will stay in state. It’s like our guidance counselor, Mrs. Duvall, is always saying: What’s the point of living in Virginia if not to take advantage of all the great state schools? I think it’s nice that so many of us will still be here in Virginia, that we aren’t scattering off to the four corners of the earth.
At lunchtime, when Peter and I walk into the cafeteria, the a cappella group is serenading a junior girl with the song “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” but with the words “Will You Go to Prom with Me, Gina?” We stop and listen before we get in line for our food. Prom isn’t for another few months, but promposals have already started in earnest. So far the most impressive was last week, when Steve Bledell hacked into the announcements board and replaced the day’s events with Will you go to prom with me, Liz? and it took two days for the IT department to figure out how to fix it. Just this morning, Darrell filled Pammy’s locker with red roses, and he spelled out PROM? in petals on the door. The janitor yelled at him for it, but the pictures look amazing on Pammy’s Instagram. I don’t know what Peter’s planning. He’s not exactly one for big romantic gestures.
When we’re in line for food, Peter reaches for a brownie and I say, “Don’t—I brought cookies,” and he gets excited.
“Can I have one now?” he asks. I pull my Tupperware out of my bag and Peter grabs one. “Let’s not share with anybody else,” he says.
“Too late,” I say, because our friends have spotted us.
Darrell is singing, “Her cookies bring all the boys to the yard,” as we walk up to the table. I set the Tupperware down on the table and the boys wrestle for it, snatching cookies and gobbling them up like trolls.
Pammy manages to snag one and says, “Y’all are beasts.”
Darrell throws his head back and makes a beastlike sound, and she giggles.
“These are amazing,” Gabe groans, licking chocolate off his fingers.
Modestly I say, “They’re all right. Good, but not amazing. Not perfect.” I break a piece off of Peter’s cookie. “They taste better fresh out of the oven.”
“Will you please come over to my house and bake me cookies so I know what they taste like fresh out of the oven?” Gabe bites into another one and closes his eyes in ecstasy.
Peter snags one. “Stop eating all my girlfriend’s cookies!” Even a year later, it still gives me a little thrill to hear him say “my girlfriend” and know that I’m her.
“You’re gonna get a gut if you don’t quit with that shit,” Darrell says.
Peter takes a bite of cookie and lifts up his shirt and pats his stomach. “Six-pack, baby.”
“You’re a lucky girl, Large,” Gabe says.
Darrell shakes his head. “Nah, Kavinsky’s the lucky one.”
Peter catches my eye and winks, and my heart beats quicker.
I have a feeling that when I’m Stormy’s age, these everyday moments will be what I remember: Peter’s head bent, biting into a chocolate chip cookie; the sun coming through the cafeteria window, bouncing off his brown hair; him looking at me.
After school, Peter has lacrosse practice, and I sit in the stands and do my homework. Of all the guys on the team, Peter is the only one going to a division one school, and Coach White is already crying about what the team will look like when Peter’s gone. I don’t understand all the ins and outs of the game, but I know when to cheer and when to boo. I just like to watch him play. He thinks every shot he takes will go in, and they usually do.
