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To All the Boys I've Loved Before - 30
Romance
Completed
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Impressed, I say, “Where’d you learn that word?”
“TV.”
“A puppy is a lot of work. Who’s going to feed him and walk him and house-train him?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll do it all. I’m responsible enough to take care of it on my own.”
I snuggle closer to her. I love the way Kitty’s head smells after she’s had a bath. “Ha! You don’t even do the dishes ever. And you never clean your room. And when have you ever helped fold laundry even once in your life? I mean, really, if you don’t do any of those things, how you can be responsible for another living creature?”
Kitty shoves me off. “Then I’ll help more!”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“If I help out more, will you help me convince Daddy about the puppy?”
“If you help out more,” I agree. “If you can prove to me you’re not a baby anymore.” Kitty will be ten in January. That’s plenty old enough to help out around the house. Margot babies her too much, I think. “I’m putting you in charge of emptying the upstairs trash cans once a week. And helping with the laundry.”
“So . . . would I get a raise in my allowance?”
“No. The incentive is me helping you convince Daddy to get a dog, and also you not being so babyish anymore.” I fluff up my pillow. “By the way, I’m sleeping in here tonight.”
Kitty gives me a swift kick and I almost fall out of the bed. “You’re the babyish one, not me, Lara Jean.”
“Just let me sleep in here one night!”
“You take up all the covers.”
Kitty tries to kick me again, but I make my body heavy and pretend I’m already asleep. Soon we both fall asleep for real.
* * *
Sunday night I’m doing my homework in bed when I get a call from a number I don’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Hey. What are you doing?”
“Um . . . sorry, but who’s this?”
“It’s Peter!”
“Oh. How did you get my number?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
There’s a longish silence. It’s agonizing, every millisecond that ticks by with neither of us talking, but I don’t know what to say. “So, what did you want?”
Peter laughs. “You’re so awk, Covey. Your car’s in the shop, right? So how about I pick you up for school?”
“Okay.”
“Seven thirty.”
“Okay.”
“O-kay . . .”
“Bye,” I say, and I hang up.
28
THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE kitty up early so she can braid my hair. “Leave me alone,” she says, rolling on to her other side. “I’m sleeping.”
“Please please please can I get a braid crown?” I ask her, squatting in front of her bed.
“No. You can have a side braid and that’s it.”
Swiftly Kitty braids my braid, and then she falls right back to sleep and I’m on my way to figure out clothes. Now that Peter and I are official, people will be noticing me more, so I should wear something good. I try on a polka-dot puffy-sleeved dress with tights, but it doesn’t look right. Neither does my favorite heart sweater with the little pom-poms. Everything looks so kiddish all of a sudden. I finally settle on a floral babydoll dress I ordered off a Japanese street fashion site, with ankle boots. Sort of a seventies London look.
When I run downstairs at seven twenty-five, Kitty is sitting at the kitchen table with her jean jacket on waiting for me. “Why are you downstairs already?” I ask her. Her bus doesn’t come until eight.
“I have my field trip today, so I have to go to school early. Remember?”
I run and look at the calendar on the refrigerator. There it is, in my handwriting: Kitty’s Field Trip. Shoot.
I was supposed to drive her, but that was before my car accident. Daddy had an overnight shift at the hospital and he’s not home yet, so I don’t have a car. “Can one of the carpool moms come get you?”
“It’s too late. The bus leaves at seven forty.” Kitty’s face is getting splotchy and her chin is starting to quiver. “I can’t miss the bus, Lara Jean!”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get upset. I’ve got a ride coming for us right now. Don’t worry, okay?” I pluck a greenish banana from the banana hammock. “Let’s go outside and wait for him.”
“Who?”
“Just hurry.”
* * *
Kitty and I are waiting on the front steps sharing the greenish banana. We both prefer an unripe, greenish banana to a brown speckled one. It’s Margot who likes the speckled ones. I’ll try to save them for banana bread, but Margot gobbles them up, mushy bruised parts and all. I shudder to even think of it.
There’s a chill in the air, even though it’s still September and therefore practically still summer. Kitty rubs her legs to keep warm. She says she’ll wear shorts all the way to October; that’s her plan.
It’s past seven thirty now and no Peter yet. I’m starting to get nervous, but I don’t want Kitty to worry. I decide that if he’s not here in exactly two minutes, I’ll go next door to Josh’s and ask him to run Kitty over to school.
Across the street, our neighbor Ms. Rothschild waves at us as she locks her front door, a big coffee thermos in her hand. She dashes toward her car.
“Good morning, Ms. Rothschild,” we chorus. I elbow Kitty and say, “Five, four, three—”
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