I want to open it so badly. I know I shouldn’t.

Carefully, ever so carefully, I take out the letter and unfold it.

Dear Margot,

You say we had to break up because you don’t want to go to college with a boyfriend, and you want your freedom, and you don’t want to be held back. But you know and I know that’s not the real reason. You broke up with me because we had sex and you were scared of getting close to me.

I stop reading.

I can’t believe it. Chris was right and I was wrong. Margot and Josh did have sex. It’s like everything I thought I knew is the opposite. I thought I knew exactly who my sister was, but it turns out I don’t know anything.

I hear Peter calling my name. “Lara Jean! Are you ready yet?”

Hastily I fold the letter up and put it back in the envelope. I put it back in the drawer and slam the drawer shut. “Coming!”

38

WE’RE STANDING AT THE FRONT door of Steve Bledell’s mansion. Steve’s on the football team; he’s mostly known for having a rich stepdad with his own plane.

“Ready?” Peter asks me.

I wipe my palms on my shorts. I wish I’d had time to do something better to my hair. “Not really.”

“Then let’s talk strategy for a second. All you have to do is act like you’re in love with me. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re the vainest boy I’ve ever met.”

Peter grins and shrugs. He’s got his hand on the doorknob, but then he stops. “Hold on,” he says, and he pulls the hair tie out of my hair and tosses it into the yard.

“Hey!”

“It looks better down. Just trust me.” Peter runs his fingers through my hair and fluffs it up, and I swat his hand away. Then he takes his phone out of his back pocket and he snaps a picture of me.

I give him a puzzled look, and he explains, “In case Gen checks my phone.” I watch as he sets the picture as his wallpaper.

“Can we do another one?” I don’t like the way my hair looks.

“Nah, I like it. You look pretty.” He probably only said it so we could hurry up and go inside, but it makes me feel good.

Walking into this party with Peter Kavinsky, I can’t help but feel a sudden rush of pride. He’s here with me. Or is it that I’m here with him?

I see her as soon as we walk in—she’s on the couch with her girls; they’re all drinking from red Solo cups. No boyfriend in sight. She raises her eyebrows at me and whispers something to Emily Nussbaum. “Heyyy, Lara Jean,” Emily calls out, crooking her finger at me. “Come sit by us.”

I start to walk toward them, thinking Peter is next to me, but he’s not. He’s stopped to say hi to someone. I look at him with panicky eyes and he just gestures at me to keep going. He mouths, You’re up.

Crossing the room alone feels like crossing a continent, with Gen and her friends watching me. “Hi, guys,” I say, and my voice comes out high-pitched and little-girlish. There’s no room for me on the couch, so I perch on an armrest like a bird on a telephone wire. I keep my eyes trained on Peter’s back; he is across the room with some guys from the lacrosse team. It must be nice to be him. So at ease, so comfortable with himself, knowing that people are waiting for him, like Peter’s here, now the party can really get started. I look around the room, just to have something to do, and see Gabe and Darrell, and they wave at me very nicely, but they don’t come over. It feels like everyone is waiting and watching, waiting and watching to see what Genevieve will do.

I wish I hadn’t come.

Emily leans forward. “We’re all dying to know . . . what’s the story with you and Kavinsky?”

I know she’s been commissioned by Gen to ask. Gen’s sipping her drink, casual as can be, but she’s waiting for my answer. Is she drunk yet? I wonder. From everything I’ve heard and know about Gen, she is a mean drunk. Not that I’ve ever personally experienced it, but I’ve heard things. There are stories.

I wet my lips. “Whatever Peter said . . . I guess that’s the story.”

Emily waves this off like whatever Peter says doesn’t really count. “We want to hear it from you. I mean, it’s just so surprising. How did this even happen?” She leans closer, like we are girlfriends.

When I hesitate, when my eyes dart toward Genevieve, she smiles and rolls her eyes. “It’s okay, you can say, Lara Jean. Peter and I are over. I don’t know if he told you this, but I’m actually the one who broke up with him, so.”

I nod. “That’s what he said.” That is not what he said, but it’s what I already knew.

“So when did you guys get together?” She tries to sound offhand, but I know my answer is important to her. She’s trying to catch me in something.

“Pretty recently,” I say.

“How recently?” she presses.

I swallow. “Right before school started,” I tell her. Isn’t that what Peter and I decided the story was going to be?

Genevieve’s eyes go bright and my heart sinks. I’ve said the wrong thing, but it’s too late. It’s hard not to get caught up in her spell. She’s the kind of person you want to like you. You know she can be cruel; you’ve seen her be cruel. But when her eyes are on you, and she’s paying attention to you, you want it to last. Her beauty is part of it, but there’s something more—something that draws you in. I think it’s her transparency—everything she thinks or feels is written all over her face, and even if it wasn’t, she’d say it anyway, because she says what she thinks, without thinking first.