PETERâS AT MY HOUSE BRIGHT
and early to pick me up. Everyone else is caravanning down together, but Peter wanted it to be just him and me in his two-seater. Heâs in a good mood; heâs brought donuts for us like old times. He says theyâre all for me, though. Ever since he came back from that training weekend with his lacrosse team, heâs been in fitness mode.
Weâre moving stuff around in his car to make room for my suitcase when Kitty comes running out to say hi. She spots the bag of donuts resting on top of my bag and she snags one. Her mouth full, she says, âPeter, did Lara Jean tell you the news about Korea?â
âWhat news?â he says.
My head snaps up and I throw Kitty a look. âI was just about to. Peter, I didnât get a chance to tell you yesterday. . . . My dadâs sending us to Korea for my graduation present.â
âWow, thatâs cool,â Peter says.
âYeah, weâre going to see our relatives and do a tour around the country, too.â
I glance over at him. âNext month.â
âFor how long?â he asks.
He looks at me in dismay. âA
? That long?â
âI know.â Weâre already in mid-June. Only two months of summer left from here and then heâll still be here and Iâll be in Chapel Hill.
âA month,â he repeats. Before Peter, I wouldnât have thought twice about going to Korea for a month. I would have rejoiced. And now . . . Iâd never say so to Daddy or Margot or Kitty, but I donât want to go. I just donât. I do. But I donât.
When weâre in the car, on our way, I say, âWeâll FaceTime every day. Itâs a thirteen-hour time difference, so if I call you at night, itâll be your morning.â
Peter looks gloomy. âWe were gonna go to Bledellâs for his Fourth of July weekend, remember? His dad got a new boat. I was going to teach you how to wakeboard.â
âWhat am I going to do when youâre all the way over there? The summerâs going to suck. I wanted to take you to Pony Pasture.â Pony Pasture is a little park on the James River in Richmond; there are big stones you can lie out on, and you can float down the river on inner tubes. Peterâs gone before, with friends from school, but I never have.
âWe can go when I come back,â I say, and he nods halfheartedly. âAnd Iâll bring back lots of presents. Face masks. Korean candy. A present a day!â
âBring me back some tiger socks.â
âIf they make them big enough,â I say, just to make a joke, just to make him smile. This week will have to be the
most perfect, the best ever, to make up for the fact that Iâll be gone all summer.
Peterâs phone buzzes, and he ignores the call without looking to see who it is. A minute later it buzzes again, and Peterâs face goes tight.
âWho is it?â I ask.
âMy dad,â he says shortly.
âI hope heâs calling to apologize and explain how he could miss his own sonâs graduation.â
âI already know why. He told my mom Everett had an allergic reaction so they took him to urgent care.â
âOh,â I say. âI guess thatâs a pretty good excuse. Is Everett okay?â
âHeâs fine. I donât think heâs really even that allergic. When I eat strawberries, my tongue itches. Big deal.â With that, Peter turns on the music, and we donât talk for a while.
* * *
The girlsâ house is second row, with a view of the beach. Itâs on stilts, like all the other houses in the second row. There are three levels, with the kitchen and living room on the bottom level, and the bedrooms on the top levels. Chris and I share a room with two beds on the top level. Itâs like we are at the top of a lighthouse. The bedspreads are turquoise with seashells on them. Everything smells a little mildewy, but itâs not a bad house.
All of the girls in the house have taken up different roles, except for Chris, whose main role has been to sleep on the beach all day with a water bottle of beer. The first day she
came back with her chest and face lobster red; the only unburned part of her was where her sunglasses were. She was embarrassed but she played it off, saying itâs her base tan for Costa Rica. Pammy is the den mom. She promised her parents she wouldnât drink, so sheâs taken it upon herself to check on the other girls and bring water and Advil to their beds in the morning. Kailaâs really good with a flatiron. She can even curl with it, something Iâve never managed to quite get the hang of. Harleyâs good at coordinating and making plans with the other houses.
Iâm the cook. When we first got to the house, we went out and did a big shopping trip and bought cold cuts, granola, dried pasta and jars of sauce, salsa, cereal. The one thing we didnât buy was toilet paper, which we ran out of on the second day. Every time we leave the house to eat lunch or dinner out, one of us steals a wad of toilet paper from the restaurant bathroom. Why we donât just go buy more, I donât know, but itâs turned into kind of a game. Chris is the clear winner, because she managed to get an economy-size roll out of the dispenser, and she smuggled it out under her shirt.
The boys come over every day to freeload and also because their house is already filled with sand. Weâve nicknamed it the Sandcastle. Just sitting on their couch, itâs 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 itâs 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 Chrisâs room, I text Peter, whoâs already gone back to his house. He comes right back and camps out downstairs âto keep my eye on them.â
Peter and I spend our days at the beach, where I sit and read and he goes for long runs. Since weâve been here, he goes running all the time, because he canât 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 peopleâalways with an easygoing smile on his face, always the first to suggest an activity, a game. But with me heâs been distant. Like even though heâs right here next to me, he feels far away.
Unreachable. Iâve tried to broach the topic of his dad again, but he just laughs it off. He hasnât brought up my trip to Korea again either.
Every night thereâs a party at one of the housesâexcept 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 didnât in high school. There is something freeing about knowing itâs all over. We wonât all be together like this again, so why not? In that spirit, Chris hooks up with Patrick Shaw, a guy from Joshâs anime club.
Tonight the party is at Peterâs house. I have no idea how theyâre 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 thereâs a big orange spot in the middle. Iâm making my way through the kitchen when I see John Ambrose McClaren, going through the refrigerator.
I freeze. Peterâs been in such an unpredictable mood; I donât know what heâll do when he sees John at his house.
Iâm trying to decide if I should go find Peter and tell him Johnâs here, when Johnâs head pops up behind the refrigerator door. Heâs holding a carrot and munching on it. âHey! I thought I might see you here.â
âHi!â I say, cheerfully, as if I werenât just contemplating backing away before he saw me. I come over and he gives
me a one-armed hug, because heâs still holding the carrot. âHave you seen Peter?â I ask him. âThis is the house heâs staying in.â
âNah, we just got here.â John looks tan, his hair is bleached from the sun, and heâs wearing a worn blue-and-white-checked shirt and khaki shorts. âWhere are you staying?â
âReally close to here. What about you?â
âWe got a house in Duck.â He smiles and then offers me his carrot. âWant a bite?â
I laugh. âNo thanks. So where did you decide on for school?â
âWilliam and Mary.â John holds his hand up for a high five. âSo Iâll see you there, right?â
âActually . . . Iâm going to Chapel Hill. I got in off the wait list.â
Johnâs jaw drops. âAre you serious? Thatâs awesome!â He pulls me in for a hug. âThatâs amazing. Itâs actually the perfect place for you. Youâre going to love it there.â
Iâm 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. Iâm cringing inside, but he just grins and shouts, âMcClaren! What up!â They do a guy hug, where they pull each other in and then just kind of bump into each other. When they back away, Peterâs eyes linger on the carrot in Johnâs hand. Every day, Peterâs made himself a carrot-and-berry protein shake, and I just know heâs
smarting over John taking one. Heâs counted out exactly how many carrots he needs for the rest of the week.
âLara Jean was just telling me she got into Carolina,â John says, resting his back against the countertop. âIâm so jealous.â
âYeah, you always wanted to go there, right?â Peterâs eyes are still on the carrot.
âEver since I was a kid. It was my top choice.â John gives me a playful nudge. âThis girl snuck in there like a thief in the night. Took my spot right out from under me.â
Smiling, I say, âSorry about that.â
âNah, Iâm just kidding with you.â John takes a bite of his carrot. âI really might transfer, though. Weâll see.â
Peter puts his arm around my waist and takes a swig of beer. âYou should. We could all go to a Tar Heels game together.â He says it genially enough, but I can hear the tension underneath.
John doesnât miss it either. âFor sure,â he says. Then he polishes off the rest of his carrot and tosses the stem into the sink. âI want you guys to meet my girlfriend, Dipti. Sheâs around here somewhere.â He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends her a text.
Weâre 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. Sheâs wearing a silky white romper and sandals. Iâm regretting my decision to wear a
T-shirt of Peterâs and cutoffs. We introduce ourselves, and then she
hops up on the countertop and asks, âSo how do you guys know each other?â
âMcClaren was my
back in middle school,â Peter says. âThey used to call us Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Who do you think was Butch and who do you think was the Sundance Kid, Dipti?â
She laughs. âI donât know. I never saw that movie.â
âButch was the main guy.â Peter points to himself. âAnd the Sundance Kid over thereââhe points to Johnââhe was the sidekick.â Peter cracks up, and Iâm cringing inside, but John just shakes his head in his good-natured way. Peter grabs Johnâs bicep. âYo, have you been working out?â To Dipti he says, âThis kid used to have spaghetti arms and read all day, but now look at him. Heâs a stud.â
âHey, I still read,â John says.
âWhen Peter and I first got together, I thought maybe he didnât know how to read,â I say, and John doubles over laughing.
Peter laughs too, but not as heartily as he was a second ago.
* * *
When it gets late, Peter says I should just stay over instead of going back to my house. I say no, because I donât have my toothbrush or any of my things, but really, Iâm just annoyed with him for the way he acted in front of John.
On the walk back to my house, Peter says, âDipti seems cool. Good for McClaren. Doubt theyâll stay together, though. Theyâll probably visit each other once and be broken up by Christmas, if that.â
I stop walking. âThatâs a lousy thing to say.â
âWhat? Iâm just being honest.â
I face him, and salty beach wind whips my hair around my face. âOkay, if youâre âjust being honest,â then maybe I will be too.â Peter raises an eyebrow and waits for me to continue. âYou acted like a jerk tonight. Insecurity is not a good look on you, Peter.â
âMe?â Peter makes a derisive sound. âInsecure? About what? McClaren? Please. Did you see how he just went into my fridge and ate my carrots?â
I start walking again, faster. âWho cares about your carrots!â
He jogs to catch up with me. âYou know Iâm trying to get in shape for lacrosse!â
âYouâre ridiculous, do you know that?â We are now standing in front of my house. Angry walking sure gets you places in a hurry. âGood night, Peter.â I turn on my heel and start walking up the steps, and Peter doesnât try to stop me.