P.S. I Still Love You

He reaches inside the box and pulls out a baseball.
“That’s mine,” Peter crows. “That’s from when I hit a home run at Claremont Park.” John throws
the ball to him, and Peter catches it. Examining it, he says, “See, I signed and dated it!”
“I remember that day,” Genevieve says, tilting her head. “You came running off the field, and you
kissed me in front of your mom. Remember?”
“Uh... not really,” Peter mumbles. He’s staring down at the baseball, turning it in his hand like
he’s fascinated by it. I can’t believe him. I really can’t.
“Awk-ward,” Trevor says with a chortle.
In a soft voice, like no one else is here, she says to him, “Can I keep it?”
Peter’s ears are turning red. He looks at me, panicky. “Covey, do you want it?”
“Nope,” I say, keeping my head turned away from them. I grab the bag of Cheez Doodles and stuff
a handful in my mouth. I’m so mad all I can do is eat Cheez Doodles or else I’ll scream at him.
“Okay, then I’m gonna keep it,” Peter says, putting the baseball in his coat pocket. “Owen might
want it. Sorry, Gen.” He grabs the time capsule and starts rifling through it. He holds up a worn-out
baseball cap. Orioles. Too loudly he says, “McClaren, look what I got here.”
A smile spreads across John’s face like a slow sunrise. He takes it from Peter and puts it on his
head, adjusting the bill.
“That really was your most prized possession,” I say. He wore it deep into the fall, too. I asked my
dad to buy me an Orioles T-shirt because I thought John McClaren would be impressed. I wore it
twice but I don’t think he ever noticed. My smile fades when I notice Genevieve watching me. Our
eyes meet; there is some knowing light in her gaze that makes me feel twitchy. She looks away; now
she is the one smiling to herself.
“The Orioles suck,” Peter says, leaning against the wall. He reaches for the box of ice cream
sandwiches and pulls one out.
“Pass me one of those,” Trevor says.
“Sorry, last one,” Peter says, biting into it.
John catches my eye and winks. “Same old Kavinsky,” he says, and I laugh. I know he’s thinking of
our letters.
Peter grins at him. “Hey, no more stutter.”
I freeze. How could Peter bring that up so cavalierly? None of us ever talked about John’s stutter
back in middle school. He was so shy about it. But now John just flashes a smile and shrugs and says,
“I’ll pass that along to my eighth grade speech therapist, Elaine.” He’s so confident!
Peter blinks, and I can see that he is caught off guard. He does not know this John McClaren. It
used to be that Peter was the shot caller, not John. He followed Peter’s lead. Peter might still be the
same, but John has changed. Now Peter’s the one who is less sure-footed.
Chris goes next. She pulls out a ring with a tiny pearl in the center. Allie’s, a confirmation gift
from her aunt. She loved that ring. I’ll have to send it to her. Trevor pulls out his own treasure—an
autographed baseball card. Genevieve is the one to pull out Chris’s—an envelope with a twenty-
dollar bill inside.
“Yes!” Chris screams. “I was such a little genius.” We high-five.
“What about yours, Gen?” Trevor asks.
She shrugs. “I guess I didn’t put anything in the capsule.”
“Yes you did,” I say, brushing orange Cheez dust off my fingers. “You were there that day.” I