P.S. I Still Love You

friend. That’s it!”
“Gosh, she really knows how to work you, Peter!”
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s always like that. She pulls the strings and you just.. .” I dangle my arms and head like a
marionette doll.
Peter frowns. “That was mean.”
“Well, I feel mean right now. So watch out.”
“You’re not mean, though. Not usually.”
“Why can’t you just tell me? You know I won’t tell anyone. I really want to understand it, Peter.”
“Because it’s not for me to say. Don’t try to make me tell you, because I can’t.”
“She’s just doing this to manipulate you. It’s what she does.” I hear the jealousy in my voice, and I
hate it, I hate it. This isn’t me.
He sighs. “Nothing’s happening with us. She just needs a friend.”
“She has a lot of friends.”
“She needs an old friend.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. Girls understand each other in a way boys never will. It’s how I
know this is all just another one of her games. Showing up at my house today was just another way for
her to exert dominance over me.
Then Peter says, “Speaking of old friends, I didn’t realize you and McClaren were so buddy-
buddy.”
I flush. “I told you we were pen pals.”
Raising his eyebrows, he says, “You’re pen pals but he doesn’t know we’re together?”
“It never came up!” Wait a minute—I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad at him right now, not
the other way around. Somehow this whole conversation has flipped around, and now I’m the one
flailing.
“So that day you went to the Model UN thing a few months ago, I asked you if you saw McClaren
and you said no. But then today he brought up Model UN, and you clearly did see him there. Did you
not?”
I swallow. “When did you turn into a prosecutor? Sheesh. I saw him there but we didn’t even talk;
I just handed him a note—”
“A note? You gave him a note?”
“It wasn’t from me—it was from a different country, for Model UN.” Peter opens his mouth to ask
another question, and I quickly add, “I just didn’t mention it because nothing came of it.”
Incredulous, he says, “So you want me to be honest with you, but you don’t want to be honest with
me?”
“It wasn’t like that!” I cry out. What is even happening here? How did our fight get so big so fast?
Neither of us says anything for a moment. Then, quietly, he asks, “Do you want to break up?”
Break up? “No.” All of a sudden I feel shaky, like I could cry. “Do you?”
“No!”
“You asked me first!”
“So that’s it. Neither of us wants to break up, so we just move on.” Peter sinks down on a chair at
the kitchen table and rests his head on it.
I sit across from him. He feels so far away from me. My hand is itching to reach out and touch his