“A craft expo?” Chris is giving me a look like I’m a cockroach that flew into her car. “You would
waste a wish on a craft expo?”
“I was just getting warmed up with that idea,” I lie. “Anyway, if you’re so smart, what would you
wish for if you were me?”
“I would make it so that Peter never talks to Gen again. I mean, right? I’m an evil genius, am I
not?”
“Evil, yes; genius, hardly.” Chris gives me a shove, and I giggle. We’re both shoving each other
when Chris stops short and says, “Two fifty-five. It’s go time.” Chris unlocks the doors and gets out
and hides behind an oak tree in the yard.
My adrenaline is pumping as I hop out of Chris’s car, grab Kitty’s bike out of her trunk, and push it
a few houses. Then I set it on the ground and drape myself over it in a dramatic heap. Then I pull out
the bottle of fake blood I bought for this very purpose and squirt some on my jeans—old jeans I’ve
been planning on giving to Goodwill. As soon as I see Trevor’s car approaching, I start to pretend
sob. From behind the tree Chris whispers, “Tone it down a little!” I immediately stop sobbing and
start moaning.
Trevor’s car pulls up beside me. He rolls down the window. “Lara Jean? Are you okay?”
I whimper. “No... I think I might have sprained my ankle. It really hurts. Can you give me a ride
home?” I’m willing myself to tear up, but it’s harder to cry on cue than I would have thought. I try to
think about sad things—the Titanic, old people with Alzheimer’s, Jamie Fox-Pickle dying—but I
can’t focus.
Trevor regards me suspiciously. “Why are you riding your bike in this neighborhood?”
Oh no, I’m losing him! I start talking fast but not too fast. “It’s not my bike; it’s my little sister’s.
She’s friends with Sara Healey. You know, Dan Healey’s little sister? They live over there.” I point
to their house. “I was bringing it to her—oh my God, Trevor. Do you not believe me? Are you
seriously not going to give me a ride?”
Trevor looks around. “Do you swear this isn’t a trick?”
Gotcha! “Yes! I swear I don’t have your name, okay? Please just help me up. It really hurts.”
“First show me your ankle.”
“Trevor! You can’t see a sprained ankle!” I whimper and make a show of trying to stand up, and
Trevor finally turns the car off and gets out. He stoops down and pulls me to my feet and I try to make
my body heavy. “Be gentle,” I tell him. “See? I told you I didn’t have your name.”
Trevor pulls me up by my armpits, and over his shoulder Chris creeps up behind him like a ninja.
She dives forward, both hands out, and claps them on his back hard. “I got you!” she screams.
Trevor shrieks and drops me, and I narrowly escape falling for real. “Damn it!” he yells.
Gleefully Chris says, “You’re done, sucker!” She and I high-five and hug.
“Can you guys not celebrate in front of me?” he mutters.
Chris holds her hand out. “Now gimme gimme gimme.”
Sighing, Trevor shakes his head and says, “I can’t believe I fell for that, Lara Jean.”
I pat him on the back. “Sorry, Trevor.”
“What if I had had your name?” he asks me. “What would you have done then?”
Huh. I never thought of that. I shoot Chris an accusing glare. “Wait a minute! What if he had had my
name?”
“That was a chance we were willing to take,” she says smoothly. “So Trev, what was your wish
singke
(singke)
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