46

THE NEXT MORNING, KITTY IS dawdling over her peanut butter toast, and from behind his
newspaper, Daddy says, “You’re going to miss the bus if you don’t hurry.”
She merely shrugs and takes her time going upstairs to get her book bag. I’m sure she thinks she
can just catch a ride with me if she misses the bus, but I’m running late too. I overslept and then I
couldn’t find my favorite jeans so I had to settle for my second favorite.
As I’m rinsing my cereal bowl, I look out the window and see Kitty’s school bus drive by. “You
missed the bus!” I yell upstairs.
No reply.
I stuff my lunch in my bag and call out, “If you’re coming with me, you’d better hustle! Bye,
Daddy!”
I’m putting on my shoes by the front door when Kitty shoots right past me and out the door, book
bag bouncing against her shoulder. I follow after her and close the door behind me. And there, across
the street, leaning against his black Audi, is Peter. He grins broadly at Kitty, and I stand there just
completely blindsided. My first thought is, Is he here to see me? No, couldn’t be. My second thought
is, Could this be a trap? My eyes dart around, looking for any sign of Genevieve. There is none, and
I feel guilty for thinking he could ever be that cruel.
Kitty waves madly and runs up to him. “Hi!”
“Ready to go, kid?” he asks her.
“Yup.” She turns back to look at me. “Lara Jean, you can come with us. I’ll sit in your lap.”
Peter is looking at his phone, and what little hope I had that maybe he partly came to see me is
dashed. “No, that’s okay,” I say. “There’s only room for two.”
He opens the passenger-side door for her, and Kitty scrambles in. “Go fast,” she tells him.
He barely spares me a glance before they’re gone. Well. I suppose that’s that, then.

“What kind of cake are you making me?” Kitty sits on a stool and watches me. I’m baking the cake
tonight so it’s all set for tomorrow’s party. I’ve got it in my head that Kitty’s slumber party has to be
just the best night ever, partly because the party is so belated and should therefore be worth the wait,
and partly because ten is a big year in a girl’s life. Kitty may not have a mom, but she will have a
spectacular birthday sleepover if I’ve got anything to do with it.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” I dump my premeasured flour into a mixing bowl. “So how was your
day?”
“Good. I got an A-minus on my math quiz.”
“Oh, yay! Anything else cool happen?”
Kitty shrugs her shoulders. “I think Ms. Bertoli accidentally farted when she was taking
attendance. Everybody laughed.”
Baking powder, salt. “Cool, cool. Did, um, Peter drive you straight to school, or did you stop
somewhere along the way?”