so hard my face feels like it could break.
After, John helps me take down all the decorations and pack everything up. He goes out to the parking
lot with the two big boxes, and I stay behind to say good-bye to everyone and make sure we have
everything. I still feel sort of a high from the night. The party went so well, and Janette was so
pleased. She came up and squeezed my shoulders and said, “I’m proud of you, Lara Jean.” And then
the dance with John... Thirteen-year-old me would have died. Sixteen-year-old me is floating down
the nursing-home hallway, and it’s like I’m in a dream.
I’m floating out the front entrance when I see Genevieve and Peter walking up, her arm linked in
his, and it’s like we’re in a time machine and the past year never happened. We never happened.
They’re coming closer. Now they are about ten feet away, and I am frozen to this spot. Is there no
way out of this? Out of this humiliation, and out of losing yet again? I got so caught up in the USO
party and John that I forgot all about the game. What are my options here? If I turn and run back into
the nursing home, she’ll just wait in the parking lot for me all night. Just like that, I am a rabbit under
her paw again. Just like that, she wins.
And then it’s too late. They’ve spotted me. Peter drops Genevieve’s arm.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me. “And what’s with all the makeup?” He gestures at my
eyes, my lips.
My cheeks burn. I ignore the comment about my makeup and just say, “I work here, remember? I
know why you’re here, Genevieve. Peter, thanks a lot for helping her take me out. You’re a real
stand-up guy.”
“Covey, I didn’t come here to help her tag you out. I didn’t even know you’d be here. I told you, I
don’t give a shit about this game!” He turns to Genevieve. Accusingly he says, “You said you needed
to pick something up from your grandma’s friend.”
“I do,” she says. “This is just an amazing coincidence. I guess I win, huh?”
She’s so smug, so sure of herself and her victory over me. “You haven’t tagged me yet.” Should I
just make a run for it back inside? Stormy would let me spend the night if I needed to.
Just then, John’s red Mustang convertible comes roaring up through the parking lot. “Hey, guys,”
he says, and Peter’s and Gen’s mouths drop. It’s only then that I think of how strange we must look
together, John in his World War II uniform with his jaunty little hat, me with my victory roll and my
red lipstick.
Peter eyes him. “What are you doing here?”
Blithely John says, “My great-grandmother lives here. Stormy. You may have heard of her. She’s a
friend of Lara Jean’s.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t remember,” I say.
Peter frowns at me, and I know he doesn’t. It’s just like him not to. “What’s with the outfits?” he
says, his voice gruff.
“USO party,” John says. “Very exclusive. VIPs only—sorry, guys.” Then he tips his hat at him,
which I can tell makes Peter mad, which in turn makes me glad.
“What the hell is a USO party?” Peter asks me.
John stretches his arm out onto the passenger seat luxuriously. “It’s from World War Two.”
“I wasn’t asking you; I was asking her,” Peter snaps. He looks at me, his eyes hard. “Is this a date?