Are you on a date with him? And who the hell’s car is this?”
Before I can answer, Genevieve makes a move toward me, which I dodge. I run behind the pillar.
“Don’t be such a baby, Lara Jean,” she says. “Just accept that you lose and I win!”
I peek from behind the pillar, and John is giving me a look—a look that says, Get in. Quickly I
nod. Then he throws open the passenger door, and I run for it, as fast as I can. I’ve barely got the door
closed before he’s driving off, Peter and Gen in our dust.
I turn back to look. Peter is staring after us, his mouth open. He’s jealous, and I’m glad. “Thanks
for the save,” I say, still trying to catch my breath. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard.
John is looking straight ahead, a broad smile on his face. “Anytime.”
We stop at a stoplight, and he turns his head and looks at me, and then we’re looking at each other,
laughing like crazy, and I’m breathless again.
“Did you see the looks on their faces?” John gasps, dropping his head on the steering wheel.
“It was classic!”
“Like a movie!” He grins at me, jubilant, blue eyes alight.
“Just like a movie,” I agree, leaning my head back against the seat and opening my eyes wide up at
the moon, so wide it hurts. I’m in a red Mustang convertible sitting next to a boy in uniform, and the
night air feels like cool satin on my skin, and all the stars are out, and I’m happy. The way John is still
grinning to himself, I know he is too. We got to play make-believe for the night. Forget Peter and
Genevieve. The light turns green, and I throw my arms in the air. “Go fast, Johnny!” I shout, and he
guns it and I let out a shriek.
We zoom around for a bit, and at the next stoplight he slows and puts his arm around me, pulling
me closer to his side. “Isn’t this how they did it in the fifties?” he asks, one hand on the steering
wheel and the other around my shoulders.
My heart rate picks back up again. “Well, technically we’re dressed for the forties—” and then he
kisses me. His lips are warm and firm against mine, and my eyes flutter shut.
When he pulls away just a fraction, he looks down at me and says, half serious, half not, “Better
than the first time?”
I’m dazed. He’s got some of my lipstick on his face now. I reach up and wipe his mouth. The light
turns green; we don’t move; he’s still looking at me. Someone honks a horn behind us. “The light’s
green.”
He doesn’t make a move; he’s still looking at me. “Answer first.”
“Better.” John pushes his foot on the gas, and we’re moving again. I’m still breathless. Into the
wind I shout, “One day I want to see you make a Model UN speech!”
John laughs. “What? Why?”
“I think it would be something to see. I bet you’d be... grand. You know, out of all of us, I think
you’ve changed the most.”
“How?”
“You used to be sort of quiet. In your own head. Now you’re so confident.”
“I still get nervous, Lara Jean.” John has a cowlick, a little piece of hair that won’t stay down; it is
stubborn. It’s this piece more than anything else that makes my heart squeeze.
singke
(singke)
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