P.S. I Still Love You

She bites her lip. “It looks like sex to me, but I’m the only one here besides you who’s never had
sex, so what do I know?” Margot lets out a gasp. “Sorry, I read your diary.” Margot swats at her, and
Kitty crawls away fast like a crab.
I take a deep breath. “Okay. I can live with that. I mean, who cares about a hot makeout, right?
That’s just part of life, right? And you can barely even see my face? You’d have to really know me to
know it was me. My full name isn’t on here anywhere, just Lara Jean. There must be a ton of Lara
Jeans, right? Right?”
Margot gives me an impressed nod. “I’ve never seen anybody move through the five stages of grief
that fast. You really do have an incredible bounce-back.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a little proud.
But then in the dark, when my sisters and Chris have left and Peter and I have said our good nights
and he has assured me for the millionth time that everything will be fine, I look at Instagram again, at
all the comments. And I am mortified.
I asked Peter who he thought could have done it; he said he didn’t know. Probably just some horny
pathetic guy, he said. I don’t ask the thing I’m still thinking about, the thing that’s still stuck in my
craw. Was it Genevieve? Could she really hate me so much that she’d want to hurt me that badly?
I remember the day we exchanged friendship bracelets. “This proves that we’re best friends,” she
said to me. “We’re closer with each other than with anyone else.”
“What about Allie?” I asked. We’d always been a trio, though Genevieve had taken to spending
more time at my house, mainly because Allie’s mom was strict about boys coming over and being on
the Internet.
“Allie’s okay but I like you better,” she’d said, and I had felt guilty but honored. Genevieve liked
me best. We were close, closer than with anyone else. The bracelets were proof. How cheaply I was
bought then, with just a bracelet made out of string.