probably lump Chris in with the party girls, the girls who sleep around, the girls who aren’t “better
than that.” She would be wrong. We’re all the same.
After school, I’m walking out of class when my phone buzzes in my purse. It’s Peter.
I’m out on parole. Meet me at my car!I race to the parking lot, where Peter is in his car waiting for me with the heat on. Grinning at me,
he says, “Aren’t you going to kiss your man? I just got released from prison.”
“Peter! This isn’t a joke. Are you suspended?”
He smirks. “Nah. I sweet-talked my way out of it. Principal Lochlan loves me. Still, I could’ve
been. If it had been anybody else.. .”
Oh, Peter. “Please don’t brag to me right now.”
“When I came out of Lochlan’s office, there were a bunch of sophomore girls waiting for me to
give me a standing O. They were like, ‘Kavinsky, you’re so romantic.’” He hoots, and I give him a
look. He pulls me to his side. “Hey, they know I’m taken. There’s only one girl I want to see in an
Amish bikini.”
I laugh; I can’t help it. Peter loves attention, and I hate to be another girl who gives it to him, but he
makes it really hard sometimes. Besides, it was kind of romantic.
He plants a kiss on my cheek, nuzzles against my face. “Didn’t I tell you I would take care of it,
Covey?”
“You did,” I admit, patting his hair.
“So did I do a good job?”
“You did.” That’s all it takes for him to be happy, me telling him that he did a good job. He’s
smiley all the way home. But I’m still thinking about it.
I beg off the lacrosse party I was supposed to go to with Peter tonight. I say it’s because I have to
prepare for my meeting with Janette tomorrow, but we both know it’s more than that. He could call
me on it, remind me that we promised to always tell the truth to each other, but he doesn’t. He knows
me well enough to know that I just need to burrow in my little hobbit hole for a while, and when I’m
ready, I’ll come out again and be all right.
That night I bake chai sugar cookies with cinnamon-eggnog icing—they’re like a hug in your
mouth. Baking calms me; it’s stabilizing. It’s what I do when I don’t want to think about anything hard.
It is an activity that requires very little from you—you just follow the directions, and then at the end
you have created something. From ingredients to an actual dessert. It’s like magic. Poof,
deliciousness.
After midnight, I’ve set the cookies on the cooling rack and put on my cat pajamas, and I’m
climbing into bed to read when there’s a knock at my window. I think it’s Chris, and I go to the
window to check and see if I’ve locked it, but it’s not—it’s Peter! I push the window up. “Oh my
God, Peter! What are you doing here?” I whisper, my heart pounding. “My dad’s home!”
Peter climbs in. He’s wearing a navy beanie on his head and a thermal with a puffy vest. Taking
off the hat, he grins and says, “Shh. You’re gonna wake him up.”
I run to my door and lock it. “Peter! You can’t be here!” I am equal parts panicky and excited. I
don’t know if a boy has ever been in my room before, not since Josh, and that was ages ago.