22

PETER AND I ARE AT Starbucks, sitting side by side, studying for our chemistry exam. Idly, he puts
his arm around my chair and starts twisting my hair around his pencil and letting it unfurl like a slice
of ribbon. I ignore him. He pulls my chair closer to his and plants a warm kiss on my neck, which
makes me giggle. I scoot away from him. “I can’t concentrate when you do that.”
“You said you like when I play with your hair.”
“I do, but I’m trying to study.” I look around and then whisper, “Besides, we’re in public.”
“There’s hardly anybody in here!”
“There’s the barista, and that guy over there by the door.” I try to discreetly point with my pencil.
Things have been quiet at school; the last thing we need is another meme flare-up.
“Lara Jean, nobody’s going to film us if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re not doing
anything.”
“I told you from the start I’m not into PDAs,” I remind him.
Peter smirks. “Really? Let’s not forget who kissed who in the hallway. You literally jumped on
top of me, Covey.”
I blush. “There was a purpose for that and you know it.”
“There’s a purpose now,” he pouts. “The purpose is I’m bored and I feel like kissing you. Is that a
crime?”
“You’re such a baby,” I say, pinching his nose hard. “If you stay quiet and study for forty-five
more minutes, I’ll let you kiss me in the privacy of your car.”
Peter’s face lights up. “Deal.” His phone buzzes, and he reaches down to check it. He frowns and
texts something, his fingers lightning quick.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He nods, but he looks distracted, and he keeps texting, even as we’re supposed to be studying. And
now I’m distracted too, wondering what it could be. Or who.