remember she went back and forth between putting in a picture of her and Peter or the rose he gave
her for her birthday. I can’t remember what she decided on.
“Well, there’s nothing inside, so I guess I didn’t. Whatever.”
I look inside the time capsule just to be sure. It’s empty.
“Remember how we used to play Assassins?” Trevor says, squeezing the last bit of juice out of his
Capri Sun.
Oh, how I loved that game! It was like tag: Everybody picked a name out of a hat, and you had to
tag the person out. Once you got your person, you had to take out whoever they had. It involved a lot
of sneaking around and hiding. A game could last for days.
“I was the Black Widow,” Genevieve says. She does a little shoulder shimmy at Peter. “I won
more than anybody.”
“Please,” Peter scoffs. “I won plenty.”
“So did I,” Chris says.
Trevor points at me. “L’il J, you were the worst at it. I don’t think you won once.”
I make a face. L’il J. I’d forgotten he used to call me that. And he’s right: I never did win. Not
even once. The one time I came close, Chris tagged me out at Kitty’s swim meet. I’d thought I was
safe because it was late at night. I was so close to that win, I could almost taste it.
Chris’s eyes meet mine, and I know she’s remembering too. She winks at me, and I give her a sour
look.
“Lara Jean just doesn’t have the killer instinct,” Genevieve says, looking at her nails.
I say, “We can’t all be black widows.”
“True,” she says, and my teeth clench.
John says to Peter, “Remember that one time I had you, and I was hiding behind your dad’s car
before school, but it was your dad that came out, not you? And I scared him, and he and I both
screamed?”
“Then we had to quit altogether when Trevor came to my mom’s store in his ski mask,” Peter
guffaws.
Everyone laughs, except for me. I’m still smarting from Genevieve’s “killer instinct” dig.
Trevor’s laughing so hard he can barely speak. “She almost called the cops!” he manages to
sputter.
Peter nudges my sneaker toe with his. “We should play again.”
He’s trying to get back in my good graces, but I’m not ready to let him, so I just shrug a chilly little
shrug. I wish I weren’t mad at him, because I really do want to play again. I want to prove I’ve got the
killer instinct too, that I’m not some Assassins loser.
“We should do it,” John says. “For old times’ sake.” He catches my eye. “One last shot, Lara
Jean.”
I smile.
Chris raises an eyebrow. “What does the winner get?”
“Well... nothing,” I say. “It would just be for fun.” Trevor makes a face at this.
“There should be a prize,” Genevieve says. “Otherwise what’s the point?”
I think fast. What would be a good prize? “Movie tickets? A baked good of the winner’s choice?”