“WHAT ARE YOU DAYDREAMING ABOUT?” Peter taps my forehead with his spoon to get my attention. We are at Starbucks doing homework after school.
I dump two raw sugar packets into my plastic cup and stir it all up with my straw. I take a long sip, and sugar granules crunch satisfyingly against my teeth. “I was thinking about how it would be neat if people our age could be in love like it’s the 1950s.” Right away I wish I didn’t say “in love,” because Peter’s never said anything about being in love with me, but it’s too late, the words are already out of my mouth, so I just press on and hope he didn’t catch it. “In the 50s, people just dated, and it was as easy as that. Like one night Burt might take you to a drive-in movie, and the next night Walter might take you to a sock hop or something.”
Bemused, he says, “What the hell is a sock hop?”
“It’s like a dance, like in Grease.” Peter looks back at me blankly. “You’ve never seen Grease? It was on TV last night. Never mind. The point is, back then you weren’t somebody’s girl until you had a pin.”
“A pin?” Peter repeats.
“Yes, a fellow would give a girl his fraternity pin, and it meant they were going steady. But you weren’t official until you had the pin.”
“But I’m not in a fraternity. I don’t even know what a fraternity pin looks like.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“Wait—are you saying you want a pin or you don’t want a pin?”
“I’m not saying it either way. I’m just saying, don’t you think there was something cool in the way it used to be? It’s old-fashioned, but it’s almost .
. .” What’s Margot always saying? “Postfeminist.”
“Wait. So do you want to go on dates with other guys?” He doesn’t sound upset, necessarily, just confused.
“No! I just . . . I’m just making an observation. I think it would be cool to bring back casual dating. There’s something sweet about it, don’t you think? My sister told me she wishes she didn’t let things get so heavy with her and Josh. You said yourself how you hated how serious it got with Genevieve. If we break up, I don’t want things to ever get so bad that we can’t be in the same room together. I want to still be friends no matter what.”
Peter dismisses this. “With me and Gen, it’s complicated because of who Gen is. It’s not like with me and you. You’re . . . different.”
I can feel my face get all flush again. I try not to sound too eager as I say, “Like different how?” I know I’m digging for a compliment, but I don’t care.
“You’re easy to be with. You don’t make me get all crazy and worked up; you’re . . .” Peter’s voice trails off as he looks at my face. “What? What did I say?”
My whole body feels tight and stiff. No girl wants to hear what he just said. No girl. A girl wants to get a boy crazy and worked up—isn’t that part of being in love?
“I mean that in a good way, Lara Jean. Are you mad? Don’t be mad.” He rubs his face tiredly.
I hesitate. Peter and I tell each other the truth; that’s how it’s been since the beginning. I’d like it to stay that way, on both sides. But then I catch the sudden worry in his eyes, the uncertainty, and it’s not something I’m used to seeing on him. I don’t like to see it. We’ve only been back together a couple of weeks, and I don’t want to start a new fight when I know he didn’t mean any harm. I hear myself say, “No, I’m not mad,” and just like that, I’m not anymore. After all, I’m the one who was worrying about going too far too fast with Peter. Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t get crazy and worked up over me.
The clouds in his face clear away instantly, and he is sunny and bright again. That’s the Peter I know. He gulps at his tea. “See, that’s what I mean, Lara Jean. That’s why I like you. You just get it.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
