I freeze. How could Peter bring that up so cavalierly? None of us ever talked about John’s stutter back in middle school. He was so shy about it. But now John just flashes a smile and shrugs and says, “I’ll pass that along to my eighth grade speech therapist, Elaine.” He’s so confident!
Peter blinks, and I can see that he is caught off guard. He does not know this John McClaren. It used to be that Peter was the shot caller, not John. He followed Peter’s lead. Peter might still be the same, but John has changed. Now Peter’s the one who is less sure-footed.
hris goes next. She pulls out a ring with a tiny pearl in the center. Allie’s, a confirmation gift from her aunt. She loved that ring. I’ll have to send it to her. Trevor pulls out his own treasure—an autographed baseball card. Genevieve is the one to pull out Chris’s—an envelope with a twenty-dollar bill inside.
“Yes!” Chris screams. “I was such a little genius.” We high-five.
“What about yours, Gen?” Trevor asks.
She shrugs. “I guess I didn’t put anything in the capsule.”
“Yes you did,” I say, brushing orange Cheez dust off my fingers. “You were there that day.” I 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?” I blurt out. No one says a word.
“We could all put in a twenty,” John offers. I throw him a grateful look and he smiles.
“Money’s boring,” Genevieve says, stretching like a cat.
I roll my eyes. Who asked for her two cents? I didn’t even ask for her to be here.
Trevor says, “Um, how about the winner gets breakfast in bed every day for a week? It could be pancakes on Monday, omelet on Tuesday, waffle on Wednesday, and so forth. There are six of us, so—”
Shuddering, Genevieve says, “I don’t eat breakfast.” Everyone groans.
“Why don’t you suggest something instead of shooting everybody down,” Peter says, and I hide my face behind my braid so no one sees me smile.
“Okay.” Genevieve thinks for a minute, and then a smile spreads across her face. It’s her Big Idea look, and it makes me nervous. Slowly, deliberately, she says, “The winner gets a wish.”
“From who?” Trevor asks. “Everybody?”
“From any one of us who are playing.”
“Wait a minute,” Peter interjects. “What are we signing on for here?”
Genevieve looks very pleased with herself. “One wish, and you have to grant it.” She looks like an evil queen.
Chris’s eyes gleam as she says, “Anything?”
“Within reason,” I quickly say. This isn’t at all what I had in mind, but at least people are willing to play.
“Reason is subjective,” John points out.
“Basically, Gen can’t force Peter to have sex with her one last time,” Chris says. “That’s what everyone’s thinking, right?”
I stiffen. That wasn’t what I was thinking, like at all. But now I am.
Trevor busts up laughing and Peter shoves him. Genevieve shakes her head. “You’re disgusting, Chrissy.”
“I only said what everyone was thinking!”
I’m barely even listening at this point. All I can think is, I want to play this game and I want to win. Just once I want to beat Genevieve at something.
I only have one pen and no paper, so John tears up the ice cream sandwich box and we take turns writing our names down on our cardboard scraps. Then everybody puts their names in the empty time capsule, and I shake it up. We pass it around and I go last. I pull out the piece of cardboard, hold it close to my chest, and open it.
JOHN.
Well, that complicates things. I sneak a peek at him. He’s carefully tucking his piece of cardboard in his jeans pocket. Sorry, (pen) pal, but you’re going down. I take a quick look around the room for clues to who might have my name, but everyone’s got their poker faces on.
36
THE RULES ARE: YOUR HOUSE is a safe zone. School is a safe zone, but not the parking lot. Once you step out the door, it’s all fair game. You’re out if you get hit with a two-hand touch.
And if you renege on your wish, your life is forfeit. Genevieve comes up with that last part and it gives me shivers. Trevor Pike shudders and says, “Girls are scary.”
“No, girls in their family are scary,” Peter says, gesturing at Chris and Genevieve. They both smile, and in those smiles I see the family resemblance. Casting a sidelong glance at me, Peter says hopefully, “You’re not scary, though. You’re sweet, right?” Suddenly I remember something Stormy said to me. Don’t ever let him get too sure of you. Peter is very sure of me. As sure as a person could be.
“I can be scary too,” I quietly say back, and he blanches. Then, to everyone else, I say, “Let’s just have fun with it.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun,” John assures me. He puts his Orioles cap on his head and pulls the brim down. “Game on.” He catches my eye. “If you thought I was good at Model UN, wait till you see my Zero Dark Thirty skills.”
I walk with everyone out front to their cars, and I hear Peter tell Genevieve to get a ride with Chris, which they both balk at. “Figure it out amongst yourselves,” Peter says. “I’m hanging out with my girlfriend.”
Genevieve rolls her eyes and Chris groans. “Ugh. Fine.” To Genevieve she says, “Get in.”
Chris’s car is backing out of the driveway when John says to Peter, “Who’s your girlfriend?” My stomach does a dip.
“Covey.” Peter gives him a funny look. “You didn’t know? That’s weird.”
Now they’re both looking at me. Peter’s confused, but John gets it, whatever “it” is.
I should have told him. Why didn’t I tell him?
Everyone leaves soon after, except for Peter.