The cake walk is in the elementary school’s music room. I’ve volunteered to be in charge of the walking music, and I’ve made a playlist with all sugar-related songs. Of course “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies, “Sugar Shack,” “Sugar Town,” “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch).” When I walk into the music room, Peter’s mom and another mom are setting up the cakes. I falter, unsure of what to do.
She says, “Hello, Lara Jean,” but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and it gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach. It’s a relief when she leaves.
There’s a decent crowd all day, with some people playing more than once for the cake of their dreams. I keep steering people toward my caramel cake, which is still in rotation. There’s a German chocolate cake that has people entranced, which I’m pretty sure is store-bought, but there’s no accounting for taste. I’ve never been a fan of German chocolate cake myself, because who wants wet coconut flakes? Shudder.
Kitty’s been running around with her friends, and she’s deigned to help me out at the cake walk for an hour when Peter walks in with his little brother, Owen. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is playing. Kitty goes over to say hello, while I busy myself looking at my phone as she’s showing them the cakes. I’ve got my head down, pretend-texting, when Peter comes up beside me.
“Which cake is yours? The coconut one?”
My head snaps up. “I would never buy a grocery-store cake for this.”
“I was joking, Covey. Yours is the caramel one. I can tell by the way you frosted it so fancy.” He stops talking and shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, just so you know, I didn’t go to the nursing home with Gen to help her tag you out.”
I shrug. “For all I know you’ve already texted her and told her I’m here, so.”
“I told you, I don’t give a shit about this game. I think it’s dumb.”
“Well, I don’t. I’m still planning on winning.” I put on the next song for the cake walk, and all the kids run into position. “So are you and Genevieve back together?”
He makes a rude sound. “What do you care?”
Again I shrug. “I knew you’d be back with her eventually.”
Peter smarts at this. He turns like he’s going to leave, but then he stops. Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “You never answered my question about McClaren. Was that a date?”
“What do you care?”
His nostrils flare. “I fucking care because you were my girlfriend up until a few weeks ago. I don’t even remember why we broke up.”
“If you can’t remember, then I don’t know what to say to you.”
“Just tell the truth. Don’t dick me around.” His voice cracks on the word “dick.” Any other time we would have laughed about it. I wish we could now. “What’s going on with you and McClaren?”
There’s a lump in my throat that’s making it hard to talk all of a sudden. “Nothing.” Just a kiss. “We’re friends. He’s been helping me with the game.”
“How convenient. First he’s writing you letters, now he’s driving you around town and hanging out with you at a nursing home.”
“You said you didn’t care about the letters.”
“Well, I guess I did.”
“Then maybe you should have said so.” Kitty’s looking over at us, her forehead pinched. “I don’t walk to talk about this anymore. I’m here to work.”
Peter eyes me. “Have you kissed him?”
Do I tell the truth? Do I have to? “Yes. Once.”
He blinks. “So you’re telling me I’ve been living the life of a celibate person ever since we started this stupid game—before, even—and meanwhile you’re fooling around with McClaren?”
“We’re broken up, Peter. Meanwhile, when we were actually together, you were with Genevieve—”
He throws his head back and yells, “I didn’t kiss her!” Some of the adults turn and look at us.
“You had your arms around her,” I whisper-yell. “You were holding her!”
“I was comforting her. God! She was crying! I told you! Did you do it to get back at me?” Peter wants me to say yes. He wants it to have been about him. But I wasn’t thinking about Peter when I kissed John. I kissed him because I wanted to.
“No.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches. “When we broke up, you said you wanted to be someone’s number one girl, but look at you. You don’t want to have a number one guy.” He gestures rudely at the cake table. “You want to have your cake and eat it too.”
His words sting just the way he intends them to. “I hate that saying. What does it even mean? Of course I want to have my cake and eat it too—otherwise what’s the point of having cake?”
He frowns at me. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
The song finishes then, and the kids come over to claim their cakes. Kitty and Owen, too. “Let’s go,” Owen says to Peter. He’s got my caramel cake.
Peter glances down at him and then back at me, his eyes hard. “I don’t want that one.”
“That’s the one you told me to get!”
“Well, I don’t want it anymore. Put it back and get the Funfetti down there at the end.”
“You can’t have it,” Kitty tells him. “That’s not how a cake walk works. You take the cake with the number you were standing on.”
Peter’s mouth falls open in shock. “Aw, come on, kid.”
Kitty moves closer to me. “Nope.”
After Peter and his brother leave, I hug Kitty from behind. She was on my side after all. Song girls stick together.
52
KITTY WANTED TO STAY LONGER at the fair, so it’s just me driving alone when I spot Genevieve’s car on the road. And just like that, I’m following her. It’s time to take this girl down.
She’s still daring. The way she zips through traffic lights, I almost lose her a few times. I’m not a good enough driver for this, I want to scream at her.
We finally end up at an office building, one I recognize as her dad’s. She goes inside, and I park in the same strip mall, but not too close. I turn off the engine and recline my seat back so she can’t see me.
Ten minutes pass, and nothing. I don’t even know why she’d be at her dad’s office on a weekend. Maybe she’s helping her dad’s secretary? I might be stuck here for a while. But I will wait forever if need be. I will win, no matter what. I don’t even care about the prize. I just want the win.
I’m about to doze off when two people come out of the building—her dad, in a suit and a camel coat, and a girl. I duck low in my seat. At first I think it’s Genevieve, but this girl is taller. I squint. I recognize her. She was Margot’s year; I think they were in Key Club together. Anna Hicks. They walk out to the parking lot together; he walks her to her car. She’s fumbling for her keys. He grabs her arm and turns her face to his. And then they’re kissing. Passionately. Tongue. Hands everywhere.
Oh my God. She’s Margot’s age. Just eighteen. Genevieve’s dad is kissing her like she’s a grown woman. He’s a dad. She’s somebody’s daughter.
I feel sick inside. How could he do this to Genevieve’s mom? To Gen? Does she know? Is this the hard thing she’s been going through? If my dad ever did such a thing, I could never look at him the same way. I don’t know that I could look at my life the same way. It would be such a betrayal, not just of our family, but of himself, of who he is as a person.
I don’t want to see any more. I keep my head down until they both drive out of the parking lot, and I’m about to start my car too when Genevieve walks out, her arms crossed, shoulders bent.
Oh dear God. She’s spotted me. Her eyes are narrow; she’s heading straight for me. I want to drive away, but I can’t. She’s standing right in front of me, angrily motioning for me to roll down the window. So I do, but it’s hard to look her in the eyes.
She snaps out, “Did you see?”
Weakly I say, “No. I didn’t see anything . . .”
Genevieve’s face goes red; she knows I’m lying. For a second I am terrified she is going to cry, or hit me. I wish she would just hit me. “Go ahead,” she manages. “Tag me out. That’s what you came here for.” I shake my head, and then she grabs my hands off the steering wheel and slaps them on her collarbone. “There. You win, Lara Jean. Game over.”
And then she runs to her car.
There’s a Korean word my grandma taught me. It’s called jung. It’s the connection between two people that can’t be severed, even when love turns to hate. You still have those old feelings for them; you can’t ever completely shake them loose of you; you will always have tenderness in your heart for them. I think this must be some part of what I feel for Genevieve. Jung is why I can’t hate her. We’re tied.
And jung is why Peter can’t let her go. They’re tied too. If my dad did what her dad did, wouldn’t I reach out to the one person who never turned me away? Who was always there, who loved me more than anyone? Peter is that person for Genevieve. How can I begrudge her that?