I think the perfect high school night will end up being some random little nothing moment that you didn’t plan or expect; it just happened. I think I’ve already had like twelve perfect high school nights, with Peter, so I don’t need prom to be epic. When I picture my prom night, I picture Peter in a tux, being polite to my dad, putting a corsage on Kitty. All of us taking a picture by the mantel. I make a mental note to ask Peter to get an extra little corsage for her.
“So does that mean you aren’t going?” I ask Lucas.
He sighs again. “I don’t know. There’s no one here I would even want to go with.”
“If I wasn’t going with Peter, I would ask you,” I say. Then I look from Lucas to Chris. “Hey, why don’t you guys go together?”
“I’m not going to prom,” Chris says. “I’ll probably go clubbing in DC with my Applebee’s people.”
“Chris, you can’t not go to prom. You can go clubbing with your Applebee’s friends anytime. We only get one senior prom.”
My birthday’s the day after prom and I’m a little hurt that Chris seems to have forgotten. If she goes clubbing in DC, she’ll probably stay all weekend and I won’t even see her on my actual birthday.
“Prom’s going to be lame. No offense. I mean, I’m sure you’ll have fun, Lara Jean; you’re going with the prom king. And what’s that girl’s name you’re friends with now? Tammy?”
“Pammy,” I say. “But it won’t be fun if you’re not there.”
She puts her arm around me. “Aww.”
“We always said we’d go to prom together and watch the sun rise over the elementary school playground!”
“You can watch it with Kavinsky.”
“That’s not the same!”
“Calm down,” Chris says. “You’re probably going to lose your V that night anyway, so I’ll be the last thing you’ll be thinking about.”
“I wasn’t planning on having sex on prom night!” I hiss. My eyes dart over at Lucas, who is looking at me, bug-eyed.
“Lara Jean . . . you and Kavinsky haven’t had sex yet?”
I look to make sure no one’s in the hallway listening. “No, but please don’t tell anybody. Not that I’m ashamed of it or anything. I just don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
“I get it, obviously, but wow,” he says, still sounding shocked. “That’s . . . wow.”
“Why is it so wow?” I ask him, and I can feel my cheeks warming.
“He’s so . . . hot.”
I laugh. “That’s true.”
“There’s a reason why having sex on prom night is a thing,” Chris says. “I mean, yes, it’s tradition, but also, everybody’s dressed up, you get to stay out all night . . . Most of these people will never look as good as they do on prom night, grooming-wise, and that’s sad. All these lemmings getting their manis and their pedis and their blowouts. So basic.”
“Don’t you get blowouts?” Lucas says.
Chris rolls her eyes. “Of course.”
I say, “Then why are you judging other people for—”
“Look, that’s not my point here. My point is . . .” She frowns. “Wait, what were we talking about?”
“Blowouts, manis, lemmings?” Lucas says.
“Before that.”
“Sex?” I suggest.
“Right! My point is, losing your virginity on prom night is a cliché, but clichés are clichés for a reason. There’s a practicality to it. You get to stay out all night, you look great, et cetera, et cetera. It just makes sense.”
“I’m not having sex for the first time because it’s convenient and my hair looks good, Chris.”
“Fair enough.”
I don’t know for sure, but I imagine my first time will probably be at college, in my own room, as an adult. It’s hard to imagine it happening now, at home, when I’m Lara Jean the sister and the daughter. At college, I’ll just be Lara Jean.
14
IT’S DECIDED THAT DADDY WILL propose to Ms. Rothschild on Saturday, after hiking on one of their favorite trails. He’s going to do it right by a waterfall. The plan is for Peter and Kitty and me to hide behind trees and record the whole thing, then pop out with a romantic picnic basket. Daddy was nervous about the video part, in case Ms. Rothschild doesn’t say yes, but Kitty begged. “It’s for Margot,” she kept saying, when really she’s just nosy and wants to see it go down. Of course I do too. Peter’s along for the ride, literally. He’s giving us a ride.
That morning, before he leaves to pick up Ms. Rothschild, Daddy says, “Guys, if it doesn’t look like it’s going to be a yes, can you stop videotaping?”
I’m carefully wrapping roast beef sandwiches in wax paper. I look up to say, “She’s going to say yes.”
“Just promise me you’ll quietly slip away,” he says. He gives Kitty a pointed look.
“You got it, Dr. Covey,” Peter says, lifting his hand for a high five.
As they slap hands, I say, “Daddy, did you pack the ring?”
“Yup!” Then he frowns. “Wait, did I?” He pats his pockets and unzips the inside compartment of his windbreaker. “Damn, I forgot it!” Then he runs upstairs.
Peter and I exchange a look. “I’ve never seen your dad so stressed out,” he says, popping a grape in his mouth. “He’s usually a cool customer.”
I slap Peter’s hand away from the grapes.
Kitty steals a grape and says, “He’s been like this all week.”
Daddy runs back downstairs with the engagement ring. Kitty and I helped him pick it out. It’s a white-gold princess cut with a diamond halo. I was certain about the princess cut and Kitty was certain about the halo.
Daddy heads off to pick up Ms. Rothschild, and I finish putting together the picnic basket. I’m glad to have an excuse to bring it out. I bought it from a yard sale ages ago, and I haven’t used it once. I pack a bottle of champagne, a perfect cluster of grapes, the sandwiches, a wedge of Brie, crackers.
“Pack a bottle of water, too,” Peter says. “They’ll be dehydrated from the hike.”
“And probably from all the crying after she says yes,” Kitty says.
“Should we play some music for them, when he gets down on one knee?” Peter suggests.
“We didn’t discuss that part of the plan, and Daddy’s nervous enough as it is,” I say. “He can’t be thinking about how we’re hiding in the bushes waiting to cue up music for them. It’ll make him self-conscious.”
“Besides, we can add the music in post,” Kitty says. “We need to be able to hear the dialogue.”
I give her a look. “Katherine, this isn’t a movie. This is real life.”
I leave them to go to the downstairs bathroom, and after I wash my hands, I’m turning off the faucet when I hear Kitty say, “Peter, when Lara Jean’s gone, will you still come visit me sometimes?”
“Course I will.”
“Even if you guys break up?”