As we round the corner for our third lap, I catch Peter Kavinsky looking at me. I thought I was imagining it at first, him staring in my direction, but this is the third time. He’s playing ultimate Frisbee with some of the guys. When we pass them, Peter jogs over to us and says, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Chris and I look at each other. “Her or me?” she asks.
Chris puts her arm around my shoulder protectively. “Go ahead. We’re listening.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “I want to talk to her in private.”
“Fine,” she snaps, and she flounces away. Over her shoulder she looks back at me with wide eyes, like What? I shrug back, like I have no idea!
In a low, quiet voice, Peter says, “Just so you know, I don’t have any STDs.”
What in the world? I stare at him, my mouth open. “I never said you had an STD!”
His voice is still low but actually furious. “I also don’t always take the last piece of pizza.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s what you said. In your letter. How I’m an egotistical guy who goes around giving girls STDs. Remember?”
“What letter? I never wrote you any letter!”
Wait. Yes I did. I did write him a letter, about a million years ago. But that’s not the letter he’s talking about. It couldn’t be.
“Yes. You. Did. It was addressed to me, from you.”
Oh, God. No. No. This isn’t happening. This isn’t reality. I’m dreaming. I’m in my room and I’m dreaming and Peter Kavinsky is in my dream, glaring at me. I close my eyes. Am I dreaming? Is this real?
I open my eyes. I’m not dreaming, and this is real. This is a nightmare. Peter Kavinsky is holding my letter in his hand. It’s my handwriting, my envelope, my everything. “How--how did you get that?”
“It came in the mail yesterday.” Peter sighs. Gruffly he says, “Listen, it’s no big deal; I just hope you’re not going around telling people--”
“It came in the mail? To your house?”
I feel faint. I actually feel faint. Please let me faint right now, because if I faint I will no longer be here, in this moment. It will be like in movies when a girl passes out from the horror of it all and the fighting happens while she is asleep and she wakes up in a hospital bed with a bruise or two, but she’s missed all the bad stuff. I wish that was my life instead of this.
Jenny Han (To All the Boys I've Loved Before (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #1))