I wonder what it’s like to have that much power over a boy. I don’t think I’d want it; it’s a lot of responsibility to hold a person’s heart in your hands.

Peter and Lara Jean holding hands in the cafeteria

Buttering a roll, my dad says, “I like Peter.” 
"You do?“ I say. 
Daddy nods. “He’s a good kid. He’s really taken with you, Lara Jean.” 
"Taken with me?“ I repeat. 
To me Kitty says, "You sound like a parrot.” To Daddy she says, “What does smitten mean? Taken by her?” 
“It means he’s charmed by her,“ Daddy explains. "He’s smitten.” 
“Well, what’s smitten?” 
He chuckles and stuffs the roll in Kitty’s open, perplexed mouth. “It means he likes her.”

I’ve never gotten a love letter before. But reading these notes like this, one after the other, it feels like I have. It’s like … it’s like there’s only ever been Peter. Like everyone else that came before him, they were all to prepare me for this.

My arms are at my sides so the jets won’t make my skirt fly up. Peter’s holding my face in his hands, kissing me. “Are you okay?” he whispers. His voice is different: it’s ragged and urgent and vulnerable somehow. He doesn’t sound like the Peter I know; he is not smooth or bored or amused. The way he’s looking at me now, I know he would do anything I asked, and that’s a strange and powerful feeling.

#peter, did you even try

bonus: 

You can put your hand in my back pocket. Hand in your back pocket? What the hell is that? Sixteen Candles? It’s the opening image. It’s a couples thing. Yeah, maybe in the 70’s.

Being with Peter was so easy that sometimes I let myself pretend it wasn’t fake.

So if I went all the way across town to get something you like, that means … You must really like yogurt? You are impossible.