Peter Kavinsky személy
I don’t answer. I just kiss him.
I open my eyes and Peter’s staring at me with that same expression on his face. Very sincerely I say, “Thank you.” He replies, “You’re welcome,” and I hop out of his arms and sprint off in the opposite direction.
Do you know what it’s like to like someone so much you can’t stand it and know that they’ll never feel the same way? Probably not. People like you don’t have to suffer through those kinds of things.
I’d never thought of him any kind of way before that kiss. He was too pretty, too smooth. Not my type of boy at all. But after he kissed me, he was all I could think about for months after.
I run up to Peter and launch myself into his arms like a shot out of a cannon. I’ve got my arms around his neck and my legs hooked around his waist, and I don’t even know how my body knows how, because I’ve for sure never touched a boy like this in my life.
My first thought is: I have muscle memory of his lips.
My second thought is: I hope Josh is watching. He has to be watching or it’s all for nothing.
“I don’t get what you’re so upset about. I did you a favor. I could have just as easily blown up your spot.”
I pause. He’s right. He could have. “So why didn’t you?”
“You’ve sure got a funny way of saying thank you. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Automatically I say, “Thank you.” Wait. Why am I thanking him? “I appreciate you
letting me kiss you, but – ”
“You’re welcome,” he says again.
“But aren’t you, though? I mean, you guys have been together since the seventh grade. You’re basically her property.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter scoffs.
“There was a rumor last year that she made you get a tattoo of her initials on your butt for her birthday.” I pause. “So did you?” I reach around him and fake try to lift up the back of his shirt. He yelps and jumps away from me, and I collapse in a fit of giggles. “So you do have a tattoo!”
“I don’t have a tattoo!” he yells.