“What’s Raisin Weekend?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure . . . it sounds like it was a mix between drinking a lot and Latin. I guess it’s a Scottish thing.”

“Would you do that?” Josh asks. “Would you go somewhere far away?”

I sigh. “No, probably not. That’s Margot, not me. It’d be nice to visit, though. Maybe my dad will let me go during spring break.”

“I think she’d like that a lot. I guess our Paris trip isn’t happening anymore, huh?” He laughs awkwardly, and then he clears his throat. “So wait, how are things going with Kavinsky?”

Before I can answer, the server comes back with our food. Josh pushes the bowl of soup so it’s in the middle of the table. “First sip?” he asks, holding up the milkshake.

Eagerly I nod and lean across the table. Josh holds the glass and I take a long sip. “Ahhh,” I say, sitting back down.

“That was a pretty big sip,” he says. “How come you never get your own?”

“Why should I when I know you’ll share?” I break off a piece of grilled cheese and dip it into the soup.

“So you were saying?” Josh prods. When I stare at him blankly, he says, “You were about to talk about Kavinsky . . .”

I was hoping this wouldn’t come up. I’m not in the mood to tell more lies to Josh. “Things are good.” Because Josh is looking at me like he’s expecting something more, I add, “He’s really sweet.”

Josh snorts.

“He’s not what you’d think. People are so quick to judge him, but he’s different.” I’m surprised to find I’m telling the truth. Peter isn’t what you’d think. He is cocky and he can be obnoxious and he’s always late, true, but there are other good and surprising things about him too. “He’s . . . not what you think.”

Josh gives me a dubious look. Then he dunks half his sandwich into the soup and says, “You already said that.”

“That’s because it’s true.” He shrugs at this like he doesn’t believe me. So I say, “You should see the way Kitty acts around Peter. She’s crazy about him.” I don’t realize it until the words are actually out of my mouth, but I say it to hurt him.

Josh tears off a hunk of grilled cheese. “Well, I hope she doesn’t get too attached.” Even though I’ve had that exact same thought for different reasons, it still hurts to hear.

Suddenly the easy Josh-and–Lara Jean feeling is lost. Josh is withdrawn and closed off, and I’m stinging from what he said about Peter, and it feels like playacting to sit across from each other and pretend it’s the same as the old days. How could it be, when Margot isn’t here? She is the point of our little triangle.

“Hey,” Josh says suddenly. I look up. “I didn’t mean that. That was a shitty thing to say.” He ducks his head. “I guess . . . I don’t know, maybe I’m just jealous. I’m not used to sharing the Song girls.”

I go soft inside. Now that he’s said this nice thing, I am feeling warm and generous toward him again. I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is, You may not be used to sharing us, but we’re very used to sharing you. “You know Kitty still loves you best,” I say, which makes him smile.

“I mean, I did teach her how to hock a loogie,” Josh says. “You don’t forget the person who teaches you something like that.” He takes a long sip of his milkshake. “Hey, they’re doing a Lord of the Rings marathon at the Bess this weekend. Wanna go?”

“That’s like . . . nine hours!”

“Yeah, nine hours of awesome.”

“True,” I agree. “I wanna go; I just have to check with Peter first. He said something about going to a movie this weekend, and—”

Josh cuts me off before I can finish. “It’s fine. I can just go with Mike. Or maybe I’ll take Kitty. It’s about time I introduced her to the genius that is Tolkien.”

I’m quiet. Are Kitty and I interchangeable in his mind? Are Margot and I?

We’re sharing a waffle when Genevieve walks into the diner with a little kid who I guess must be her little brother. Not her actual little brother; Gen is an only child. She’s the president of the Little Sib program. It’s where a high school student is paired up with an elementary school kid and you tutor them and take them out for fun days.

I slump down in my seat, but of course Gen still sees me. She looks from me to Josh, and then she gives me a little wave. I don’t know what to do so I just wave back. Something about the way she’s smiling at me is unsettling. It’s how genuinely happy she looks.

If Genevieve is happy, that’s not good for me.

At dinner I get a text from Peter. It says, If you’re going to hang out with Sanderson, can you at least not do it in public?

Under the table I read it over and over. Could it be that Peter’s the teensiest bit jealous? Or is he really just worried about how it looks to Genevieve?

“What do you keep looking at?” Kitty wants to know.

I put my phone down, facedown. “Nothing.”

Kitty turns to Daddy and says, “I bet it was a text from Peter.”

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 that 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.”

“He definitely likes her,” Kitty agrees, her mouth full. “He . . . he looks at you a lot, Lara Jean. When you’re not paying attention. He looks at you, to see if you’re having a good time.”

“He does?” My chest feels warm and glowy, and I can feel myself start to smile.

“I’m just happy to see you so happy. I used to worry about Margot taking on so many responsibilities at home and helping out the way she did. I didn’t want her to miss out on her high school experience. But you know Margot. She’s so driven.” Daddy reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “To see you now, going out and doing things and making new friends . . . it makes your old man very happy. Very, very happy.”