PK / PETER KAVINSKY

17.

Inevitably, Saturday came around extraordinarily quickly and no matter how hard I had tried throughout the week to will Gabe's house party out of existence, the fact still remained that Peter was definitely bringing me along with him. Potentially kicking and screaming the whole car journey over, but definitely going. If you hadn't guessed, public humiliation wasn't really my thing.

As if the day could not get any worse, I had received an untimely text from Peter at the ungodly hour of 4AM telling me that he'd, (quoting directly from the message), "really really really like me to come" and watch the lacrosse match that was taking place before the party. 

According to the reliable source of Peter himself, apparently he'd 'forgotten' to mention he wanted me to come to this match during the week, even though we had spent most mornings shuttling back and forth from my house to school on our usual lift share.

I guess having a killer jawline doesn't necessarily mean you're organised.

Luckily for him, I had been woken up by a stream of light flooding through my half-shut curtains somewhere near 7:30 and had blearily checked my phone to see the fateful text asking me to come and watch the lacrosse match.

After hauling myself out from under the warm covers of my bed I trod softly down the stairs so as to avoid waking Mom up, who had still not quite gotten over her red-eye flight. For someone whose job description entails trans-Atlantic flights, it still astounds me that it takes her over five whole days to get used to the time difference. Whatever the case, Mom was notoriously grouchy in the days that followed a long trip and God forbid anyone who disturbs her mid-sleep. 

Dad, who was already in his office with the door ajar, looked surprised to see me up out of bed so early.

"Are you feeling OK? Not under the weather?" The glint in his eye told me he was pulling my leg.

"No, no. Just thought I would be the lovely older sister I am and take Sam to the lacrosse match today." I replied in a sardonic tone.

Dad checked his watch,

"You do realise it's 7:48 J? I don't think I've ever seen you up earlier than 11 on a Saturday before." He chuckled.

I shoved some bread down in the toaster and shook my head ruefully,

"You have no faith in me, do you? What if I told you I just wanted to get into some good weekend habits?"

"And does one of those habits concern a certain Mr Kavinsky?" Dad unsuccessfully attempted to keep a straight face. 

"And what is that supposed to mean?!" I spluttered, hoping I wasn't about to get a re-run of Dad's 'birds and the bees' lecture that I had been subjected to in 9th grade.

"What's going on?" 

Thankfully Sam spared me the task of continuing the conversation at hand as he entered the kitchen and headed over to the toaster.

"No you don't." I barred his way to the counter just as the toast popped up. "This is all my hard work so I'm the one who gets to eat it."

Sam wrinkled his nose,

"You're so annoying." He complained.

"Respect your elders." I ruffled his already messy hair and began buttering the toast.

"So Sam, Jamie was just telling me about her sudden interest in 'lacrosse'." Dad mimed quote marks and gave a not so subtle wink towards Sam.

"Well, you know me, massive sports fan." I intoned sarcastically.

"If by sports you mean your 6ft something boyfriend in sweaty sports kit -"

"Oh my God. DAD!" I yelled, covering my ears with my hands.