PK / PETER KAVINSKY

22.

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Learning from previous mistakes, I'd stationed myself on the couch in our lounge since the early hour of 5 this evening to ensure I would be able to make a quick (and ideally unnoticed) getaway when Peter eventually arrived.

It appeared that Sam had cottoned on to the fact that today was not the day for any snide boyfriend jokes and he kept the 'Jamie Kavinsky' jibes down to an all-time low of zero! Small wins, small wins.

I swept the TV remote up from where it lay on the couch, rewinding the episode of B99 I had been watching back a whole 10 minutes. I hadn't taken in any of it. What with the prospect of an extremely awkward chat with Peter looming before me it was fair to say that my ability to concentrate had hit rock bottom.

I picked at my already chipped nail varnish distractedly, whipping my head round to check behind the curtains everytime I heard the rev of a car engine passing.

The clock hanging above the fireplace read 17:55 when Orange slunk in through the door and leapt up beside me, butting my elbow and meowing aggressively to get some attention.

"Hi baby." I cooed softly down at her as she rolled onto her back, waving her dainty paws at me in delight as I tickled her stomach.

Her ears pricked up as the loud, rusty juddering of an old engine came closer towards the house.

Both Orange and I sprang up from the couch with a start. I ripped the curtains back and in the haze of the sun beginning to set, spotted the lights of Peter's truck come to a halt just out of sight at the end of our drive.

Orange gave a meow of protestation as I ran out into the corridor, shutting the door quickly behind me so she couldn't follow me into the street. Orange had a bad habit of spending the night in our elderly neighbour's house where we suspected she was receiving inordinate amounts of cat food. Well that, or she was in line for breaking the world record of how many kittens a cat can give birth to.

"Sorry bub!" I apologised through the wood of the door.

"Honey, you know she can't understand you?" Mom laughed from where she was boiling the kettle to make some tea, the door to the kitchen left ajar.

"It's fine, all the neighbours think I'm insane anyway when they hear me talking to her. I've got no reputation to uphold." I replied sarcastically.

Mom smiled as she watched me hop around, trying to pull on my sneakers.

"Where are you off to then J?"

"Oh just Lara-Jean's, Chris is there too. Gonna be a movie marathon I think."

The harmless lie tripped off my tongue easily. A wash of shame rippled through me as I looked back into my mom's unsuspecting face but I shook the feeling off quickly. It wasn't like I was getting up to anything illegal. And, in truth, I was heading to Lara-Jean's for a movie marathon once the ordeal with Peter was finally over.

"Sounds like fun, you need me to grab some stuff from the kitchen? Popcorn? Drinks?" Mom offered helpfully, her hand reached up to open the snack drawer above her head.

"Uhh, yeah sure, why not?" I said hurriedly, worried that Peter would start beeping the truck horn if I made him wait any longer.

With a sinking feeling I studied my reflection in the mirror as Mom rifled through various cupboards.

I'd chosen to go for the 'not trying too hard' look with minimal make-up, gray sweatpants and an oversized yellow sweatshirt. In hindsight, (and confronted with heavily pigmented dark circles and the least form-fitting clothes I owned), I concluded that maybe there wasn't so much of a problem with putting in a little effort every now and then. I sighed, running my fingers through my hair to try and make it look presentable, too late now anyway.