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The school doesn’t do this for every game and rarely for something that’s not basketball or football. Really, one of her floormates claims it’s only because the rivalry between UVA and UNC is so ridiculously fierce that the men’s lacrosse team wants as many Tar Heels in attendance as possible, hopeful to drown a sea of navy and orange in Carolina blue and white.
Which isn’t exactly Lara Jean’s intention, but, hey, if it gets her to Charlottesville without having to drive that’s a big win in her book.
—
Her floormate, Jessica, is a peppy blonde with wide green eyes and the biggest crush on the lacrosse team’s sophomore goalie. They share World History together and have exchanged Instagrams and he’s apparently utterly perfect. They’re all gathered in the sixth floor’s common room—Jessica, Lara Jean and her roommate Olivia, and Mabel and Liz, who live at their end of the hallway—when Olivia leans across the couch and asks with a sly grin, “Doesn’t your boyfriend play lacrosse, Lara Jean?”
She can feel her cheeks blush pink as the others glance over at her, “Yeah, he was captain of our high school team. And, he’s at UVA now on a lacrosse scholarship.”
Jessica squeals in her ear, “That’s perfect! David was talking about how they’re playing UVA next weekend and that the student fan group is renting a bus to drive up to the match. We should totally go! It’s all free and, like, apparently they party at UVA before coming back later that night.”
Lara Jean wrinkles her nose, a charter bus filled with college lacrosse fans she doesn’t know daydrinking on their way to a conference rival doesn’t sound exactly how she’d like to spend a Saturday morning. But, surprising Peter by showing up wearing his sweater she stole over winter break and painting his number on her cheek like they were still in high school would be well worth it. It’s not like she has to take the bus back to UNC with everyone else. Maybe she could convince Peter to drive her back the next day and they could take Kitty out to the Corner Cafe in the morning to share a plate of blueberry pancakes.
The girls are silent as they wait for her decision, Jessica’s gaze pleading as Lara Jean worries away at her bottom lip. She shrugs, finally, putting the blonde out of her misery, “why not, it could be fun.” There’s a loud cheer that quickly dissolves into insistent planning and Lara Jean finds the excitement contagious as she joins in with the rest of them.
—
She Facetimes Peter that night, body wrapped around the ridiculous panda pillow pet he hid in her dad’s trunk the day she drove off to Chapel Hill. His hair sticks up in all directions and the florescent lighting of his dorm throws his face into stark relief, all chiseled cheekbones and sharp jawlines. He’s talking about something that happened in his introductory chemistry class that reminded him of an experiment Kitty had talked him into last summer and Lara Jean thinks she could sit and listen to him talk for hours about anything, the low cadence of his voice as soothing as a cup of night-night tea.
He catches her daydreaming, eyes alight in mischief that only highlights the gold flecks in his eyes, when she deflects to his upcoming match causing him to groan and collapse against his bed. “I wish it was a travel game so I could see you,” he says, face half smushed into his pillow. “It would be awesome and I could show you off to all my teammates. Like, look how incredible and adorable my girlfriend is.”
Lara Jean smiles, it’s a sad thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she aches for the what could have beens of her college years, stuck to Peter’s side and conquering UVA together.
“I miss you,” says Peter, desperate and whiny. Not quite the sentimental, romantic declaration that Lara Jean would prefer, but heartfelt enough and capturing all of her same frustrations. “This sucks. I wish I didn’t have a game tomorrow. Otherwise I would drive down and we could just stay in your bed and watch movies all weekend long.”
“That sounds nice,” she says, twirling a fallen lock of hair and biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from spilling her surprise. It’ll be better, she tells herself sternly, to see that flash of confusion cross his face before the wide smile that will inevitably follow and the bear hug she’s guaranteed to get. Instead, she adds on, “I’ll make sure to wear my most obnoxious Virginia gear in your honor next weekend.”
“See that you do, Covey,” he replies, just as seriously. “Don’t forget, you’re my good luck charm. My game’ll suck if you don’t.”
She giggles, the familiar swooping sensation filling her up and leaving her breathless with the knowledge that Peter Kavinsky is hers in every way possible. They talk until she starts nodding off, her eyes slipping closed only for her body to jolt awake to see Peter staring at her, amusement and concern deep in his hazel eyes. He’d once told her how he loved watching her sleep, after a marathon of Cary Grant films held in the Covey’s living room. It had been well past curfew on a night daddy had been called in for an emergency c-section. Neither of them had realized Kitty was still there until she had scoffed and flounced out of the room, Jamie Fox Pickle trailing after, shouting, “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
She and Peter had laughed, the moment so thoroughly broken, but when she’d walked him to the door and kissed him good night, he’d tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and told her to dream of me, Covey.
“Go to sleep, Lara Jean,” says Peter, his fingers twitch like he wants to touch her, but settle against his phone’s camera instead. “I’ll come and visit soon.”
She nods, “Good luck tomorrow. I love you.” She blows a silly kiss and Peter overacts, catching it and pressing it to his heart.
“Love you, Lara Jean. Always and forever.”
—
Olivia’s intently painting her nails a pale blue the Thursday before the lacrosse match when her head suddenly pops up and she fumbles with her bottle of polish. “What do you wear to a lacrosse game,” she asks, a look of horror across her face.
The five of them had spent last night in Jessica’s room digging through David’s Instagram, following the rabbit hole of tags to each player they could find. Mabel had kept a running list on her phone of the cutest guys on the team, the ones they should obviously be looking out for at the after party of course. Lara Jean had only been mildly interested, most of her energy focused on outdoing her sisters and Peter in sending the most adorable puppy gif to their group chat. Kitty had won, naturally, posting a boomerang of Jamie Fox Pickle that Margot had claimed was cheating and Peter had argued was inventive.
Olivia’s furiously blowing on her nails as she scrolls through her phone, no doubt trying to gather outfit inspiration to her first lacrosse game from Instagram, or maybe Pinterest.
Lara Jean shrugs, glancing away from the rough draft of her creative writing final, “Whatever you wear to football or basketball games, I guess.”
“What are you wearing?”
She’s had her outfit picked out since Monday night—her favorite denim skirt that buttons in the front and is the perfect dark wash of navy to complement the orange of her pilfered UVA lacrosse warm up hoodie. She’s ditched the socks and booties for a pair of tan suede knee high boots she picked up with Trina on their last trip to the mall. It’s too warm already in North Carolina to enjoy them, but they’ll be perfect for the crisp spring weather of Virginia.
“Oh, just a skirt and Peter’s sweatshirt,” she says, turning back to her computer, “Don’t forget, it’s gonna be colder in Charlottesville.”
Olivia swears and flaps her left hand as she launches herself off her bed and towards Lara Jean’s side of their narrow dorm room. She’s got a picture up on her phone, an old Instagram post from last year of Lara Jean and Pammy at the guys’ semifinals. They’d gone all out in navy and gold plaid skirts with their respective boyfriend’s jersey tucked in. Pammy’s ginger hair was pulled jauntily to the side and held up with a matching scrunchie. Lara Jean’s hair was down, a gold ribbon tied like a makeshift headband.
“You look adorable,” her roommate announces in a huff. “There’s no way I can look that cute this weekend.”
That’s an exaggeration, of course. Olivia, with her chocolate hued curls and impossibly long legs, looks incredible even in two-day old sweats and smeared mascara. But, Lara Jean understands the sentiment as they both stare critically at Olivia’s closet. As large of a role as sports played in her life during high school, they seem to be the social event every week in college, it’s no wonder her roommate wants to look good.
They spend the rest of the evening making a mess of the room and dancing around to Taylor Swift, creative writing final long forgotten. Olivia vetoes six of her suggestions before they finally pull together the one—a blue and white striped shirtdress, dressed down with a loose denim jacket and paired with near pristine white chucks. Mabel drops by for a final thumb’s up verdict and the three of them collapse on Lara Jean’s bed with a bag of Oreos and 10 Things I Hate About You on the flat screen.
—
She calls Kitty the next day, knowing it would be utterly selfish to come home and only see Peter even if that’s what she wants to do. They’ve been college students for less than seven months and Peter’s already driven down a half dozen times to see her. Kitty’s been stuck in Virginia, too young to make the trip south solo, and Lara Jean misses her little sister, can’t understand how Margot goes months on end without being in the physical presence of the people she loves the most.
It’s late afternoon and the kitchen is awash in weakening daylight. Trina is dressed for SoulCycle and daddy is home early for once.
They talk through making dinner, Kitty carrying most of the conversation as she flits around the big island, stealing bites every so often and generally being a menace. Trina comes and goes, refilling her glass of wine. It’s a spaghetti and meatballs kind of night and daddy stays at the stove, stirring noodles and adding, what Margot would deem, far too much oregano and basil. The tableau makes Lara Jean’s heart ache for the comforts of home.
There are tentative plans made for the weekend. Breakfast at the Corner Cafe or dinner at home, maybe a double feature of the next movies she and Peter have on their list. Kitty requests cookies and daddy requests hugs and Trina winks at her, requesting she just have fun.
Kitty is busy texting as Lara Jean says her goodbyes and she points a finger at her computer screen in warning, “If you spoil this surprise to Peter, I will kill you,” she threatens, and Kitty raises her arms in surrender.
“I’m just seeing if Owen’s going to the game, jeez.”
Lara Jean narrows her gaze and frowns, “I don’t trust you.”
“Your cavity inducing public display of affection isn’t even that noteworthy,” Kitty scoffs, “It was like totally inevitable. You guys can’t go two weeks without seeing each other.”
“That’s not—what do you—we don’t—”
“Face it, Lara Jean,” interrupts Kitty, pushing her glasses up her nose, “You guys are like eerily dependent on one another.”
If Lara Jean was home, she would’ve thrown a pillow in Kitty’s face. Instead, she just ends the call in a huff, cursing little sisters.
—
The bus leaves from the quad at 8AM sharp and Mabel lets everyone know her displeasure at the early hour as she chugs down a venti-sized black coffee. Jessica is bouncing on the tips of her toes; the lacrosse team had been loading on their own bus when they arrived and David had waved when he saw them.
The trip itself is pretty uneventful.
The coach bus is far nicer than the school buses they would rent for Adler’s annual ski trip and Lara Jean watches as people constantly switch seats, trading breakfast sandwiches and travel mugs full of coffee or mimosas.
She curls up in her seat, rests her head against the window, and tries to nap. Peter sent her a new Spotify playlist a few days ago and she loses herself in the familiar sounds, content to drowsily daydream.
Jessica slides into the empty seat next to her when they cross into Virginia. Her smile hasn’t dimmed and Lara Jean finds her energy infectious.
“Thanks,” she says as wide open fields turn into suburban sprawl.
“For what?” asks Lara Jean, nose scrunching up as she carefully rubs the sleep from her eyes.
“For saying yes.”
Jessica bumps their shoulders together and to Lara Jean—who’s spent most of freshmen year missing the easy camaraderie of Chris and Lucas and, god, even Trevor—finds a small victory in this growing friendship.
—
“Lara Jean! Hey, LJ!”
Her head turns at the shouting to see Kitty and Owen sitting on the bleachers a few rows away from where Peter’s mom and Trina are chatting. She rolls her eyes—typical Kitty with the subtlety of a brick wall—but she‘s about to make her apologies to her friends and hang out with two eighth graders when Jessica says, “We’ll come with! I can’t let you get away Lara Jean, you’re the only one of us who even slightly understands this sport.”
The rest laugh and pull her along, away from the dedicated UNC group sprawling on the open lawn and towards the parent section. They settle on the row just below Kitty and Owen, Trina waving excitedly at them and Mrs. Kavinsky offering a tight smile in greeting.
“Here,” Lara Jean says, tossing her duffle bag in Kitty’s lap to an undignified squawk. She quickly unzips the light blue bomber jacket she’s been wearing all morning, balling up the sateen fabric and stuffing it into an open space in the bag. She digs out Peter’s bright orange practice pullover, the words UVA LACROSSE stitched in navy on the front and KAVINSKY 15 proudly displayed on the back, and quickly pulls it on.
“Really?” remarks Kitty, thoroughly unimpressed with her older sister’s antics as she stashes the bulging bag under the bench.
“I’m sorry did you want me to be left stranded in the middle of nowhere when a bus full of Tar Heels discovered my true loyalties,” argues Lara Jean, pulling her hair out of the collar and up high into a ponytail before quickly dropping the strands.
“Whatever. Do you want a braid crown?” Kitty’s running her fingers through her hair, teasing out the few tangles, but Lara Jean shakes her head.
“Peter likes when my hair’s down.”
Owen and Kitty gag loudly, making the girls laugh. Kitty clears her throat and sticks a stiffened hand out, “Katherine Song Covey and—”
Olivia takes her hand first, “LJ’s little sister, right? I remember you from move-in.”
The rest introduce themselves, taking care to shake Kitty’s hand and greet Owen warmly. The crowd is still pretty tame, mainly family and friends of the players. The UVA student section has a group of students chatting and sharing boxes of nachos. The UNC crew is significantly larger and she can see some of the guys from the bus covertly knocking back cans of beer. Lara Jean peers around and recognizes a few men with clipboards and iPads, scouts from the few professional lacrosse leagues in the US. Peter had told her about them once, during a late-night car ride as they talked about improbable childhood dreams where he’d admitted to picking one of the few sports he’d never play in professionally. When she had prodded, Peter had deflected, joking instead about coaching the local park league lacrosse team as an old man.
“You almost missed it,” Kitty informs her, settling against the bleachers and stealing some of Owen’s popcorn.
“The game doesn’t start for, like, another forty minutes,” says Jessica, looking up from her phone in confusion. The other girls, too, frown in misunderstanding.
Kitty laughs, full-bellied and careless like a child, but Owen shares the inside joke, “Sure, but warm-ups start in the next ten and Peter always shows off for the crowd.”
Right on schedule, the UVA team runs across the field in white jerseys and navy helmets with the Cavaliers’ crossed swords stamped proudly on the side.
Lara Jean tracks Peter’s movements, gait unmistakable even with his face hidden by the helmet. She watches, silent, as he looks over to his mom and Trina, waving his stick at the pair and following the line of the bleachers to where Owen and Kitty are gathered. She can tell the exact moment he sees her, he’s talking to a teammate when his head jerks and he stumbles on the field, righting himself with the crosse stick and stopping at centerfield. He pushes the tip of his helmet up, tilting his head back, as if he can’t quite believe it, and Lara Jean giggles, feeling a smile stretch wide across her face as she waves at him.
Peter holds a hand up and looks back at the players’ bench and his distracted coach before peeling off from the group and removing his helmet. Lara Jean races down the steps of the bleachers to where he’s climbed the railing with utter carelessness.
“Surprise,” she says, quirking a grin at him.
Peter takes one hand off the railing to trail a finger down her cheek and pluck at the sweatshirt she wears. “I was wondering where that got to,” he tells her.
Lara Jean shrugs, “It’s colder up here.”
He smiles, wide and bright, and taps the tip of her nose. His hair is tousled, sweat already winding its way down the crown of his head, and all Lara Jean wants to do is kiss him and not let go.
Kitty seems to have the same thought as she shouts down at them, “God, Lara Jean will you kiss him already so the game can end.”
She turns around and glares at her little sister, already preening from the attention she’s getting from Lara Jean’s college friends. Peter huffs a laugh, she can see the way his nose crinkles up in amusement. “Well you heard the queen, Covey,” he teases, “You gonna kiss me or what?”
Lara Jean almost wants to reply or what and flounce off, but she’s been impatient to kiss Peter since she first got on the bus this morning and he looks so good in his uniform with the sun illuminating him from behind and the warm smile that she knows is just for her. She looks over to make sure Kitty and all the rest are still watching them and then she leans over the railing, gripping Peter’s collar in both hands and plants a kiss on him in front of everyone. There are a few hollers from the field, Peter’s teammates she’s sure, and even from the stands. Peter, for his part, doesn’t immediately break away. Instead, his free hand wraps around her neck, pulling her closer as he opens his mouth and bites down gently on her bottom lip. Lara Jean can hear the whine she makes when he pulls away, can feel herself chase his warmth. Peter’s grinning as he gives a few quick kisses before fully pulling away.
“Damn, Covey, that’s a hell of a good luck.”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, if she were to touch him again, Lara Jean doesn’t think she could let go. “Win the game and there’s more where that came from,” she says, instead, and pushes his shoulder lightly. Peter lets her, jumping back onto the field and staring up at her in wonder. In the sun, his eyes look more gold than green.
He pulls his helmet down and points a finger at her as he runs off and Lara Jean places a hand high on her cheek, can feel the goosebumps on her skin as her body cools quickly with the loss of Peter. She turns on her heel and walks purposefully back to her friends and sister. Kitty’s giving her a slow clap and Owen’s buried in a video game. Her friends all have their phones out and Lara Jean has no doubt her and Peter’s display is already all over their Instagram stories.
—
UNC wins 4-3. But, two of UVA’s goals were made by Peter and he played his longest game time as a freshman midfielder so far according to Owen, so Lara Jean counts the game as a win.
The UNC group is rowdy, everyone celebrating a hard-fought win. Jessica and Mabel run down to the field, surrounding David and effusing praise. Liz is slower to follow, hesitating on the last step and glancing over her shoulder at Olivia and Lara Jean, who wave her on.
“Sure you don’t wanna join in?” Olivia asks, gesturing towards their classmates. “I’m sure Peter knows the best places to go.”
Lara Jean shakes her head. Owen and Mrs. Kavinsky had left quickly after the game, weekend errands needing attending to. Trina had joined their little huddle, meeting the UNC group and asking dozens of questions before she and Kitty had departed to walk the dogs.
“I don’t think David would wanna hang out with the only guy who could score on him all game,” she says with a laugh. “it’s okay, go have fun! I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
Olivia nods, wraps her arms around Lara Jean in a brief hug, before running down the stairs to join their friends. She watches Olivia tell everyone her plans, gesturing over her shoulder. Lara Jean waves, smiling reassuringly, and they return the farewell—David, included—before blending in with the sea of blue and white.
Peter finds her not long after, sitting alone on the bleachers, halfway through a paperback she had stashed in her duffle at the last minute. He stops at the base of the stairs, looking every bit of the handsome boy that she loves.
“I’m sorry you lost.”
He shrugs, slowly climbing up towards her. “It’s fine. I played well enough that coach won’t be pissed.” He pauses, dumping his gear bag before settling beside her, a soft kiss pressed to her lips. “Did you plan this all by yourself?”
She shrugs, marking her page before closing the book and putting it to the side. She could tell Peter about Jessica’s love life, her friends’ desire to go on an adventure outside of Chapel Hill.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she says instead, leaning into his embrace. He’s showered and changed into normal clothes—jeans, a t-shirt, his favorite green bomber jacket—Lara Jean can smell the mix of laundry detergent, locker room soap, and that tangy, woodsy scent she always associates with Peter.
“I just, uh, wish you told me,” he says with a sheepish look as he rubs the back of his neck. “I had these plans, y’know with Trevor and...”
She watches him trail off as her jaw drops in offense.
“I’m kidding, Covey, kidding.”
She whacks him on the arm with her abandoned book while he laughs, arms wrapping around her in a silent apology. Lara Jean harrumphs, turning away, but she can feel his chin dig into her shoulder as he rests his head beside hers, lips ghosting up her neck and behind her ear, nibbling along that one stretch of skin that always makes her shiver.
They stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the campus slowly grows more active around them. She feels Peter huff a breath, the air warm against her skin. “So, I really get an entire twenty-four hours of Lara Jean,” he says in quiet disbelief, squeezing her in a hug.
She pulls back, making a face. “Well, actually, I, um, might have promised Kitty milkshakes at the Corner Cafe, too,” she admits, shoulder going up in a sheepish shrug.
Peter laughs, loud and uninhibited. It echoes across the grassy field and settles deep in Lara Jean’s soul. “Sounds perfect,” he says, before leaning down again to wrap her up in another long, lingering kiss where no crowds or teammates or sisters dare to interrupt.