Oops, I wrote and posted this all after 2 in the morning, but I wanted to get it out. I'm really glad you all liked the last chapter, I was nervous about that one. Do you guys want more of stuff like that or no?

As always, I loved the reviews. You guys are the best :)

Chris is back in this one as well as John Ambrose McClaren, but we're saying good-bye to one of them forever. Lucas will definitely be featured going forward - he & Lara Jean stayed in touch, and they're going to be living in the same city now. Still undecided about Genevieve because I'm not sure if I can write her as a decent human being since she was terrible in the books, but I'll see.

Without further ado, here's chapter 8!

Disclaimer: Jenny Han owns these wonderful characters and their stories.

May 2022

You never realize how quickly time passes until you're standing in line at your college commencement ceremony, trying to figure out a polite way to tell the boy standing behind you that he's stepping on the edge of your gown.

It's like one day you're graduating from high school and the world is yours for the taking, college stretching out in front of you as your first adventure into the unknown. And then you blink and it's over, and suddenly the rest of your life has arrived.

Boy-who-overdid-it-on-the-cologne steps off my gown, snapping me out of my metaphysical internal monologue and alleviating my crushing anxiety over what to do if he was still standing on it when they called my name to go on stage. I breathe a sigh of relief, straightening.

As I do, I spot my family sitting in the crowd. Daddy is looking teary-eyed already – just like he did when it was Margot's turn two years ago – and Trina is patting him on the arm. She looks pretty in a white dress that shows off her tanned legs. Margot is sitting next to her; she made the four-and-a-half-hour drive down from D.C just to witness my special moment. Sitting in the last two seats of their row are Peter and Kitty, who is whispering something into his ear. He looks so handsome in his light blue button down that my heart swells.

It means so much to me that he's here to see this. Last weekend, I drove down to UVA for his commencement ceremony. I felt an overwhelming surge of pride as I watched him cross the stage and accept his diploma.

Back when we were dating in high school, I used to get this sad, yearning feeling at the thought of Peter becoming a man. Mostly because I believed that I would never get to meet the all grown-up version of Peter Kavinsky; that the boy he was back then would go to UVA and meet someone else and forget that once upon a time, he used to be with a girl like me.

Watching him walk across the stage last week, I felt like I was seeing Peter as a man, not a boy, for the first time. And, not only had I gotten the chance to meet him, he was still mine.

"Alexandra Cohen," the headmaster calls out the name of the girl in front of me, who immediately begins her ascent up to the stage. I'm suddenly the one standing at the base of the stairs, waiting to hear my name be called. Irrationally, I'm nervous.

It's just four steps and then across the stage, I tell myself. I can do it, even in heels. And, oh crap, I need to give the headmaster my best handshake. Not the weak, flimsy one I use on strangers when I'm taken aback by a sudden outstretched hand. I need a firm, confident shake. Should I have practiced on Harper last night?

"Lara Jean Song Covey."

Be cool, Lara Jean.

I force a smile onto my face as I walk up the steps and over to where the headmaster is standing. My smile becomes real as I look out into the crowd and see my family waving back at me, Kitty trying to take a picture on her cellphone as Peter tries to help her find the best angle.

Turning back towards the stage, I grasp the headmaster's hand and shake it as resolutely as I can. He gives me a gentle smile, "Congratulations, Lara Jean." I accept my diploma.

As I prepare to exit the stage, I turn back to the crowd one last time and move the tassel on my cap from one side to the other. And then it's done.

I'm officially a college graduate.

xxx

Harper and I want to take our picture together on the quad where we hung out for the very first time. I still remember it perfectly: we were sitting in a comfortable silence in our dorm room studying for exams we had the next week when she looked over at me and said, "It's a perfect day. Let's not waste it in here."

Did I waste it? My college years, I mean. Life will never be this simple again. Did I meet enough people, go to enough parties, take enough chances?

I look over at Harper, who's trying to tug the neckline of her dress further down to look good for the photos. Yes, I decide definitively, before banishing the rest of these thoughts from my mind. Man, this whole graduating stuff really does make a person all introspective.

We take pictures posing in four different ways. My favorite is the last one. We're not making silly faces like in the others, just smiling widely with our arms around each other. I feel choked up suddenly and when I look at her, her eyes go wide.

"No. Don't you start with that emotional crap right now, LJ, otherwise we're both going to be crying. It's not the end for us yet, kiddo."

She's right, both in the sense of the immediate and the future. We're definitely planning on keeping in touch while we're living in Chicago and New York. And, right now, she's heading back with me to Virginia to attend a party Daddy and Trina are throwing in my honor at the house. In a surprising twist of events, Chris – who I've kept in touch with only through the odd text here and there – is going to be there as well. My past colliding with my present.

I hug her, hard. She squeezes me back just as tightly before saying she has to run to the bathroom before we start the trip home. My family is already on their way since they need to get everything ready. Peter is driving me and Harper back. I'm one of those lucky people whose boyfriend and best friend get along perfectly; it makes sense, they both have those loud, magnetic personalities. Unlike me, both of them are usually the immediate center of attention when they enter a room.

I'm shoving my phone back into the little clutch Margot has lent me for the day when I hear a familiar voice say, "Lara Jean?"

I already know who it is before I turn around. John Ambrose McClaren. I shake my head ruefully; of course, the universe would throw this at me today. I've only seen him around campus a handful of times in the two years he's been here, and those interactions have mostly just been awkward smiles and weird moments of eye-contact like I know you. Yet, somehow, on the day I leave, he is here again, boyish and angelic and hopeful.

"John," I try to force sincerity into my voice, "Congratulations." I nod towards the diploma in his hand.

"You too," he says hurriedly before stepping forward, "Lara Jean-"

I hold up a hand to stop him, feeling a sweat already breaking out on my forehead. "Stop, John. Please."

But he just shakes his head, moving even closer. "I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life if I don't say this, so just let me get it out." He takes a deep breath. "Lara Jean, you were my first crush. Before I met you, I thought all girls were annoying and had cooties. But you were different. You didn't try to always tag along with the boys, you only spoke up when you had something meaningful to say rather than blabbing all the time like Gen and Chris, and you were so careful about everything. Like that bracelet Gen gave you. You never let anyone else touch it and you never pulled on it because you were scared it would fray."

My heart is hurting for him. How does he remember all of this? How can I possibly tell him he has no chance after this is over?

"You were my first kiss, too. It was probably the greatest moment of middle school for me, even though it was so short, and I was too nervous to even touch you. When I moved away, the thing I was most sad about was losing you. But then, I got your letter and I found out that you felt that way about me too. Suddenly, I had hope. It had been years, Lara Jean, but the second I got your response to my first letter, I started liking you again. Since then, I've never really stopped."

What is he doing? Why is he doing it? What is he trying to achieve? I glance around with panicky eyes. Peter is around somewhere. He could walk over and hear this at any moment now.

"When we said good-bye once, Lara Jean," he says, looking up at me for the first time during all of this, "You said maybe we could have a shot one day. So, I have to ask. Do you still believe that?"

I'm already shaking my head when I meet his eyes. His face falls, but I step forward, grabbing his arm. Despite everything, there was a time where I truly believed I was in love with him. I can't leave it like this.

"You're a wonderful guy, John Ambrose McClaren. One day, you'll find someone who deserves you and she'll be luckiest girl in the world. But she isn't me." I smile. "My heart already belongs to somebody else."

He nods, acceptance on his face along with the hurt. I feel an arm slip around my shoulders and inhale the smell of Peter's cologne. I look up at him and there's no hardness in his gaze as he nods at John. He's smiling, no doubt having heard the last bit of our conversation. This drives it home for me: Peter has really grown up.

As I watch the boy I used to love walk away from me for the last time, I smile, leaning my head against Peter's shoulder.

I think I have too.

xxx

Daddy and Trina go all out for the party. They've hung a huge glittery banner that says 'Congratulations, Lara Jean!' in huge black metallic letters across the kitchen and set up the table with black and gold everything. There's macaroons, cookies, cake pops, salted caramel popcorn, a book for guests to write personalized messages, and photos of me throughout my life scattered everywhere. Peter keeps looking at the one of three-year-old me trying to play the xylophone, a soft smile on his face.

Kitty gave me a golden tiara to wear earlier – it was a part of her Halloween costume last year – but I feel obnoxious with it on, so I toss it into one of the kitchen drawers. I'm turning to go back into the living room where most of the party is when I see her.

Chris.

She's standing in the foyer, holding a gift bag and looking lost. For a moment, I just stare at her. Her hair is her natural ash blonde color and cut to her shoulders. She's wearing the most normal outfit I've seen on her in years: a dark purple flowery skirt and a grey blouse. And then she looks up and sees me.

I stumble forward clumsily and so does she. We meet somewhat awkwardly in the middle, our arms going around each other. I notice that we still fit together the way we used to: my chin somewhere near her collar bone, toes touching.

"Hi," she breathes when she pulls back, sounding unsure.

Smiling, I say, "Hey."

xxx

What do you say to the best friend you haven't seen in four years? I don't know the answer to that question any better than Chris, so, at first, it's stilted between us. I ask about Costa Rica and nod at all the right parts without really responding. I can sense she's holding back; I'm not someone who gets the entirety of her stories anymore.

However, at some point, we start to find that familiar chord of friendship again. She winks at me when she mentions Peter, asking, "So I'm guessing you finally cashed in that v-card?" I blush, but the entire story comes tumbling out, including the part where he tripped climbing out my bedroom window and rolled off the roof onto the bush below my window.

Chris howls, and just like that, we could be seventeen again.

She tells me all about her adventures: her service trip to India last summer, her enrollment at James Madison two years after the rest of us started college, her borderline serious relationship with a guy in her psychology class. I spill about the John Ambrose McClaren fiasco earlier today – and not even Peter knows that whole story. She looks disappointed when I tell her that John and I officially ended it in peace, sighing into her cup, "Damn, Lara Jean. I love me a good triangle."

"It wasn't a triangle!" I sock her in the arm, but I'm giggling too.

We're sitting at the counter when Harper comes in, still flushed in the cheeks from her conversation with Trina's cute nephew. She doesn't let me make the acquaintances first; Harper has never needed an introduction. Instead, she holds out her hand. "Hi, I'm Harper. LJ's college roommate and best friend."

I flinch a little at that, glancing at Chris for her reaction. A bit of unease flickers across her face, but then she just smiles, putting her hand in Harper's: "I'm Chris. Lara Jean is an old friend of mine."

I'm caught between the two of them, wondering who I should talk to first. Harper, who is about to leave my side for the first time in four years. Chris, who I haven't seen for exactly that time.

Fortunately, they solve my conundrum for me by striking up a conversation about how good the macaroons are. Somehow, that leads to Harper describing her trip to Paris with her family a few years ago and Chris exclaiming how much she wants to go. "You went to Europe a few summers ago, didn't you, Lara Jean?" she asks, her eyes sliding to me and then all three of us are talking and laughing like we've been friends our entire lives.

I should have known that these two would find a way to get along. They are the same, after all. Wild, confident, fearless.

Old and new, my two best friends.

xxx

Harper leaves just before midnight. I'm helping Margot clear the plates in the kitchen when she comes up to me, already wearing her coat. I feel my throat closing up as my big sister excuses herself quietly.

Harper is staying in a hotel tonight before flying out to Los Angeles, her hometown, tomorrow morning. For the first time in ages, I can't say goodnight with the given that I'll see her again soon.

"No speeches because this isn't goodbye," she says sternly, and then pulls me in. The back of her hair is shimmery from Kitty's confetti poppers, and she smells like the fruity perfume she was wearing the first day I met her.

"I'm going to miss you so much," I say when I pull back.

"Right back at you, LJ."

She looks at me with teary eyes, "You'd better keep in touch." And then she kisses my cheek and walks out the door.

xxx

Chris is coming to New York for Christmas, so we make plans to hang out then. I don't know if it'll happen, but I really, really hope it does.

After all, she was my friend when even Peter treated me like I didn't exist. You don't forget things like that easily.

She gives me a quick wave across the room when she's leaving because I'm deep in conversation with Peter's mom. Apologizing to Mrs. Kavinsky, I break away and run after her, even though I'm not wearing shoes.

"We should text more," I say when I reach her just as she's getting into her car, breathing hard. That's it, nothing else.

She laughs and says, "Stay weird, Lara Jean," but hugs me tight nonetheless.

xxx

Peter is washing dishes, Daddy is drying, and I'm putting them back into the cupboards. Trina and Margot are cleaning up the decorations, and Kitty is flipping through the book to see what people wrote. Some things never change.

"And that's a wrap," Daddy says after I've put the last plate away. We survey the kitchen, which is now spotless.

He puts a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Thanks for all your help today. We couldn't have pulled this off without you. You should go up to Lara Jean's room and get some sleep now. I think you've earned it."

We regard each other with wide eyes. Peter's stuff is in his car, yes, but I don't think either of us expected Daddy would invite him to spend the night in my room with me. I mean, we are living together come fall, but still.

"Oh, take the win," Kitty says with a wink in Peter's direction, "At least now you don't have to sneak in the window anymore."

Peter turns bright red and Daddy looks alarmed, turning to us and loudly demanding what she means. I just grab Peter and shove him upstairs, ignoring Daddy asking Kitty what she meant again. She just says, "Hmm," all mysterious before jumping off the counter and following us upstairs. I have a feeling that was just one of the many jokes she'll crack at Peter's expense before the night is truly over.

xxx

An hour later, after Peter has endured many barbs from Kitty about our first night together, we're lying shoulder-to-shoulder in my bed, holding hands.

I'm not going to lie; the girl has a special talent for humiliating people. My personal favorite was when she asked Peter how much he enjoyed his first sleepover here. "You guys did just braid each other's hair and make friendship bracelets all night, right?" she asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. My poor boyfriend went pink in the cheeks before tossing a pillow in her direction, launching the pillow fight that lasted ten whole minutes and Margot had to come in to break up.

"I never thought we'd get here," I say, turning my cheek to look at Peter. He is almost asleep, his eyes nearly shut. His eyelashes, which are much longer than mine, touch his cheekbones.

"What do you mean?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Past college. I didn't think we'd make it this far."

He turns onto his side then, so we're face to face. Reaching out, he pinches my nose. "Well, we did. You're stuck with me now, kid."

I don't say it out loud, but what I'm thinking is: I wouldn't want it any other way.

Next up: a proposal

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