P.s i still love you pdf jenny han

 
    Contents
  1. P.S. I Still Love You
  2. P.S. I Still Love You
  3. P.S. I Still Love You
  4. P.S. I Still Love You | Book by Jenny Han | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster

For Logan. I've only just met you and already I love you. She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the fire-light and the music, were now. PDF Drive is your search engine for PDF files. unter dem Titel P. S. I Still Love You bei Simon & Schuster BFYR, an imprint of Leseprobe aus: Jenny Han. Given the way love turned her heart in the New York Times bestselling To All The Boys I've Loved Before, which School Library Journal called a "lovely, lighthearted romance," it's no surprise that Laura Jean still has letters to write. Lara Jean didn't expect to really fall for.

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P.s I Still Love You Pdf Jenny Han

P.S. I Still Love You book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Lara Jean didn't expect to really fall for forfindsebullperf.ml and. P.S. I Still Love You by Jenny Han - Given the way love turned her heart in the New York Times bestselling To All The Boys I've Loved Before, which School. P.S. I Still Love You By Jenny Han Release Date: Genre: Coming of Age Size: MB Read Online P.S. I Still Love You By Jenny Han, Download.

Or The Empire Strikes Back, depending on your pop culture allegiance. She doesn't even need to have a book three, so I'm cool with ending here. Until one day all those letters are mailed out at the same time. I Still Love You thank you, Jenny! But it's not all hearts and rainbows, because another guy comes back into Lara Jean's life who starts to confuse her already confusing feelings. If you're wondering as I was: Yes, Lara Jean's sister Kitty is back, too, and she's just as awesome as ever. I Still Love You just hit No. But Han isn't alone here. These seven YA sequels were also even better than the original. So it was that much more gut-wrenching when the rug was pulled out from under them.

I sit down on the bed next to Haven so she can show me pictures from their vacation to Bermuda on Instagram. I wish I remembered what. I wish I could say yes. But— Kitty scampers over to us and looks over our shoulders. Margot, who was scrolling on her phone, looks up and giggles. No offense. The non-dating type? What kind of type is that? A little mushroom who sits at home in a semidark room growing moss?

I blush. Peter Kavinsky. We used to be friends, not anymore. And she and Peter have been broken up for a while. She cuddles closer to me. I want Peter back. He still likes you a lot—just tell him you still like him, too, and boom. She takes another look at the picture of Peter. The farawayness of old feelings, like even when you try with all your might, you can barely make out his face when you close your eyes.

No matter what, I always want to remember his face. Margot picks it up. Or face to face? But the fire they lit kept raging. Reeve ended up hurt, then Rennie ended up dead. But now that Mary knows the truth about what happened to her, will she want to? Secrets drew Lillia, Kat, and Mary together. The truth might tear them apart.

Not even close. For now it looks like they got away with it. They were supposed to get back together, like Peter and me. Kitty settles back on the couch, remote in hand, her sisterly duty fulfilled. I go to the kitchen and make Margot a cup of Night-Night tea, two tablespoons of honey, like Mommy used to make us for bedtime.

I know Margot drinks at college, but she already has a hangover, and besides, I doubt Daddy would be into it. So I just put the tea, sans whiskey, in my favorite mug, and I send Kitty upstairs with it. I tell her to act adorable. I say she should first give Margot the tea and then snuggle with her for at least five minutes.

I can feel every breath she takes. She weeps into her pillow, and I scratch her shoulder blades the way she likes.

The thing to know about Margot is she never cries, so seeing her cry sets my world, and this house, off its axis. Everything feels tilted somehow. I was the one who encouraged her to talk to Josh. This is partly my fault. He missed you like crazy. I would look out the window during French class, and I would see him outside on the bleachers eating his lunch alone.

It was depressing. He acted like he was so in love with her; he practically went into a depression when she was gone. And now this? I think I just still really love him.

I said crying over a boy was.

P.S. I Still Love You

Do they? I have an idea! I fill a cereal bowl with ice and two silver spoons and come running back. She asks me to tell her what happened with Peter, so I do, but I leave out all the kissing because it feels in poor taste in light of her own heartbreak. I open my mouth to deny it, to say that it feels like forever ago already, but she silences me with her hand. I mean it, Lara Jean.

You can tell me. Not like that. Not at all. I think. I think we were both just missing you. You were wise to break it off when you did. Wise and brave and right. Tell me more about Peter. I tell her about our pretend relationship, the hot tub, everything. She keeps taking the spoons off so she can look at me as I tell her. But before long her eyes do look less puffy. And I feel lighter—giddy, even. Margot clears her throat. I mean, the first couple of times, a little.

Please, Gogo. So, like, how long did it last from start to finish? Now I feel wistful too. I sleep in her room that night like old times, huddled beside her under her quilt. I listen as the heat clicks off and on. When else will I have another opportunity like that, right?

Date one from England, one from Ireland, one from Scotland. And Wales! A tour of the British Empire! Josh and I will never be friends like we were before. Not after all this. He was my best friend. It would always be a little bit. No more Margot and Josh. This time for real. Things have changed. Be in love with Peter if you want, but be careful with your heart.

Love can go away, or people can, without even meaning to. Nothing is guaranteed. How can I be careful when I already like him so much? Movie tonight? I text back yes, exclamation point. Then I delete the exclamation point for sounding too eager. Though without the exclamation point, the yes seems completely unenthused.

I settle on a smiley face and press send before I can obsess over it further. You know, that might not even be real chocolate. It might be imitation. Check the label. Rothschild, who it turns out is kind of a dog whisperer. She used to have three dogs, but when she and her husband got divorced, she got to keep Simone the golden retriever, and he got custody of the other two.

We were two people pretending to like each other, pretending to be a couple, so now what are we? Would we ever have been a couple? I mean, not explicitly. I mean, we like each other. What would change? He seemed happy and carefree as always. This will be our actual first date, I want to wow him a bit. She has a cream sweater dress she brought back from Scotland that I can put with tights and my little brown boots.

In the meantime I text Margot: Can I borrow your fair isle sweater or your cream sweater dress?? Not one bit. Those other times were just pretend; this is the real thing. It feels like my heart is beating right through my hand. Like electric currents, in a good way. The best way. All I want is popcorn. Peter laughs. And one small Cherry Coke. Are you okay? The last time I saw Genevieve, she was telling everyone on the ski trip bus how Peter and I had sex in the hot tub.

I feel a strong surge of panic, of fight or flight. Do we have to go over and say hi? Do we keep walking? Genevieve solves it for everyone. Genevieve and Emily are sitting in the middle. I see her blond head, the back of her dove gray dress coat. I make myself look away.

Her presence has punctured the night. Two vampire bite marks right into it. The lights dim, and Peter puts his arm back around me. Is he going to keep it there the whole movie, I wonder. I feel stiff, and I try to even my breathing. Peter gives my shoulder a squeeze, and he leans in and nuzzles my neck.

I laugh, a touch too loudly, and the man sitting in front of us whips around in his seat and glares at me. Is that why he picked seats in the back when there were still free seats in the middle? Panic is rising inside me.

Genevieve is here! And other people too! Also, I kind of just want to watch the movie. The two of us bolt out of the theater like the devil is on our heels—which, I suppose, she sort of is. I watch him scarf down fried chicken with hot honey and Tabasco drizzled on top, and I wonder how many times Genevieve has sat and watched him do the very same thing.

So what if he does text back? I want to be right here, in this moment, just the two of us on our first date. He has a habit of wiping his fingers every time he takes a bite.

P.S. I Still Love You

I liked the movie. You kept shushing me and pointing at the screen. He grins at me. Some practices, too. Like before.

In other people that could be annoying, but not him. That and his face. I could stare at his face all day long. I sip sweet tea out of my straw and look at him. A contract might actually be good for us. It could help us to head problems off at the pass and keep us accountable. I think Margot would be proud of me for this. I pull a little notebook out of my purse and a pen. Line one I write, Peter will be on time.

Peter cranes his neck to read upside down. I respect you more than any girl I know! What boy do you respect more than me? I reach across the table, over the food, and grab him by the collar and kiss him before we can fight again. This is what we decide on.

P.S. I Still Love You

Peter will not be more than five minutes late. Lara Jean will not make Peter do crafts of any kind. Lara Jean will only go to parties if she feels like it. Peter will give Lara Jean rides whenever she wants. Lara Jean and Peter will always tell each other the truth. Peter can still be friends with Genevieve, as long as he is up front with Lara Jean about it.

Nobody ever plans it. Our puppy, Jamie Fox-Pickle, is curled up in a ball at the foot of the bed. Kitty wrapped him up in her nubby old baby blanket so only his face is peeking out. Rothschild will help me train him. She thinks he has the right personality for tricks. She much prefers TV. I click stop on the video and snap my computer shut with a flourish. You go finish your book.

I saw you watching the movie on TV the other day. The message is still the same. I pat her hair. She opens up my computer. Anonybitch is an anonymous Instagram account that puts up scandalous pictures and videos of people hooking up and getting drunk at parties around town.

No one knows who runs the account; they just send in the content. There was a picture of a girl from another high school that went viral last year—she was flashing a cop car.

I heard she got expelled from school for it. My phone buzzes again. Anonybitch is particularly famous for her hot tub videos. She tags them rubadub. I click play. The back of her head obscures the boy.

Her hair is long, and the ends dip into the hot tub like calligraphy brushes in ink. The boy runs his hands down her spine like she is a cello and he is playing her.

Something familiar. The back of my neck goes icy cold, and I am hit with a gust of awareness, of humiliating recognition. That girl is me. Me and Peter, in the hot tub on the ski trip.

I scream. Margot comes racing in, wearing one of those Korean beauty masks on her face with slits for eyes, nose, and mouth. Her mask falls off. Is that you? Margot gulps. Kitty whimpers and clings closer to me. The caption reads Goody two shoes Lara Jean having full-on sex with Kavinsky in the hot tub.

Do condoms work underwater? Someone named Veronica Chen wrote, What a slut! Is she Asian??

Is my face still my face? Or him. Am I talking really loud right now? Is this happening? Is this my life? Is there a help line for inappropriate content? We have to report this! We might have to call a lawyer.

I text instead: Call me ASAP. Now I have to sit at dinner and look my dad in the face, knowing that this video exists. Margot and Kitty look at each other, then back at me. At dinner, my stomach is churning and I can barely get down a bite of potatoes.

I just push the food around on my plate and sneak Jamie Fox-Pickle bites under the table. As soon as everyone else is done eating, I sprint upstairs and look at my phone. Still nothing from Peter. Just more texts from Chris and one from Haven: OMG is this you??! But I was that night. And all I can think is, everybody at school has seen that video, a video of me in one of the most intimate and truly romantic moments of my life. And not only that, but someone recorded it. Someone was there.

It feels tawdry now. It certainly looks that way. And now I just want to not exist. Margot and Kitty have forbidden me from looking at the video. They tried to take my phone away, but I told them I need it for when Peter calls. Then I snuck a look at the video, and so far there are over a hundred comments, none good. Margot unlocks it for her, and Chris climbs inside, shivering and pink-cheeked. But maybe I am. Maybe this is shock. I mean, you look great. Objectively, it sucks, but also objectively, Lara Jean looks awesome in it.

I hate hot tubs. Why would I willingly get into a hot tub? Some people call themselves never- nudes and they wear clothes at all times, even in the shower.

Like, jean shorts. The weight of my bed shifts as Margot climbs in. Chris looks down at her phone. At all. How have you seen The Sopranos? Stop watching it! Well, not completely. No offense, LJ. Margot picks it up and looks at it. Chris shrugs her off. I ignore both of them and answer the phone.

Peter starts talking fast. How can I not? This is terrible. My most private moment, for everybody to see. Kitty and Margot and Chris are all looking at me with sad eyes, which makes me feel even sadder.

Teachers, too. I know for a fact that teachers look at Anonybitch. I was in the faculty lounge once and I overheard Mr. Filipe and Ms.

P.S. I Still Love You | Book by Jenny Han | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster

Ryan saying how bad it makes our school look. And what about college admissions boards and our future employers? Peter is powerful. If anyone could fix such a thing, it would be him. Coach is gonna kick my ass if he sees me on the phone. I wish we could talk longer. When I hang up, Margot, Chris, and Kitty are all three staring at me. Remember what she did to Jamila Singh? Telling everyone that her family had an Indonesian slave just because she had the balls to date Peter after they broke up?

Even so, I find it hard to believe that she could do something so cruel to me. Jamila Singh and Genevieve never liked each other. But Gen and I were best friends once. It had to have been one of the guys hanging out in the rec room, or maybe.

Maybe anyone! Kitty cues it up and pushes play. I feel the same sinking feeling in my stomach every time I watch it. Thank God the only things you can hear are the sounds of the woods and the hot tub water bubbling. Be honest. It just looks like. She bites her lip. I take a deep breath. I can live with that. I mean, who cares about a hot makeout, right? And you can barely even see my face? There must be a ton of Lara Jeans, right? You really do have an incredible bounce-back.

But then in the dark, when my sisters and Chris have left and Peter and I have said our good nights and he has assured me for the millionth time that everything will be fine, I look at Instagram again, at all the comments.

And I am mortified. Probably just some horny pathetic guy, he said. Was it Genevieve? I remember the day we exchanged friendship bracelets. Genevieve liked me best. We were close, closer than with anyone else. The bracelets were proof. How cheaply I was bought then, with just a bracelet made out of string. Chris said I should lean into it, which would mean a look-at-me kind of outfit. Margot said I should be above it all, which means something mature like a pencil skirt or maybe my green corduroy blazer.

But my instinct is to blend, blend, blend. If I could wear a baseball cap to school, I would, but no hats allowed. I make myself a bowl of Cheerios with sliced banana on top, but I can only force down a few bites. Margot notices and slips a cashew bar in my bag for later. Daddy feels my forehead. You barely had any dinner last night either. He can never know about that video, not ever.

Peter pulls up in front of our house right on time for once. He places his arm on the back of my seat as he puts the car in reverse; then he tosses me his phone. I see the entry that was below ours, a picture of a passed-out guy with penises permanent-markered all over his face.

I gasp. The hot tub video is gone! I told them how my uncle is a lawyer and you and I are both underage. He owns a pizza parlor in New Jersey. I mean, who cares if we made out in a damn hot tub? Who cares if we had sex in it? Oh, Peter, why do you have to be so handsome! I wanted it too. But I care, I care a lot. He turns his head and looks at me, studying my eyes, my face. If we just hold on tight enough, it will all be okay. When we walk down the hall together, girls whisper. Boys snicker.

One guy from the lacrosse team runs up and tries to high-five Peter, who swats him away with a growl. Is the girl in the video really you?

We are not. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I should have listened harder. Slow and low. We will heat up for each other over time.

Or had. Maybe half. My face burns in mortification. We are brisket! So I hold my chin up even higher, as high as I can, so high my neck hurts. Maybe Gen did do it.

Maybe she really does hate me that much. Davenport grabs me on my way to my next class. She just wants gossip. Chin up, chin up. Trust me, I know this from personal experience.

Keep it moving. Let me be a resource. I respect Mrs. I want her to think well of me. All I can do is nod. She tips my chin up tenderly. Her perfume smells like dried rose petals.

Duvall really cares about the students. Better than that. Better than what? Than who? And of course there Genevieve is, standing in front of the mirror, dabbing on lip balm. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. So smug, so sure of herself. Then she recovers, and screws the top back on her lip balm.

Her mouth turns up to the right, the smallest of quivers. Even though I suspected it, maybe even knew it deep down, this confirmation takes my breath away. You know my sisters, my dad. You know me. You knew how much this would hurt me. The corner of her mouth turns up. I know it was. Once Peter finds out.