Hi, guys! I needed to write a fanfiction for my at the moment favorite book "To All The Boys I've Loved Before" and "P.S. I Still Love You" and it is a Lara Jean and Peter fanfiction (mostly starting in chapter two) because I just can't get enough of them, and I'm sure you guys can't, either. Follow/favorite my story, review for another couple of chapters, and check out my other stories too! Enjoy!



I woke up to the annoying sound of my alarm clock, ringing in my ears. It felt unfamiliar, because I had just spent a whole summer sleeping in. My hand stumbles around my desk until I found the tip of my alarm clock. I set it off, and snuggled deeper into the blankets. I was having such a good dream, of me, Mom, Margot and Kitty all playing together in the garden and Kitty introducing Mom to our dog, Jamie F0x-Pickle. And I see Mom loving her to bits, ruffling his fur and petting his head, and Jamie loving Mom back equally. I couldn't let that dream stop short. But then it was interrupted, when I hear my door fling open and a high-pitched squeal say, "Wake up, Lara Jean! It's the first day of school!"

I look up to see Kitty's beaming face, and she's already dressed in a purple tank and black leggings. I frown at her and ask, "What time is it?" and then she quickly answers, "Late." before skipping off and slamming the door behind her. I look at the white porcelain bluebird clock hanging above my shelf of scrapbooking materials. Six twenty! Peter was going to be here in literally twenty minutes. I jump out of bed, and change into the cute clothes I laid out for myself yesterday night. High waist, faded ripped jeans and a striped black and white tank top with sneaker wedge heels, an owl necklace and a cute handbag Margot left behind. I run into the bathroom, throwing my robe on, and brushing my teeth and washing my face. Only then do I realize Kitty standing behind me, looking at me with her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Your getting ready in the wrong order," she informs me. "I don't care! Don't you know how late we are?" I yell at her out of frustration. "I know how late you are," she corrects me, smiling smugly and walking out. Ignoring her, I dry my face and lather a thin layer of makeup on my face. That was quicker than I'd expected for makeup, almost, too quick. I look in the mirror and realize it looks like I'm hardly wearing anything at all on my face. I sigh. Before I started dating Peter, I never had to wear any makeup because hardly anyone even noticed me. But now, walking down the school hallways on the arm of Peter Kavinsky, everyone, even the boys, judged me head to toe on how I looked. I wasn't really aware of this fact until yesterday, actually.

I was shopping for a new pair of jeans at Hollister, because I had finally grown two inches taller so my old, comfy Mom jeans looked like capris on me. I wore them as capris yesterday. I looked for some new boyfriend jeans, something else comfy but not necessarily "in style." But then I recognized two sophomore girls from school, one blonde and one brunette huddled together, watching me and judging me, so I pretended not to notice and continue shopping. I just couldn't help eavesdropping now that the tension of their eyes was heavy at the back of my neck. "Is she wearing… Mom jeans?" the blonde whispered. "And look at her face! She's not even wearing lip gloss. She could look really pretty if she wore makeup," said the brunette. "And Kavinsky's keeping her, isn't he? I wonder how, if she goes around looking like that. I guess that's her style, but it's definitely not stylish," she giggled. "I know, right?! If I was Peter Kavinsky's girlfriend, I would not want one of my hairs out of place," the blond girl said. And then my face was burning, and I felt like I had been crushed, by two sophomores. I quickly walked over to the lady stacking the jeans as quickly as possible, and she looked up with a surprised expression. "You want some jeans, honey?" she said in a slow drawl I'd label as a Jersey accent. "Um, yeah," I said. She looked at my jeans, then back up at me. "So you like to be comfortable. What about some boyfriends?" she asked. "Uh, what?" I asked. "Boyfriend jeans. They're very homely," she offered. I had come originally looking for boyfriend jeans, and these shop ladies can really tell what a girl wants, judging by her outfit. But now, with those icy words displayed in my head, I shook my head. "No, actually. I want something, anything, that's very fashion forward," I told her urgently. "Want a top, too?" she asked, looking at my owl hoodie. At first I thought that was a little rude, but then I realized, she was right. I needed a new wardrobe.

"Actually, yes. Make it five tops and three jeans," I said. "Your size, weight, body shape?" she asked. I filled her in, and she found three pairs of jeans and five tops that you'd probably see the girls in the magazine covers wearing, with a gorgeous pair of sneaker heels too. "The shoes would top it off, sweetie," she said, handing me the shopping basket. "Thanks for your help," I said. "It's what I do. And for the thank you, I'll offer you one other thing, too," she said. She gave me a thin chain with a silver owl charm on it. "It will be fashion forward, and you can keep it you. I heard those two brats, too," she said, winking at me. I smiled with gratitude, "Thank you, again."

I shake out of my flashback, and look one more time at myself in the mirror. Fashion forward, but keep it you. This was me, plain faced and no makeup. Well, I had foundation and a lipstick too close to the natural color of my lips. I really had no makeup, but luckily I remembered that Margot had so much that she had to leave it half of it behind when she left for college. I run into Margot's room, and dig into her drawers until I find the makeup bag. I run back into the bathroom, and put my hands into the bag, and pull out the first thing I touch. A solid black mascara that gives your lashes length. I had no idea how to use any of it, or what should go on my face. I had eight minutes left. Who needs breakfast, anyway?

I open my eyelid and put on the mascara. Margot has twelve MAC lipsticks that she left behind. I choose cherry red, light yet bold, and to make the makeup look like me, I use blush and blend it in. I also contour and highlight my face, and use eyeliner, too. Chris's makeup lessons really do come in handy. I look really different when I'm finished. I can't even recognize myself, except for the blush on my cheeks. I never thought I could look this pretty. I hear the honk of Peter's black Audi outside, and I run downstairs as fast as I can in my new shoes. Kitty is eating a bowl of strawberry cereal at the table. She looks up and yells, "Daddy! Stranger in the house!"

Dad comes running in, his apron around his neck, and a frying pan in hand. "Kitten, it's just Lara Jean," he says, "And she's put makeup on." Kitty stares at me, her eyes huge, "How did you do that, Lara Jean?! You scared me!" she said, holding her hand to her heart dramatically. "And you look really good! But you should go, Peter is outside," she says. "Thanks, Kitty. Chris taught me, and your right," I said, running outside. Peter is humming to himself, tapping his fingers on the wheel. I get in. "And you say I'm late," he said, still looking straight ahead. Then he glances over at me, and it looks like his eyes are going to pop out of his head.

"Wow! Covey, you look…" he looks me up and down, "Hot." I feel my cheeks flush. "I don't really know what I'm doing, I just thought I'd try something new," I said, "Is it okay?" He shakes his head, grinning. "It's better than okay. You look, really good."

I bite my lip. "So, do you like me better like this, or.." I begin. "What? No. I'm just saying, it's hot on you. Your gorgeous to me either way," he says, leaning in and kissing me. He pulls away and starts the engine, smiling as he wipes lipstick off his mouth. "Now I have to worry about this," he says, showing me his red hand. I laugh, and we drive off. We make small talk, but this grin he's got on his face isn't going away. "What are you smiling about?" I ask him, with my inquisitive nature. "Oh, just you," he said. "Me?" I raise my eyebrows. "Yeah. The guys are always saying how you never wear makeup, and how your normal and chill, and Gabe said, 'but what do you think she will look like with it?' and then everybody started coming up with these opinions, and I said, 'Go ask her to put it on, then, and you can see for yourselves' and then Darrell just said 'I don't think she will ever agree to that, even if we tried' and God, are they going to look at you today," he said, his smile never fading. "But do you like it, Lara Jean? Or are you only doing this for me?"

Classic Peter. He really wants to think everything is about him, and how I hate that, yes, this is for him… not exactly for him, but because of him. But I can't blame him for being handsome, and getting the attention of girls everywhere, can I? So I tell him the truth: "Honestly? It's because everyone keeps saying exactly what your friends say, but not that I'm normal and chill. They're just like, 'why does she never wear makeup? Is it because she doesn't know how to put it on?' or whatever, and I want to show them they are wrong, and I can look nice if I want to." And that was the absolute truth, except I leave out the part it's kind of his fault.

His smile falters a little, and he says, "Lara Jean, you never listen to anything they say, because all of them are assholes. Okay? Every freaking one of them that can't get a life. So listen to me when I tell you your beautiful," he said. I smile, and kiss him on the cheek, leaving a kiss stain on it. "Did you just say I'm beautiful, Peter Kavinsky?" I ask. His cheeks go pink, and it's so adorable when he gets embarrassed. "We're here," he says, changing the subject as he pulls into school. I hand him a tissue, "You got a mark on your cheek." He checks himself in the rearview mirror, and smiles, "I think I'll leave it there today."