Lara-Jean POV
"I want to key someone's car. Give me a name."
Maya burst through my door without knocking, her designer heels spitting fury across my new office floor.
I looked up from my desk, still riding the strange, floaty high from last night. The party had been a success. Peter had texted this morning—Coffee at 10? My office—and I'd almost smiled at my phone like an i***t.
"What are you talking about?"
Maya stopped mid-stride. Her face crumpled. "Oh, honey. You haven't seen it."
She held up a tabloid. The headline screamed in block letters big enough to read from space:
HOMELESS TO MRS. KAVINSKY: GOLD-DIGGER OR CINDERELLA?
Below is a photo of me climbing out of my old Honda Civic. Another of my studio apartment buildings. And one from last night, descending that staircase, loo
