Through to You (12 page)

“Penn!” my mom gasps. I've broken the one rule of our house. The rule that states that under no circumstances is anyone ever allowed to bring up the fact that my dad has a
drinking problem. “Apologize to your father right now!”

“No.”

“No!” She repeats it, but it's not a question. It's like she's in shock.

“It's fine, Patricia,” my dad says. “Penn's always been stubborn. Which is why he's going to the batting cages. He still can't accept the truth.”

I'm gripping the napkin so hard now that I can feel my nails digging into my skin through the cloth. My dad has no idea what he's talking about. He has no idea about what I have or haven't accepted. He hasn't been around. If he had been, then maybe he'd know that the only time I go to the batting cages is when I can't take it anymore, when the need to play baseball wells up inside me so hard that it becomes unbearable. That the only time I truly forget about everything that's going on, with Braden, with my dad, with my family, with my injury—is when I'm hitting that ball. And even though that's true, I still don't ever let myself hit it that hard, with my full power, because I'm scared to death that if I do, I'm going to hurt my shoulder even more.

I want to say all those things to my dad, but I don't trust myself. If I go there, the anger that's sure to bubble up inside me isn't going to be controllable.

“I'm leaving.” I wipe my mouth and stand up from the table. My voice still sounds surprisingly calm.

“Are you sure?” my mom asks, like she didn't just yell at me a second before. “I made an Oreo pie for dessert.”

“No, thanks.”

I head outside.

I start to drive to the batting cages, but once I'm at the sports complex, I spot Jackson's car sitting in the parking lot. The last thing I want is to run into Jackson. I'm so tightly wound right now that if I see him, there's a good chance I'll end up popping him in the face.

I drive around for a while, not doing much of anything. I stop and buy a coffee at a drive-through Dunkin' Donuts. I do a loop around town, taking back roads and avoiding highways. Eventually I find myself in front of Harper's house. But her car's not in the driveway.

I glance at the clock. It's three. She's probably at work.

So I turn my truck around. And somehow, before I know it, I'm at Harper's mom's dance studio.

The exterior sign is lit up, and there are huge floor-to-ceiling windows lining the parking lot. I can see a few couples in there dancing. One of the women is wearing a long white dress, and her skirt flows as she dances. Something about it is weirdly comforting.

I sit there for a second, not sure what I'm doing. Am I going inside? And if so, why? That's stalkerish. Besides, I was a complete asshole to her. There's no way she's going to want to see me.

I start to put my car into reverse and get the hell out of here, but when the car moves backward, the pavement goes up on a gradient and the engine of my truck revs. Harper's mom looks up, and her eyes meet mine.

Shit. I'm not sure if she saw me. There's no way she saw me, right? And even if she did, there's no way she would recognize me. I mean, I've only met her once.

But now Harper's mom is crossing the room and she's opening the door, and she's peering out into the parking lot.

She's definitely seen me now. Why didn't I pull out of here when I had the chance? I thought peeling out would have looked way more insane, but now I wish I'd just hightailed it out. Who cares if Harper's mom thinks I'm insane? Harper already thinks I'm insane, and honestly, who cares if she does? She's just a girl that I kissed one time, a girl that I was a jerk to, a girl that I—

“Who's there?” Harper's mom calls, which makes no sense. Why would she be so upset about a car being in the parking lot? Unless, of course, she knows it's me.

I grit my teeth and pull the car back into the parking spot. Now that she's caught me, I guess there's nothing I can really do. Except maybe some damage control. From what I saw of her the other day, she seems like the real uptight type. The kind of person who would call the police if she saw a strange teenage boy just sitting in the parking lot of her dance studio.

I get out of the car and paste an innocent look on my face, like I'm not doing anything wrong and it's totally normal for me to be sitting here. And why isn't it? Me and Harper are friends. Well, if you count people who kiss and then have a fight and then show up at someone's mother's dance studio hoping to see them as friends.

“Oh, hi,” I say, stepping out of the car. “It's nice to see you again.” I'm not sure what I should call her. Harper's dad is out of the picture, so I don't want to be presumptuous and call her mom Mrs. Fairbanks if that's not her name. She looks me up and down, then cocks her head to one side like she's thinking about whether or not I'm worthy of a response.

“Penn, right?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

We just stand there for a moment. It's actually kind of weird, because it's very awkward out here, and yet you can hear this sort of sexy dance music trailing out from inside into the parking lot.

“Um, is Harper here?” I ask finally.

“Yes.”

I wait for her to go get Harper, or to at least move aside so I can go into the studio, but she doesn't. She just stands there, looking formidable.

“Can I see her?” I try.

“I don't know if she wants to see you right now.”

Great. So Harper's mom knows about our fight. For a moment I consider pretending I don't know what she's talking about, or maybe just turning around and walking away. I mean, talking to some girl's mom about the fight you got into with her daughter? This is exactly why I don't ever get involved in emotional relationships. It's too messy.

But something stops me from leaving. “She told you what happened?”

Harper's mom nods.

Then I nod.

I think about it. And for the first time in a long time, I don't worry about what I should say, or how I should be feeling, or anything stupid like that. Instead I just say, “Do you think she might want to hear me apologize?”

Harper's mom shrugs. “I'm not sure.” It's actually kind of disconcerting, hearing her say that. She doesn't seem like the kind of woman who ever isn't sure about anything.

“Well, can I try?”

She looks right into my eyes, and I swear it's like some kind of test or something. She's suspicious of me. She doesn't know if I'm good for her daughter. And I don't blame her. Hell,
I
don't even know if I'm good for her daughter.

But maybe she sees something in me I didn't know was there, or maybe she's just sick of standing outside, but the next thing I know, she's nodding. I move past her into the dance studio.

I can see Harper through the glass partition that encloses the office. She's typing away on the computer. When she sees me, her face sort of brightens, but then a second later it darkens again.

I give her a wave, and she hesitates. Then, finally, she gets up out of her chair and enters the studio.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.” Now that I'm here and she's talking to me, I'm relieved. I didn't realize how much I wanted her to not be mad
at me. I take a step toward her and smile. “You working?”

She nods.

“How much longer?”

“I'm done at eight.”

“You want to get out of here after?”

Her face goes back to that sort of confused expression. I hold my breath and wait for her answer.

He's here! Penn's here to see me!

I know it's totally ridiculous and pathetic, since he was just a complete asshole to me earlier, but I'm happy. I'd been having this awful feeling that it was going to be two weeks before I talked to him again, and even though I was telling myself it was okay if I didn't talk to him for two weeks because he was a complete douchebag, I wasn't really being that convincing.

All I could think about was how much I wanted to see him, how it had felt to kiss him, how he'd won me a dumb stuffed animal. And then I started getting this strange feeling that I wasn't going to see him ever again, which was stupid, because obviously I'm going to see him again at school. I see him pretty much every
day
at school. But that's different.

I meant
see him
see him, like kiss him and hold his hand and let his hands wander all over—

No,
I tell myself.
I must not let my hormones and crazy girl thoughts start to run wild. I need to play it cool.

“I don't think we should hang out,” I say. It's a ploy. I want him to convince me.

“Why not?”

“Because you ditched me earlier.”

He looks confused. “I didn't ditch you.”

“Yes, you did. You got all upset and then you left me.”

“I didn't
leave
you. I brought you home, safe and sound.”

I shake my head. “Are you just going to keep denying everything I say? You're totally discounting my feelings.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my mom watching us from across the room. She's supposed to be giving Jeremy and Kaitlyn a dance lesson, but she seems much more interested in me and Penn.

“Discounting your feelings?” Penn asks. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, I don't think we should get into this here.” The last thing I want to do is start some big thing in front of everyone at the dance studio. There's enough drama here.

“Good idea,” he says, giving me that maddening grin that makes me want to melt. “Let's get out of here. After you're done working, of course. I've corrupted you enough for the day.”

I shake my head, trying not to smile. I'm mad at him. “I can't go out with you after work.”

“I need to be forgiven.” He puffs his lip out in this totally adorable way. “What can I do?”

“To be forgiven?”

“Yeah.”

I think about it. But before I can decide on anything, he leans in so close to me that his cheek brushes against mine. “I'll make it up to you,” he says, “if you come out with me later. I promise.”

His voice sounds dark and dangerous and vaguely threatening. But in a sexy way. Like he's making a promise that he's going to follow through on. He pauses there for a moment, not moving, not saying anything, just letting the anticipation linger in the air. A little shiver moves up my spine.

“Okay,” I say. “Meet me outside at eight.”

* * *

By the time the dance studio is closing, my hormones have calmed down. Sort of.

“So,” I say to my mom after I shut down my computer and lock up the office. “I'm going out for a little while, but I'll see you at home later?”

She's still working with Jeremy and Kaitlyn, who are having some kind of argument over whether or not it's appropriate for someone to wear a pink wedding dress.

“The wedding dress is supposed to reflect what the bride wants to wear,” Kaitlyn is saying. “It's the most important thing about the whole day!”

“The bride can wear whatever she wants if she's paying for
it,” Jeremy says. “But if she's not, and the groom's mother is paying, then the groom's mother is expecting to see the bride in white.”

“Well, the groom's mother wouldn't have to pay if the
groom
hadn't quit his job to become a stand-up comedian.” Kaitlyn plops down onto a chair, then pulls off one of her dance shoes and gestures wildly with it. “Seriously! A stand-up comedian! Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”

She's looking at me, but I'm not sure if she's really talking to me, and I'm not sure if she even wants an answer. But then she sort of tilts her head expectantly, so I say, “Um, well, if it's his dream . . .”

“Thank you!” Jeremy says. “It
is
my dream. It's been my dream ever since I was a little kid. And if you want to start talking about crazy dreams, maybe we should talk about the fact that you ran through half of our savings starting Kaitlyn's Cupcakes!”

Kaitlyn's face darkens, and for a moment I'm afraid she's going to throw her shoe across the room at Jeremy. “I knew you were going to bring that up! You said we had the money! And it wasn't my fault the crates of sprinkles melted. How was I supposed to know they needed to be refrigerated?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Jeremy says. He reaches over and takes the shoe out of her hand, then puts it into her dance bag. “Maybe because they're chocolate? And chocolate melts in heat!”

“Okay!” my mom says brightly. “So we'll see you two tomorrow, then?”

They don't answer her and instead head toward the door, bickering the whole way.

I'm kind of sad to see them go. One, because they're way more interesting than the older people we usually get in here, and two, because there's no way my mom would feel like she could ask me tons of questions about where I'm going and who I'm going with if there were other people around.

“So I'll text you later,” I say brightly, and start walking toward the door.

“Stop!” my mom calls. She walks over to me. My mom and I have never really talked about things like boys and relationships, so the fact that I told her about what happened with Penn earlier just shows how much he's gotten under my skin. Now, though, I realize what a mistake it was confiding in her. I really don't want to get into this.

“Yeah?” I turn around and then pull my phone out of my bag and start looking down at it, like I'm so nonchalant about going out with Penn that I can just text while I'm getting ready to leave, la, la, la.

“I want to meet him.”

“Mom.” I roll my eyes. “You don't have to meet him. It's not even a thing. Besides, you already met him, remember?”