Through to You (7 page)

Jackson smiles again. “Okay,” he says. “Maybe another time.” Then he turns and looks at me. “I hope to see you around again, Harper. Don't be a stranger, okay?”

I have no idea what he's talking about, and then I get it. He's trying to flirt with me because he wants to annoy Penn. I mean, think about it—when Jackson looked at me before, he
pretty much wanted nothing to do with me. And now all of a sudden he's going out of his way to talk to me? It's obviously just to get under Penn's skin. Is it working? Is it wrong that I hope it is?

I turn around to look at Penn, to see if he's maybe getting all jealous over Jackson talking to me.

But I can't see his face.

He's already walking out of the batting cages, leaving me no choice but to run after him.

I hate Jackson Burr. He's the biggest asshole I've ever met, and what just happened is a perfect example of why. That dude doesn't give a shit about me or what I'm doing, and the only reason he even asks me that stuff is because he's hoping I'm going to tell him bad news. He
wants
me to tell him bad news. He gets off on it.

I'm halfway out the front door of the athletic complex before I realize Harper is following me. Jesus. I almost forgot she was with me.

“Hey!” she yells. She's struggling to walk across the parking lot in her strappy sandals. It must have rained while we were inside, because the sky is overcast and the pavement is dark and slick. Harper's dodging little puddles as she races to catch up. “Hold on a second, would you?”

I slow down reluctantly. My body is filled with energy, and I don't want to stop moving. “Sorry,” I say.

“What the hell was that about?” She takes a few more steps toward me, and then takes a big jump over a wider puddle, but she doesn't quite clear it. Her foot splashes rainwater onto her shin.

“Shit,” she swears. She looks down at her soaked sandal, perplexed, like she can't believe what's happened. I try not to laugh.

I'm at my truck now, so I reach into the backseat, pull out a towel, and take it back to her. Harper looks at it doubtfully.

I roll my eyes. “It's fine,” I say. “It's not that dirty.”

“Not
that
dirty?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I probably used it, like, once.” That towel's been in my truck for God knows how long, so I really can't say for sure if I've used it once or a hundred times. But seriously, what does she think is going to happen? It's just a towel.

“What if I get flesh-eating bacteria?” she asks.

“You're kidding, right?”

“Sort of.”

“My towel doesn't have flesh-eating bacteria.”

“I'm not saying
you
have flesh-eating bacteria. I'm just saying that—”

“Good. Because I don't. And therefore, neither does my towel.”

“Well, your towel technically could even if you don't. Your towel could have come into contact with flesh-eating bacteria
on its own. Or some other kind of bacteria. And it could have infiltrated the—”

Oh, Jesus Christ. I lean down and start drying off her foot with the towel.

“Hey!” she yells. “What do you think you're doing.” She tries to kick the towel off, and her sandal goes flying through the air and lands in another puddle.

“Great,” I say, shaking my head sadly. “Now see what you've done?”

“What
I've
done?” She's standing on one foot and she's having trouble keeping her balance, so she puts her arms out to keep from falling over. I walk over and pick up her shoe.

“Yeah,” I say. “If you'd just let me clean you off without freaking out, you wouldn't have lost your shoe.”

She glares at me and then takes a few hops. And that's when she loses her balance and her bare foot steps right into a puddle.

“Oh God,” I say, mostly because I can't resist. “Now you're definitely going to get flesh-eating bacteria. It probably lives in that stagnant water.”

“No, it doesn't!” She pulls her foot out of the water like it's radioactive, and starts to sort of hobble toward the car.

“Oh, no way,” I say, rushing to catch up with her. “You are not getting into my car with a dirty foot.”

“You've got to be kidding,” she says. “With all those straw wrappers you have on the floor? Now you're worried about a little bit of dirt?”

I'm insulted that she's insinuating I'm a slob. Yeah, maybe there are a few random straw wrappers on the floor of my car. But a few straw wrappers do not a slob make.

“Relax,” Harper says. “I'm not going to mess up your precious car.”

She's still hopping on one leg, a little faster now, and I have a flash of her slipping and falling and cracking her head on the pavement. I run to catch up with her.

“Let me help you,” I say, putting my arm around her waist.

She tries to push me away. “I'm okay.”

“Please,” I say, and tighten my grip. “The last time you tried to push me away, your shoe ended up in a puddle.”

“Good point,” she grumbles. Her one sandaled foot slips on the pavement and she leans into me to keep from falling. As she does, her hair brushes against my cheek, and I'm surprised at how soft it is. She smells like flowers and coconut.

I lead her over to my car and open the door for her, then sit her down and finish wiping her foot off with the towel. Then I clean off her wet shoe and hand it back to her, before tossing the towel into the backseat.

“Thanks,” she says as she slips her sandal back on. She sounds shy, and her hair is falling over her face, making her look pretty adorable.

“You're welcome.”

She scrunches up her lips and pushes them over to the side, like she's thinking about something. The light is shining
through the windshield, illuminating her face, and I think that maybe I'm going to have to kiss her. Which is weird. Because she's way too nice for me to kiss.

Then why did you bring her here with you? Why were you thinking about her all day?

“So what's the deal with you and Jackson?” she asks. She bends her legs and sort of pulls them against her chest, folding herself into my car sideways.

I'm still thinking about what it would be like to kiss her, so I move away and lean against the car, making it harder for me to see her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why was there all that tension?”

“There wasn't tension.”

“Fine.” She shrugs. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

“I don't not want to tell you. It's just that there's nothing to tell.”

She sighs. “You're secretive, I get it. Obviously something very painful happened and you don't want to get into it. It's not a big deal, Penn. I'm not, like,
offended
or anything.”

I glance down at her, wondering if she's joking. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“No.”

I shake my head. “Look, Jackson and I used to be friends. And now we're not anymore. There's nothing to tell.” There's a lot more to tell. But I'm not going to talk about it with
Harper. I don't talk about it with anyone. Not Jackson. Not even myself. And so there's no way I'm going to talk about it with some girl I just met. Even if she is hot and adorable all at once.

I can feel my mood darkening.

“Okay,” Harper says. I expect her to press me on things, but she doesn't say anything else.

“Look,” I say. “I should probably take you home.”

The last thing I want to do is take her home. I want to keep her with me. And besides,
I
don't want to go home. There's nothing there for me, except Braden zoned out in front of the television, and my mom probably bustling around the kitchen, baking or doing something equally ridiculous, given the fact that my dad is gone again.

“Yeah,” Harper says. “I should get back. My mom's probably freaking out about where I am.”

But she doesn't move, and neither do I.

The door to the sports arena opens, and Jackson comes walking out. He heads over to his car and pulls some batting gloves out of the trunk, then disappears back inside.

Me and Harper just watch him, silently.

“So,” I say after a moment, “you want to go get something to eat?”

Is this a date? I can't tell. I think it might be a date. We went to the batting cages and now we're going to get something to eat. So we must be on a date. I mean, think about it. If someone said to you, “Hey, you wanna go to the batting cages and then maybe go out and get something to eat?” you'd think that was a date. Wouldn't you?

And yeah, Penn didn't exactly call me up and ask me if I wanted to do that stuff, it kind of just happened. But still.

“Where are we going to eat?” I ask. I haven't had anything since lunch, but I don't feel hungry. In fact, my stomach is filled with butterflies, and they're swarming around and making me feel jittery. I'm thinking about how his hands brushed against my skin, and it's making me all flushed.

Penn looks at me. “I don't like restaurants.”

“Oh.” I'm not really sure what to say to that. How come he asked me out to eat if he doesn't like restaurants? I glance at him suspiciously. He better not think this is going to be one of those things where he pretends he's taking me out to eat and then he takes me somewhere else and tries to get me to make out with him. I don't make out with people on first dates. Not that I've had that many first dates. Or that many make-out sessions.

He doesn't say anything, but he's pulled the car out onto the main road, and he's heading in the opposite direction from my house and the dance studio.

“So then where are we going?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It stopped raining. We can eat at the park.”

“You mean like a picnic?” Why does he want to have a picnic in the dark? I want to ask him, but I'm afraid that if I do, he'll take back the invitation.

He glances at me. “No, not a picnic, Harper. Just eating outside.”

I frown. “Eating outside sounds like a picnic.”

“I don't do picnics.”

“Eating outside at a park is a picnic.” I shrug. “Just admit you like picnics, Penn. It's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I'm not
embarrassed
about anything.”

“Okay.”

“But it's not a picnic.”

I pull out my phone and start to google the definition of “picnic.”
“Picnic,” I recite, “an outing or occasion that involves taking packed food outdoors for a meal.”

He gapes at me. “Did you just google that?”

“That's what Google's for.”

“Google's not for—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, like he can't believe we're having this conversation. “Whatever. We're not packing any food. We're just buying it, so it's not a picnic.”

He pulls into a Whole Foods and cuts the engine. “You stay here,” he instructs.

“How come?”

“Because I can shop faster by myself.” He looks at me. “No offense, but girls take way too long in the store. And it's already dark.”

“First of all, that's extremely sexist. And second of all, I don't take a long time in the store.” It's a lie. I take a very long time in the store. But how could Penn possibly know this?

He raises his eyebrows, like he's considering it. Then, a second later, he shakes his head. “You stay here.” And then he's out of the car and on his way into the store.

As soon as he's gone, I pull out my phone and call Anna.

She picks up on the first ring.

“What's wrong?” she asks immediately.

“Nothing,” I say. “Why would something be wrong?”

“Because you never call me. You always text.”

“Oh. Well, I have limited time.” I flip the passenger-side visor down. But there's no mirror on the other side. What?
Why? How can a car not have a mirror on the visor? How am I supposed to make sure I don't have dirty puddle water splashed on my face or in my hair or something?

“What do you mean you have limited time? Are you at work? I thought your mom got over that whole not-using-your-phone-during-work-hours thing?”

“She did.” I reach over to Penn's side of the car and flip down his visor. There's a mirror on that one. Which is ironic, since I'm the one who needs the mirror, and Penn doesn't seem like the kind of guy who spends any time whatsoever checking himself out. Which kind of doesn't make sense, since he's so good-looking. I always figured anyone that hot would enjoy looking at himself all the time. Does Penn not know how cute he is? I have another flash of him walking down the hall at school, always with a different girl. So he must.

“Hello?”
Anna calls. “What are you doing? What's all the commotion?”

“I'm in Penn Mattingly's car.” I whisper it. I don't know why. Penn is in the store, and there's no one in the parking lot. And even if there were, who cares if someone overhears?

“You're where?” Anna yells, like she's trying to make up for the fact that I'm whispering. “I can't hear a word you're saying. Speak up.”

“I'm in Penn Mattingly's car,” I say, louder this time. The words sound foreign and kind of exciting. I'm in a boy's car. A boy I hardly know. It sounds almost dangerous.

“Penn Mattingly's car!” Anna sounds excited.

“Shh!” I'm trying to grab at the visor and angle it so I can see my reflection. But I'm having trouble, so I have to sling one foot over the gearshift. I pull the mirror toward me, and am grateful to see that I don't have anything on my face. But my eye makeup is a little smudged, and so I reach up and wipe it away.

“Why do I have to shhh?” Anna asks defensively. Then I hear her say to someone in the background, “Harper's on a date with Penn Mattingly!” She's probably talking to Nico. Nico is Anna's best friend besides me. Well, if you can count a boy who you're secretly in love with as your second best friend, which Anna thinks you can.