Through to You by Lauren Barnholdt

before? It’s confusing.
    I bite my lip and think about it.
    And then I say, “Let’s go somewhere.”
    * * *
    The Southboro Field Days are going on in the center of town, and so that’s where Penn takes me. The SFDs used to have something to do with May Day, or Cinco de Mayo or something, but at some point over the years they just sort of morphed into a random event in May.
    There are carnival games and rides and cotton candy and a psychic named Madame Sashi, who’s definitely not psychic, because last year she told me I was going to move to India and work with aquatic animals. I tried to tell her that unless Ballard University decided to relocate to India, and unless working with aquatic animals was a new kind of choreography, she was wrong. But Madame Sashi didn’t listen. In fact, she was kind of insistent. So insistent that when Anna asked her to refund my five dollars, herassistant ushered us out of the tent and told us not to come back.
    Anyway, today’s the first day of the field days, and they just opened at noon. But even though the Southboro Field Days are kind of a big deal in our town, most people go at night, so there’s hardly anyone here right now. It’s mostly just moms with little kids. We walk around a bit, and then Penn buys me some fried dough.
    â€œSo are we going to talk about this?” I ask as we weave our way through the booths. I rip off a piece of fried dough and pop it into my mouth, letting the sweetness slide over my taste buds. Technically it’s still spring, but it feels like summer, so I pull off my hoodie and tie it around my waist.
    â€œAbout what?” Penn asks.
    â€œAbout how you kissed me and then didn’t call me for two weeks?”
    â€œI said I was sorry.”
    â€œYeah, but . . .” Something inside me feels like I’m owed more explanation. But you aren’t. You guys aren’t even together. You hung out a little bit and then he kissed you. He didn’t make you any promises. He didn’t say he was going to call you. That was all true. In fact, all he said when he left that night was “See you tomorrow,” and he did see me at school the next day. He hadn’t said “ Talk to you tomorrow” or “Text you later” or anything like that.
    And it was just a kiss. Well, more like a make-out session. But still.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “But . . . why didn’t you call me?”
    He shrugs. “I had shit going on.” His eyes are dark, and his face takes on a blank expression. It’s the same expression he had the other day when we ran into Jackson at the batting cages. I’m starting to realize it’s the expression he gets when he shuts down and doesn’t want to talk about something.
    â€œOkay.” I eat another piece of fried dough, but this one somehow doesn’t taste as sweet. I know I’m being crazy. I know I should just let it go. But I can’t.
    â€œLet me make it up to you,” Penn says, nodding toward one of the carnival booths. It’s one of those games where you throw a baseball and try to knock over a pyramid of milk bottles. There are all different kinds of stuffed animal prizes hanging from the ceiling—pink puppies and yellow giraffes and baby-blue koala bears.
    â€œYou wanna play?” the red-haired kid running the game asks. He’s wearing a striped porkpie hat and a neon-green shirt that says CARNY across the front. He tosses one of the baseballs up into the air and then catches it.
    â€œYeah.” Penn rummages around in his pocket.
    â€œIt’s a dollar for one ball or three dollars for five,” the kid says.
    â€œJust one.” Penn plunks a dollar down onto the wooden railing that goes around the perimeter of the booth. “That’s all it’s gonna take.”
    â€œYou have to knock down all three milk jugs,” the kid says doubtfully. “And you have to