Through to You by Lauren Barnholdt Page B

arms around its middle, which definitely isn’t conducive to maneuvering through a crowd.
    Where did all these people come from? I wonder as I dodge through a bunch of them, almost knocking over a toddler. Just a second ago it was completely dead around here.
    â€œHey!” I yell to Penn. I’m starting to lose sight of him in the crowd.
    â€œLook at the girl with the stuffed animal, Mommy!” a little girl yells. “I want a stuffed animal like that for my room! Why does that big girl get it when stuffed animals are for little girls?”
    I rush by as quickly as I can, not really liking being called a big girl. I know she meant older, but still.
    To my relief Penn stops to wait for me near the snowcone machine, where there’s a break in the crowd. But once I catch up with him, he takes the dog out of my hands and then starts walking even faster toward the car.
    â€œHello?” I ask him. “What are you doing?”
    â€œGoing to the car,” he says matter-of-factly, like that was the plan all along, and we didn’t just get to the carnival, oh, I don’t know, five minutes ago.
    â€œOh, okay,” I say. “That makes sense. You know, since we got here, like, five minutes ago.”
    He doesn’t reply. When we get to his car, he opens one of the back doors and sets Gizmo down gently on the seat. Which is kind of weird. Penn’s obviously in a bad mood, you can tell, so the fact that he sets my dog down so carefully is crazy.
    I get into the car, and then he gets into the car, and then we just sit there.
    After a moment I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
    His elbow is resting against the door, his hand cupping his chin. He’s just gazing out the window, not saying anything. He doesn’t look mad, but he doesn’t look not mad, either.
    I don’t say anything, wondering how the mood changed so quickly. Again I’m reminded of when we were at the batting cages, and I bite my lip.
    â€œSo,” I say. “Um . . . are we . . . I mean, are you going to take me home now or . . .”
    â€œWhy, do you want to go home?”
    â€œWell, kind of, if you’re going to act like that.”
    He lets out a sigh, then reaches over and grabs my hand.“I’m sorry, Harper,” he says. “I just . . . I’m moody.”
    â€œYeah, ya think?”
    He grins, and just like that, he’s back to his old self. “Yeah. It’s a character flaw.” He winks. “My only one, actually.”
    He goes to start the car again, but I reach out and put my hand on his. “No.”
    â€œNo?” He frowns. “You want to go back to the carnival?”
    I shake my head. “I want you to tell me why you flipped out and got all weird. Was it because of what that kid said? About your arm?”
    I can tell it’s his instinct to shake his head, but he must change his mind because a second later he swallows hard and takes a deep breath. Finally he nods. “I don’t like when people recognize me.”
    â€œFrom baseball, you mean?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    He shrugs. “Because they feel sorry for me. And I hate that.”
    â€œThat makes sense,” I say slowly. I twist my hands in my lap and think about it. “But, Penn, that guy at the carnival doesn’t even know you.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo his opinion doesn’t matter.”
    He laughs like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Really, Harper?” he asks. “You’ve never worried about what someone you didn’t know thought of you?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    â€œYes, you did.”
    â€œNo, I didn’t.”
    â€œYes, you did. You said his opinion didn’t matter.”
    â€œIt doesn’t.”
    He shakes his head. “We’re talking in circles.”
    â€œOkay.” I bite my lip again and don’t