Through to You

  “You just told me you think you look good in that picture, and that you had some kind of random sexual escapade with a girl. What else am I supposed to think? I mean, I haven’t ever spoken to you until today. You’re not exactly making the best first impression.” She turns on her heel and starts walking away from me.

  I chase after her, wondering how I’ve suddenly become the follower instead of the followee. “That’s awful,” I say. “That we’ve been in the same school all this time and we’ve never even talked. I mean, what if we’re soul mates?”

  She turns on her heel and gapes at me. “Me and you?”

  “What, like you’re too good for me?”

  She shrugs, like maybe she thinks she is. I’m annoyed for a second, and then I realize she’s probably right. I might have never spoken to her until today, but I know she’s smart. I know she’s quiet. I know she always eats lunch outside when the weather is nice. All those things make her too good for me, because the truth is, pretty much any girl who has her shit together is too good for me.

  But I push that thought out of my head as best I can, because if I let myself think about that, I won’t be able to convince her to come with me. And I don’t know why, but I really, really want her to.

  “Anyway,” I say. “Now that we’ve explored that possibility, we really shouldn’t waste another moment. Let’s get out of here.”

  She tugs on her hair again, and I can see her mind working. She wants to go with me, but she’s a good girl. Her instinct is probably to be afraid and cautious. My instinct is to give her another grin and make a witty comment, but some part of me has a feeling that’s not going to work.

  So I just wait.

  And sure enough, after a moment Harper shrugs. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”

  Harper

  Oh my God.

  This is crazy.

  This might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Which really isn’t saying that much. I mean, I don’t do crazy things, like, ever. Although, sometimes, if someone is making me feel like I’m too chicken to do something, I get kind of mad and then I do it.

  Like the time last summer when everyone at my dance camp was jumping off this rope swing at the lake, and I was totally afraid to do it because every time someone used that rope, all I could think about was them falling and smashing their heads open. People in books and movies are always getting killed when they jump off rope swings. Always.

  It’s, like, a thing. And every time I watched a movie or read a book like that, I’d always be like, who would be stupid enough to jump off a rope swing? But then there I was, and everyone was doing it, and so then I kind of had to.

  It wasn’t because everyone was making fun of me. It was because no one was making fun of me. It was like no one expected me to do it, so much so that they didn’t even bother to try to make me feel lame for not doing it. Which pissed me off.

  So I did it. I didn’t crack my head open, but I did almost lose my bathing suit top.

  But this.

  Leaving school in the middle of the day? I’ve never done that.

  Leaving school in the middle of the day with a boy? I’ve definitely never done that.

  Leaving school in the middle of the day with a boy who looks that good in his driver’s license picture and knows it? A whole new definition of “outside the realm of possibility.”

  Not to mention he’s a strange boy.

  Not like “strange” in the sense of being weird. “Strange” like he’s a stranger. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he’s psycho. I run through a list of things in my head that I know about Penn Mattingly.

  1. He has an I-don’t-care attitude.

  2. He used to be a big baseball star, before he hurt his shoulder or something last year.

  3. He gets away with murder, I think mostly because of his I-don’t-care attitude. Like, for example, if he comes into class late, the teachers hardly bother saying anything to him about it, because he doesn’t give a shit. There’s nothing you can really do to him, because he doesn’t care if he ends up in the office.

  4. He’s hot. This is a new one to the list. I mean, I always knew Penn was good-looking. But it was more something I noticed abstractly, not something I was necessarily super-aware of. But now I am. Super-aware of it, I mean. I’m super-aware of the way his hair flops over his forehead, how smooth his skin is, how broad his shoulders are, and how he towers over me, even though I’m five-eight.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we walk through the front doors of the school. As soon as we’re outside, I have to resist the urge to look over my shoulder and make sure no one has seen us. Penn, on the other hand, is walking like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  He glances back at me and gives me this totally mischievous grin. “Stop asking me that. I told you I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, but how can you not know? I mean, shouldn’t we have a plan or something?”

  “Plans are for wimps.”

  I don’t want to seem like a wimp, so I just follow him. He’s walking with a crazy confidence, like we’re totally justified in leaving school in the middle of the morning, and not just two delinquents who are skipping class. I wonder how many times he’s done this, and if he’s somehow perfected the casual I’m-supposed-to-be-doing-this walk. I try to mimic it and almost trip over my feet.

  I’m still not sure if I’m going to actually go anywhere with him. Leaving school is one thing, but leaving school property is another.

  As soon as I see his car, my mind gets made up.

  “That’s your car?” I ask as he unlocks the passenger-side door for me.

  “Yeah.” He opens the door and motions for me to get inside.

  I shake my head. “No way. I’m not getting in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, it’s . . .” I try to think of a way to put it delicately. I know how boys can be about their cars, and I don’t think he’ll like it too much if I tell him it looks like a death trap. But it does. It’s not that it’s run-down or anything. In fact, it’s the opposite. It’s shiny and black and looks really new. But it’s a truck, and it’s one of those trucks that have double wheels or whatever.

  Double wheels that look dangerous, like the kind of thing you use to street race, or whatever it is teenage boys do when their hormones are raging and they’re bored. A truck like that cannot be trusted. A boy who has a truck like that cannot be trusted.

  “It’s what?” Penn asks impatiently.

  The sun is starting to move higher in the sky, and it’s a lot hotter out here than it was inside. Penn unzips his hoodie, then takes it off and tosses it into the backseat. His arms are strong and lean, and his biceps flex under the thin material of his white T-shirt as he opens the door of his truck wider, inviting me in.

  I quickly look away and force myself to ignore the buzz that’s starting to vibrate through my body.

  “It doesn’t look . . . I mean, it looks . . .”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m a very good driver.”

  “You are?”

  He nods solemnly. “Of course. You really think my parents would let me drive a car like this if I was reckless?” He puffs his chest proudly. “I’ve only been in three accidents.”

  Oh, for the love of . . . I turn around and start to head back toward the school, but he reaches out and grabs my arm. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says. “I’ve never been in an accident.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. And I passed my driver’s test on my first try, I swear.”

  I swallow. I’m not sure if he’s telling the truth. He seems like the kind of guy who could lie and make it seem completely true. He also seems like he’s used to getting what he wants. Both of those things are having conflicting effects on me. On one hand, it’s making me not want to go with him, but on the other hand, it’s making me want to go with him. The whole thing is very weird.

  “Come on,” he says. “If we don’t hu
rry, someone’s going to find us out here, and then you’re going to have more than getting into my truck to worry about.”

  He’s right.

  And besides, I want to go.

  So I climb into the front seat.

  Penn

  Usually when I have a girl in my truck, we just drive around until I find a random spot for us to park in and make out. Either that or we end up at some party where we get drunk and then end up making out. Wow. I never realized how often I end up making out with girls. Pretty much every time I’m hanging out with one.

  I’m not sure if I should be proud of this. Probably not.

  Anyway. Obviously I can’t do this with Harper. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Even if I want to.

  “So, any idea where you’re taking me?” Harper asks. She’s trying to sound nonchalant, but I can tell she’s suspicious. I don’t even know her, and she’s acting like I’m bad news. I mean, I am bad news. But there’s no way she can know that yet.

  “Why are you so suspicious of me?” I ask.

  “Because you left a note on my desk and now you’re whisking me away somewhere.” She reaches over and opens my glove compartment.

  “Whisking you away? Is that what you think I’m doing?” Something about me whisking her away makes me happy. It sounds almost whimsical.

  “Yeah. You coerced me into this truck, and now you’re whisking me.” She pulls a bunch of stuff out of the glove compartment—papers, a pair of sunglasses, some napkins—and starts looking through them. I’m not sure if I should be angry or impressed.

  “I didn’t coerce you anywhere,” I say. “You came here of your own volition. And stop going through my stuff.”

  She ignores my request and raises her eyebrows at me. “Wow,” she says. “ ‘Volition.’ Big word.”

  “You think I don’t know words like ‘volition’?”

  “I don’t know if you do,” she says. “I don’t know anything about you.” She holds up a receipt that was buried in my glove compartment. “Wow, except that you spent two hundred and thirty-two dollars at Hooters.”

  “What? Let me see that.” I reach over and grab the receipt out of her hand.

  “Yeah, and only twenty dollars for a tip.” She clucks her tongue. “Less than ten percent. That’s awful, Penn. Those girls work hard for their tips.”

  “That’s not mine,” I say.

  She raises her eyebrows and gives a skeptical little laugh.

  “It isn’t! My friend Jackson used to borrow my truck whenever he’d want to get up to something. He was dating this girl who was supercr— Um, didn’t like what . . . He just needed to borrow my truck when he wanted chicken wings.”

  “Mmm,” she says noncommittally. “Sounds like a lie.”

  “It’s actually not.” Figures that one of the only times I’m telling the truth, I don’t even get credit for it. I hit my blinker and head east. I have no idea where we’re going and what we’re going to do, so I just drive.

  Harper doesn’t say anything. She just puts my stuff back into the glove compartment (shoves my stuff back into the glove compartment, is more like it), then nonchalantly reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. She starts to text someone.

  “Who are you texting?” I ask, mostly just to make conversation.

  “None of your business.” She moves her phone away from me.

  I sigh. “Seriously? It’s going to be like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like every time I ask you something, you’re going to make a big point of showing me just how much you don’t trust me.”

  “Trust needs to be earned,” she reports.

  “Apparently not,” I say. “Since you just got into my truck with me, no questions asked.”

  “I asked questions!”

  “Hardly.”

  She’s still texting, and I catch a glimpse of the words . . . in his truck. If he kills me, then . . .

  I reach over and grab the phone out of her hand. “Hey!” she says.

  We roll to a stop at a red light, and I glance down at the screen. “Anna,” I read out loud. “Is that the girl with the spiky hair you’re always with?”

  She nods. “What are you, like a stalker?”

  “Please,” I say. “You guys are always together. It’s impossible not to notice.”

  She grabs for the phone, and I give it back to her. “I’m glad you’re telling your friend that we’re going somewhere,” I say. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. That way you won’t be able to deny you were with me.”

  “Why would I deny I was with you?”

  “Because we’re skipping class right now, and if we get caught, you’re probably going to try to say we weren’t together.”

  “That makes no sense.” She shakes her head and then looks back down at the screen. It seems like her friend has texted her back. She frowns.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “She’s telling you to come back to school right this instant.”

  “No,” Harper says. “She told me that you’re the kind of guy I could get into a lot of trouble with.”

  I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. I wonder if she’s the kind of girl I want to get into trouble with. I’ve made up my mind. Harper is definitely hot. “I don’t even know this Anna,” I say. “But already I can tell she’s smart.”

  Harper

  The way Penn’s looking at me, like maybe he wants to kiss me or maybe even get me naked, is making butterflies swarm around in my stomach. He’s just so . . . I don’t know, real.

  Like, what guy do you know who admits he’s trouble? Although, the fact that he’s admitting he’s trouble is definitely a big red flag. It’s like a huge, huge, huge red flag. I’m not sure if I should be glad he’s being honest, or nervous that he’s obviously crazy enough to think that admitting how much trouble you are is okay.

  I’m not the kind of girl who looks for trouble. I’m not even the kind of girl who finds trouble when she’s not looking for it.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask. I think it’s a good variation of my usual “Where are we going?”

  “God, you really are uptight, aren’t you?” Penn asks. He shifts the truck into another gear, and as he does, his hand brushes against my thigh. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I feel like maybe he did it on purpose.

  “No.” I don’t think I’m uptight. Am I uptight? I don’t think I am. But probably people who are uptight don’t realize they’re uptight. Oh God. I might be uptight. “I’m just not used to strange boys accosting me in the hallway.”

  He grins. “I’m a man.”

  I snort.

  “And I’m sick of you being so suspicious of me.”

  “You haven’t known me long enough to be sick of anything about me.”

  “I’ve known you long enough.” He looks over at me, and his gaze slides up my body. Suddenly I feel kind of exposed and uncomfortable, and I shift on the seat, intentionally moving my leg away just in case his hand goes for the gearshift again.

  “You’ve known me for all of ten minutes.”

  “So then tell me something about yourself.”

  I reel off the list of things I always keep on hand for these situations—like when they ask you to name three things about yourself at the beginning of camp or on the first day of school or something. (Which is so stupid. Who remembers anything from the first day of school?) “My middle name’s Louise, I’m an only child, I want to be a choreographer, and my best subject is math.”

  “Your best subject is world history, because I’m in it. And those things you just told me are lame.”

  “They are not lame!”

  “Yes, they are. They don’t tell me anything about you.” Penn shakes his head and then looks at me before returning his gaze to the road. “Tell me something good.”

  I don’t know what he means. Those things I told him are good. Especially about me wanting to be a
choreographer. People are always super-impressed with that one. And my middle name being Louise? That’s a hideous middle name.

  I look down and try to think of something scandalous I can tell him. The floor of Penn’s truck is littered with straw wrappers, but other than that it’s sparkling clean.

  “I’m going to Ballard,” I say. “You know, the music school? I’ve already been accepted to the school, I just have to audition for the choreography program.”

  He shrugs, like he’s never heard of it, even though it’s, like, one of the most prestigious schools in the country. Then he sort of shakes his head, like he should have known better than to ask me to tell him something scandalous.

  Which pisses me off.

  I can be scandalous.

  Can’t I?

  “My dad cheated on my mom when I was four months old, and he took off and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  Penn cocks his head, like he’s maybe a little bit interested.

  “And one time I overheard my mom saying I would probably have issues with men because of it.”

  “And do you?”

  “Have issues with men?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not sure. I don’t know any men.”

  He smiles.

  He opens his mouth to ask me something else, but suddenly I don’t want him to. I realize it’s because I’m intimidated by him. Penn is beautiful and interesting and charming, and the only thing I have to offer is an absent father and a dance audition.

  I check the clock. “We should probably go back to school,” I say. “The period’s almost over.”

  Penn looks at me in shock. “You want to go back to school?”

  “Well, yeah.” It’s one thing to get away with skipping world history. Probably no one would catch me, since I was technically supposed to be in the nurse’s office anyway. It’s another thing altogether to end up missing a whole day. No way I would be able to get away with that.

  He shakes his head. “You obviously haven’t had much practice at this.”

  He’s right, but I don’t want him to know that, so I just roll my eyes.

  After a moment he turns the car around. “Okay, fine,” he says. “I’ll take you back to school.”