Chapter 22 Hey There, Dorothy #2
I tune out their conversation to focus on more important things. Namely, continuing to breathe. Luckily, Bridget soon returns with the bag I packed for last night’s sleepover.
“Why don’t you change,” she says, “so we can all get out of Penn’s hair?”
I nod, probably looking as lifeless as I feel, because I want to be very much in Penn’s hair. And in his bed. I want him in his bed with me. And I want everyone else to be on the same page—to understand what I’m going through.
It’s eerie. Now my reality feels just as off-kilter as the game did.
After everyone leaves the room, I change into a black sweater, dark jeans, and black boots.
The outfit matches my somber mood. As comforting as it is to be here—certain that I’m me, and that everything is as it seems—I’m mourning, too.
All along I wanted to leave the game world, but now I’m grieving everything I left behind.
Including the me I became while I was there, who doesn’t seem to fit here so well anymore.
There’s a knock on the door, and then Penn’s voice: “You decent?”
I’m engulfed by a warm, full-body panic, same as when Penn came into the bathroom while I sat in the tub. I close my eyes. I don’t know how I’m going to manage this—the gap between memories, and how they oddly intersect. It’s agony.
“Yep,” I call back, my voice strangled.
Penn’s body fills the doorframe, one arm bent against the top while he leans inside.
He’s changed into his gray Curly’s T-shirt and his go-to backward hat.
“Hey. Bridget packed all your stuff into her car, but Ryan’s coming to Curly’s to watch some football.
” I nod, and his brow furrows. “You sure you’re okay? ”
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t believe me. He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable, and I wish he’d walk over and wrap his arms around me. I want to bury my head in his chest. It was terrible, back in MASHland, worrying I’d lose him, but this is worse. Here, I’ve never even had him.
Penn shifts sideways to let me through the door. I avoid his eyes as I move past him, but we’re so close that I can feel the heat of his skin, and I have to shove my hands into my pockets to keep from fisting his shirt.
He follows me into the living room, and I stop to look around. I’ve never been to this apartment, and all I want to do is linger. Study every corner. Crawl inside the nooks and crannies of his life—all the small, precious details I missed before or didn’t care enough to know.
A framed black-and-white photo of Wrigley Field hangs over the cozy-looking leather couch.
Two tall bookshelves stand on either side of the bay window, each of them lined with paperbacks and picture frames.
I spot a photo of Nanna, her head thrown back with laughter, and another framed picture of Penn, Ryan, and me at a Blackhawks game.
I remember that night. It was freezing. Penn offered me his coat, and I refused just to be stubborn.
I turn to Penn, who stands with his hands in his pockets, watching me, self-conscious. He’s already opened the front door. “I like your place,” I tell him.
He smirks, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. You woke up looking like you were trapped in one of those Dateline apartments.”
“I think I hit my head pretty hard.”
He nods. “You did. I didn’t catch you in time.”
I don’t know what to say. How to act. I don’t want to leave. But he clears his throat, the universal signal for “get out of here,” so I step into the hallway and face him.
“Well.” I shrug. “I guess I’ll see you soon?”
“Not if you can help it, though, right?”
Penn’s lips twitch, and I bite back a grin. The teasing, at least, is familiar. And maybe Bridget’s flirting equation will hold up here, too, so I gaze up at him, hopeful he can see what I’m thinking. His eyes lock on mine, and I swear I hear him take the tiniest gasp.
He feels it, too. I know it.
Before I can think twice, I lean in, wrapping my arms around Penn’s neck, and—
“Whoa, there. Hey.” He lets his hands rest on my waist for a moment before he pushes me away, laughing. “What—what are you doing, Ruby?”
An anxious fizzing fills my veins, my face growing hot as my knees start to buckle. What am I doing?
This is real. Real Penn. Real consequences.
Humiliated, I step back and shake my head. “I’m sorry. Still woozy, I guess.”
Penn extends a hand, and for a moment I think he might reach for my face. Except his hand keeps rising—and he ruffles my hair. He ruffles my hair like I’m a goddamn golden retriever, a move so platonic—so deeply, unsettlingly unsexy—that I wouldn’t mind dying right here on his dumb doorstep.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a sweet grin. “We’ll just chalk that up to a mild concussive event, alright?”
I stare at him, wondering if I would’ve been better off trapped inside a sleepover game for the rest of eternity. Afraid he’s become a phantom itch I’ll never get to scratch.
As I turn and begin marching toward my spiritual demise, Penn calls, “Hey. Wynne.”
My heart stutters in my chest. I spin back.
He leans out of the doorway and shrugs. “Next time I see you, be the Ruby I know, will you? You’re freaking me out.”
My throat tightens. The Ruby he knows doesn’t exist anymore.
I take one last look at Penn, wondering what the Ruby he knows would say. But I’m not her anymore. The lines, they really did blur.
I leave before I say something I’ll regret.