In the days before the festival, the town had felt deceptively simple; now,  in the crush of people—as Penelope raced through, her head swivelling as she searched the crowd—it felt like running the gauntlet. She fought the mass of strangers, pushing and shoving through the flow of people that seemed to choke her off at every turn. People shouted things at her as she squeezed past but she didn't linger long enough for them to register and she didn't bother apologizing. She didn't care if everyone thought she was a jerk—she didn't have time to care.

She scanned the area for what felt like forever until, finally, she saw a flash of teal that looked familiar. She swerved, changing directions, and dove towards it. She emerged from the crowd onto a sidewalk and gasped with relief as she saw her dad sitting on the edge of a planter alongside Beth and Lyla. As the night had begun to fall in earnest, they had donned jackets to keep out the creeping cold.

Her dad's eyes went wide at the sight of her. "Penelope!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "What the hell? Where'd you come from?"

Penelope could only pant, gulping down air, her hands on her knees. 

Her dad continued, stepping closer. "I thought you'd be busy all night with all the stuff Gunnar had planned for you—"

"I need your keys!" she wheezed reaching up to grab hold of his jacket. "I need the keys to the truck!"

"My... keys?" her dad sputtered, clearly startled. "What? Why?"

"I just..." She had to stop to gasp for a little more air. Her mind was racing too much for her to formulate a better explanation, a lie to soothe the worry that was now creeping over her father's face. "I... I need to go get... something."

Her dad frowned, but the urgency in her tone had him reaching into his jacket pocket before he even realized what he was doing. "What do you need to get?"

"I-I just need the keys, okay? Please. I need the keys."

"Wait," Beth said, her brows folding together as she took a better look at Penelope. Penelope was sure she looked like hell, sweaty and haggard, from all her running. She could almost hear the wheels turning inside Beth's head. "Are... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Penelope lied, avoiding her gaze.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Lyla said, getting up and offering Penelope her spot on the planter's edge. "You look beat. Take a minute and I can go get you a drink or something..."

"No!" Penelope snapped, then pulled herself back. "No. Sorry. I c-can't, I have to, uh, get back..."

"Are you okay?" her dad added, as he began to notice it, too. He left his keys in his jacket, though now they were dangling halfway out... "Is something wrong?"

"N-No, of course not," Penelope said but, of course, her voice came out a little too high to be believable.

That was the final nail in her coffin—her dad looked sure of it now. 

"You promised you'd tell me if something is wrong, remember?" he said, keeping his voice low as if anyone could hear them over the racket of the crowd. "You promised."

Penelope stared at him. She wanted to tell him, but there was no time... 

 "Tell me what's wrong, Penelope," her dad said as he leaned closer, his eyes softening. "Maybe I can help. Let me help you."

She swallowed hard. 

The keys were right there, hanging loose from his jacket pocket, inches from her own hand...

"Let me help you, Penelope," her dad repeated.

Her face crumpled. "I c-can't," she said, her voice cracking. Then she snatched the keys from his pocket and took off, diving back into the crowd.

"PENELOPE!" her dad called after her.

Her eyes blurred with tears as she raced back through the thick of people. If she was lucky, her dad would let her go... But she knew that wasn't likely. She could already hear him behind her, calling her name and apologizing to the people he bumped into as he chased after her. 

She cursed under her breath and ran harder, shoving blindly at bodies to make her way through. She was violent enough that people began to leap out of her way as she neared, not wanting to get caught in her way. She pushed her every muscle to its limit until her legs and arms seared with pain. Every breath she managed to pull in was instantly burned up.

She spotted the truck and gasped a sigh of relief. She had made it in time before her dad could catch up to her. She locked the doors just as her dad threw himself against the passenger side door. 

His hat had flown off and his salt-and-pepper hair plastered against the sweat on his forehead. He began to yank helplessly at the handle. "Penelope!" he yelled, looking angry, his face red and blotchy. "Open the door!"

Penelope just shook her head and she strapped the seatbelt across her chest, like that would be enough to keep him from pulling her out of the truck cab if he managed to get in.

Swearing, her dad gave up and rounded the vehicle to get to the driver's side. He pulled on the door only to find it locked, too. 

"Please, Penelope," he pleaded, still trying to pull the door open even though it was pointless. His anger was quickly melting into fear. "Just come out and talk to me, please. Tell me what's going on. Please."

They had attracted the attention of the crowd now, and people were turning to look. A few even had their phones up, filming the scene. The bright screens illuminated all their faces in the darkness, turning them into a ghoulish chorus. She was sure they'd put the footage on the Internet, but she didn't care. The thought of people watching her and judging her was not as important as what she had to do.

Her dad didn't care either. His eyes were glistening now, filling with tears as he pulled on the door handle and pounded on the window, over and over. "Please, Penelope! Let me in! Tell me what's wrong so I can help you!"

Penelope's own tears blurred her vision as she focussed hard on the steering wheel. She couldn't stand to see her dad like this—helpless. It was a painful reminder of the days after her mother died when her father had looked just as lost.

But it had to be this way. There was no way she was going to drag him into this.

She slotted the key into the ignition and turned. The truck rumbled to life beneath her, but her dad didn't stop trying the door. It was only when he heard the gears shift and the truck began to back up that he let go.

"Don't do this, Penelope!" her dad shouted, jogging alongside the vehicle as she pulled out of the parking spot. At least the rubbernecking crowd was aware enough to get out of her way. She laid on the horn and the blasting noise made them scatter, giving her enough room to turn out onto the road. 

She put the truck into drive and looked at her dad one last time, hoping he would understand. Then she stepped on the gas...

Her dad still refused to give in. As she drove off, he was right behind her, lit up red by the truck's tail lights. He chased after the truck until he could no longer keep up. Then he just stood there—his hands on his knees, his chest heaving—shrinking away in the rearview mirror as Penelope left him behind.

Something cold took hold of her throat as she drove out of town. The icy grip forced a sob out of her as she realized that this might just be the last time she saw him, ever. 

 And for it to be like this... 

 She hated herself for it.