The Beginning of After

Chapter Seventeen



The night before school started, I laid out my first-day outfit—jeans and an embroidered blue T-shirt—and Nana came in to see it.

“You’ll look very pretty,” she said, rubbing cream into her hands. This was a bedtime ritual for her, the spreading of lotion on all limbs and digits, and especially on the webby skin between her fingers. She had this idea that your skin got dried out while you slept, making you look older faster.

“I just want to seem, you know, okay.”

“You will. Because you are.”

Earlier that day, I’d had a session with Suzie.

“How do you feel about seeing everyone again?” she’d asked. “Especially the ones who were there that night, after the prom?”

I hadn’t been able to answer her then, so she helped me create a “comfort zone” that I could go to in my head if I needed it at school. (I settled on the space at home, between the white couch and the window, wrapped tightly in a quilt from my bed.)

After Nana disappeared into her room, I opened my journal, waiting for something to kick in. The window was open and a breeze swam in, almost chilly enough to raise the hairs on my arm. Fall was starting, right on cue. The starting part of that made me uneasy.

As a family, we got collectively bummed out by the end of summer. Toby and I would lie around and watch a lot of television, relishing the feeling of not having any homework we should be doing. My dad would work late to avoid the quiet sadness in the house, and my mother would spend extra hours at the studio to catch up on wedding season portraits.

I began forming words with my pen, but they felt clunky and stupid:

I’m going back to school tomorrow. They will look and stare and whisper again.

I stopped writing and started drawing. Big round eyes, sharp and jagged eyes, eyes narrowed to mysterious, sneaky slits. Soon, I was fast asleep, the notebook balancing on my chest, the cats on either side of my legs. Dreams came fast and short, flickers of scenes that ran into one another like a silent movie.


When Megan’s car reached the bottom of the school’s driveway, she turned to me and smiled. “Here we are at last,” she said, and I couldn’t figure out why she was so excited to be done with a three-minute drive. But now she was turning left into the senior parking lot, and I got it. What she meant was, At last, we’re seniors! We’re going to rule the school!

Meg was no longer driving her mom’s minivan. Her sister, Mary, had left for NYU the week before, and had bequeathed to Meg her very tiny but very cute red Toyota. She was so amped about it that you’d think it was a Mustang convertible.

We had timed our arrival to be early, but not too early. Other seniors were already there, leaning against their cars in groups, chatting. Meg drove over to them and pulled into the first open space. All heads turned, scanning the front seats to register first Meg, then me.

“Ready whenever you are,” she said, pulling up the parking brake until it made a grurt noise. I gathered my stuff and got out quickly, wanting to appear ready, even eager. Still, it was an effort for me to raise my head from the pavement to see who was there.

Andie Stokes and Hannah Lindstrom were coming toward me. Andie wrapped me in a hug.

“Hey,” she said.

Hannah did, too. Now, suddenly, Caitlin Fish. They were practically lining up.

I was getting an air kiss from Lily Janek when I noticed three guys hanging out across the parking lot, hands in their pockets. One of them was Joe. He looked up at exactly the wrong moment and our eyes met. He just nodded. Not even a nod. Just a swoop up of the chin, then down. Our time at the coffee place had been nice, but I still wasn’t sure where it left us, and clearly he wasn’t either.

I took a second to check out the rest of the lot. Was I hoping to see David? Even though I knew he was surely in California by now, the familiar school setting caused a knee-jerk hope that maybe he’d be there. I’d have to get over that.

Now I smiled quickly at Joe, then someone touched my shoulder and I turned to see Meg ready to usher me inside like a bodyguard. As I walked toward the school entrance, feeling Joe’s eyes on my back, maybe even on my swinging shoulder bag or my new shoes, I wondered how soon I’d get to see him again.


One car was missing from the driveway when Meg and I pulled up to my house that afternoon.

“Nana must be getting her hair done,” I said.

“You sure you don’t want to go with us to Vinny’s?” asked Meg. She was meeting Andie and Hannah and their crowd to celebrate the first day of senior year with pizza.

“Thanks, but I just need to chill.” The day had been good. People had been nice. Mr. Churchwell tracked me down to check up on me, and Nana called at lunchtime to see how I was, but I didn’t mind. Now, even the weight of my book bag as I heaved it out of the backseat had a reassuring, solid feel to it.

“Pick you up tomorrow?” she asked.

“Call you tonight,” I said, then got out of the car.

I waved at Meg as she backed down the driveway but quickly turned toward the house. There was Masher in the front window, his ears forward and high, panting. When I opened the door, he ran past me into the driveway, then stopped and shot an intense look in my direction. “Yeah, just give me a few minutes,” I said. I dropped my stuff in the house and changed into my sneakers.

Back outside, at the end of the driveway, I stopped to open the mailbox. Masher sat in the middle of the road, looking up the hill, then down the hill. I slid out the pile of mail and started walking, the dog a few yards ahead of me. Bills, the PennySaver, some junk mail for my dad. National Geographic, addressed to Toby. I touched my finger to Toby’s name printed out in dot matrix, thinking At least he’s still alive in a computer somewhere.

Then there was an envelope addressed to “Masher, c/o Laurel Meisner.” I froze, staring at it, while Masher began peeing in the Girardis’ ivy patch.

I tucked the rest of the mail under my armpit and opened David’s envelope. Inside was a letter written on lined notebook paper.


Masher,





Sorry it took me so long to write. Things didn’t work out with my buddy Stefan, so I’m headed back. But I think I’m going to take my time and check things out on the way.





Mash, that means you’re gonna have to stay there for a while. I hope you understand. I’ll write or call whenever I can. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again, but it won’t be too long. Promise.





C ya,





David





I read it twice, then folded it into my pocket. Masher took that as his cue to stop peeing and start walking again, and I followed him, past the Girardis’ and every familiar spot after it.





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