The After Girls (18 page)

“Sure,” she said, and they walked forward, Jake leading, weaving through everyone until they were right at the front, a dusty stage before them. Ella could have reached out and set her beer on one of the amps.

They didn’t say much after that. Between the people behind them and the guys on stage, testing the different sound levels or whatever it was that they tested (Sydney claimed it was like mega super important, but Ella had always wondered why it had to take
forever
), it was too loud to really say much.

So she sipped on her beer — it was bitter and watery — as her eyes darted from the stage to the crowd to the equipment to the eager look on Jake’s face, taking it all in. It was strange, she realized, that this was really the first show she’d ever been to without Sydney in it. The first one she was going to just for the music. Not for support. Not because it was what a good friend would do.

How had she gone seventeen years without experiencing that? She took another sip, realizing that there was still so much for her to do. So much for her to see. And the thought hit her like a knife, tearing through her, sharp and jagged, because it was so horribly, undeniably true. There were so many things that Astrid would never do.

But she didn’t have time to dwell. Jake turned to her as a group of boys with creative facial hair and neon t-shirts walked on stage. “Here we go,” he said, leaning close — just for a second.

Up on stage, they didn’t say anything. They didn’t introduce themselves. There was just the screaming of the crowd around them, and then there was the sound.

It started with an electric guitar, a note, long, rugged, and loud. And then the keyboards. And a big black box that she was pretty sure was a synthesizer. And then their voices — all together.

She turned to look at Jake, but he was in another world already, singing along with them, jumping up and down to the music.

So she turned her attention back to the stage, and the guitars were getting louder, more playful, and the guy on the keyboards was rocking out, and that beat, that bass, it was so undeniable, so intrusive, so
present
, unlike anything she’d ever heard before.

Like this was their moment, all of them, every person in this room, and these guys were just keeping time.

And before she knew it, she was jumping, too, and she could feel her beer spilling, splashing her in the face, and she didn’t know who she was hitting or bumping into, but it didn’t matter, did it? Because they were all there, bumping together, and there were lights, red and green and blue and yellow and pink — even pink — and she felt like she was in a movie, or another world, one she’d never known, one she’d never had admittance to, and here was Jake, his shoulder brushing against hers as he jumped along with her, giving her the ticket, welcoming her in, letting her be someone she wasn’t. Letting her fool every single one of them.

Letting her become someone new.

And the guitar went faster, and it danced, and it jumped, too, and it wouldn’t — couldn’t — stop, and she thought it would go on forever, until it cried, wailed, stopped.
Shut up
.

You don’t know me
now
!

The crowd burst into cheers and screams, and Jake leaned close, shouted in her ear:

“On crack, right?”

“Yes!” she screamed back.

And then the bass started thumping again.

• • •

They drove much of the way home in pleasant silence. She was too exhausted, too exhilarated to say much of anything. It had been
delightfully
too much for her. Too many lights. Too many sounds. Too many people with too many tattoos. In the best possible way.

She’d walked in scared, unsure, feeling out of place, feeling like Sydney was the music person, like she didn’t have the right to have opinions of her own, to go to a show that wasn’t Syddie’s, and then she’d walked out feeling she was part of some movement that she couldn’t put words to — that didn’t need words.

Ella stole a quick glance at Jake. His eyes were focused on the dark road ahead. His strong hands grasped the wheel.

She owed it all to him.

Finally, they reached the exit that led to Falling Rock. Apart from a couple of bars, the place wasn’t much for late nights. It looked like a ghost town as they drove down the main drag, peppered with occasional streetlights and trees but not much else. They passed Trail Mix — it was too dark to see inside — and Ella wondered what it would be in fifty years, if someone would turn it into a hair salon or a yoga studio. She wondered how long people would remember that it was Astrid’s place.

She wondered what Astrid thought of it now.

After a few more blocks, Jake turned onto her street. It was a windy night, and she watched as the trees swayed around them.

He pulled into her drive and put his foot on the brake, but he didn’t turn off the car. Ella heard the
vrum-vrum-vrum
of the motor, counting down the seconds they had left together.

Jake turned down the music — not like him — and turned to face her.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said.

She smiled (why could she not stop smiling?) and she looked down at her purse. “Thanks for taking me,” she said. “It was amazing.”

Jake smiled, too. “I’m glad you liked it.”

She opened her purse, fumbled with her wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh,” Jake said, putting his hand on hers. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh,” she snatched her hand away, and she knew that that made it more obvious than ever. “Are you sure?”

“Just get me a latte at the café next time.”

“They’re free for us,” she said.

“Well, make one for me then.”

Ella laughed, and as much as she just wanted to think about the music and the night and the way Jake’s eyes crinkled a little when he smiled, she knew that if she didn’t bring it up now, she never would. “I know your mom said it was okay for me to work today, but I don’t know how much Grace really wants me there anymore. She was really upset last night.”

Jake looked at his hands. The engine still ran. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “My mom will keep you on, don’t worry,” he said. “I’d miss you too much if she didn’t.”

The engine puttered on. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him missing her, but still she wished he would say something else. She wished he’d talk about Grace.

Ella cleared her throat. “But Grace is still mad?” she asked.

Jake hesitated. “You probably should be getting inside,” he said. “It’s late.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t move. “Thanks again.” She turned towards him then, looked him right in the eyes, hoping that he would change his mind. Hoping he would let her in.

But he didn’t say another word. He just looked away, focused his eyes on his hands, the steering wheel, anything but her.

She didn’t have a choice. She grabbed her purse and slowly opened the door. She was out of the car and her feet were on the concrete when he stopped her.

“Ella,” he said.

“Yes,” she turned back, catching her breath. And at that moment, she didn’t even know what she wanted more — for him to say something about Grace or for him to just say something to
her.
She didn’t even know what he could say. What words could accurately describe how she felt in this moment, with the good and the bad all tangled up together?
What did she feel?

“You shouldn’t worry about Grace,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, hesitantly, waiting for him to say more, wishing so much that he would. Wishing that she could know everything that he knew. Right now. Was that why she was so excited to be around him, or was it something else?

“I mean, you can’t always take what she says —
what she does
— to heart.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It’s not totally her fault.”

Ella narrowed her eyes at him. “She threw me out of her house. I wasn’t even trying to — ”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I’m just saying, don’t take it personally. It’s not about
you
.”

Ella looked at him like she didn’t know him, because for a second, she felt like she didn’t.
It’ll be okay
, she wanted to hear
. You guys will work it out. She’ll let you back in. She’ll be okay.
But not that she shouldn’t care. How could she not?

“You know I practically grew up in that house. With her. She was like a second mother to me. How could I not take it to heart? I know I’m not one of you, but I feel things just like you guys do.”

“Whoa,” Jake said. “Calm down. I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t mean that you don’t have a right to be upset. I just meant that — ”

“You just meant
what
?”

“I just meant that sometimes Aunt Grace, well sometimes, she just doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“You keep on saying things but you aren’t saying what you mean.”

Jake looked ahead in front of him, as if reading the front of her house for answers. He glanced down at the clock. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s getting late,” he repeated.

She was getting so close, and now he was cutting her out. Just like Grace had.

“How am I not supposed to worry about Grace? Why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking about? I have a right to know — I probably spent more time with her than you ever did.”

He looked straight at her then. “No,” he said. “You don’t. I know you loved A, and I know you spent a lot of time at her house, but it’s still
our
family, not yours. You really should just stay out of it.”

Ella felt like she’d been hit with an anvil. What had happened? How had things gone so terribly wrong? This was Jake. Nice, sweet, near-perfect Jake. What had she done?

But his face stayed tight, not open like it usually was. His gaze was firm.

“Fine,” she said. “Thanks for tonight.”

And she slammed the car door shut and walked inside without looking back.

The next morning, Sydney’s phone rang persistently, jolting her out of her sleep.

She picked it up and strained to focus at the name on the screen.
Ella
. Probably to give her another lecture about how she should care more. As if she didn’t. It wasn’t that easy to just burst into tears every other conversation. She almost wished it were.

She hit ignore and rolled over.

But in minutes it was ringing again. She looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. She probably should get up anyway. The fair was today, and she wanted to dye her hair, even though Astrid, the one who’d always done it before, wasn’t here to help.

She let it ring through without hitting ignore and sat up in bed. She stared into the mirror over her dresser. Her roots were showing and she was tired of red, anyway. Even if it was a totally different, completely artificial, Red 40 kind of red, it still reminded her too much of Astrid.

She wanted a change.

Her phone started ringing again.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“I’m sorry,” Ella said. She sounded tired. “Are you up?”

“Well, I am after you calling me three times.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Sydney said. “Why did you call?”

There was silence on the other end and then a rush of words. “I didn’t mean it, Syd, really. I don’t think that you don’t care. I was just freaked out and scared and you were calling me crazy, and I was just trying to defend myself, I was just trying to explain …”

“By implying that I don’t care that Astrid died?”

“No,” Ella said, and even through the phone, Sydney could hear the girl getting emotional. Here we go.

“I loved her, too,” Sydney said. “I miss her every day. Every second. Maybe I don’t cry as easy as you, and maybe I’m not scared and freaking out, but I still feel it. All the time.”

“I know you do,” Ella said. “I know.”

“Do you?” Sydney asked. “Because you act like I just want to forget about her.”

“I know,” Ella said. “I’m sorry I said that. But it seems so easy for you.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay.”

There was silence. Staggered, dragged-out silence.

Sydney knew that neither of them wanted to talk about the one thing that must be on both of their minds. The words that Ella had spoken, the ones that started the whole fight. Could Ella really believe that? The freak-out about the phone call, the dreams, the obsession with the cabin staying just as is — it had all seemed at least semi-normal until now. But this was new — this was a whole other level.

Sydney’s anger softened as she tried to put herself in Ella’s place. As she tried to imagine being so torn-up, so distraught, that her mind could take something so far …

“I’m sorry,” Ella said again.

Sydney took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “It’s fine. Let’s just not talk about it. We both said a lot of things that we regret.”

More of that brutal silence.

“Can I come over?” Ella asked.

Sydney shook her head. “I have to get ready for tonight. I have to dye my hair.”

“I can help,” Ella said. “I’ve done it on my mom before.”

“This isn’t highlights, El. It’s a whole bleaching, dyeing thing.”

“I can do it. It’s all on the box, right?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Astrid always managed just fine.”

And it was out there. Just like that.

“Admit it,” Ella said. “You need me.”

Sydney ran her fingers through her hair and flopped back down on the bed. There was no use fighting Ella when she wanted something, whether it was an A on her calculus assignment or a date with Ben. She always got it in the end. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Fine. You win.”

“I’ll be over in twenty,” Ella said. And she hung up the phone.

• • •

Sydney was installed in the upstairs bathroom, box opened, towels out, and tools spread around her, by the time Ella arrived.

That was how Astrid always did it. Neat and orderly.