The After Girls (19 page)

“Hey,” Ella said as she walked into the room. She set her bag on the counter and surveyed the plastic cap, the powdery dyes. “This looks doable.”

She picked up the box, reading over the directions, eyebrows knit. “Purple Passion?” she asked, laughing — it was nice to see Ella laugh for a change — “Who names these things?”

“I like the name,” Sydney said, looking at herself in the mirror, taking one last mental snapshot of the way she looked with bright red hair. “It suits me.”

“Alright,” Ella said. She clasped her hands together. “Let’s do this. Head down.”

Ella began to rinse her hair under the spigot, and it felt nice, relaxing. Like she could stay there forever.

Ella turned the water off and carefully lifted her head out from under the spigot. Sydney toweled off her hair while Ella began to mix the peroxide.

“So what did you do last night?” Ella asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just practiced.” In reality, she’d talked to Max on the phone for an hour about nothing in particular.

“That’s cool,” Ella said. She paused what she was doing. She so obviously had something to spill.

“Well go ahead,” Sydney said. “What did you do? You want to tell me.”

Ella rolled her eyes, but that didn’t stop her.

“I went to a show.”

“A what?” She whipped her head around to face Ella, splashing water all over the mirror.

“A show,” Ella said, a mark of annoyance in her voice. “You know, where people go up on stage and play instruments.”

“Very funny,” Sydney said, wiping down the mirror. “But you never go to shows. Where was it?”

“Pinbrook.”

“To see who?”

“The Black Rabbits.”

Sydney narrowed her eyebrows at her friend. She didn’t know that Ella had even
heard
of The Black Rabbits. “You went to see The Black Rabbits?” she asked. “With who?”

“With
whom
,” Ella said, but as she said it, she blushed, and the beginnings of a smile crept up at the corners of her mouth. A smile that could only be about a …

“Oh my God,” Sydney said, and it came to her so quick that she knew she had to be right. “You totally went with Jake.”

Ella shrugged.

“So Ben was okay with it?” Sydney asked.

Ella put the mix down and put her arms on her hips. “It’s not a crime to go to a show with a friend, you know.”

“So you didn’t tell him.”

Ella sighed. “I told him I was going to a show. He didn’t ask who I was going with.”

Sydney shook her head in disbelief. In the midst of what seemed like a near mental breakdown, Ella was carrying on a flirtation with Jake. It was so un-Ella.

“And don’t get too excited,” Ella added. “He was an asshole at the end of it.”

“What happened?” Sydney asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sydney smiled because she knew that meant that Ella definitely
did
want to talk about it.

“He just started to tell me about Grace and then he stopped and he thought I was prying, and — ”

“Were you prying?” Sydney asked.

“Of course I was prying,” Ella said. “Would you expect anything less?”

Sydney couldn’t help but laugh. Ella was always indignant when she thought she was in the right — which was very, very often.

And for a second, she sounded just a little bit more like herself.

• • •

An hour later, Sydney’s hair was smeared with purpley goop and covered in a plastic cap.

“How much longer?” Sydney asked.

Ella looked down at her watch. “Five minutes.”

“So you’re definitely going to stay for the show tonight, right?” she asked, looking at Ella in the mirror. They were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, waiting.

“Of course,” Ella said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Sydney looked down, but Ella lifted her chin back up.

“You don’t want it to drip all down your face,” she said.

“I thought maybe since you just went to a show last night — ”

“Syd, I don’t have like a music cap for the weekend.”

Syd laughed and so did Ella. “Okay,” she said. “So how many pots did you make this year?”

Ella looked down at her hands. “I didn’t make any,” she said. “I totally forgot until yesterday, and it was too late to dry, and I just — ”

“You
forgot
?”

“I know,” she said. “Trust me, I was upset about it.”

“It’s really starting to burn,” Sydney said. “Can we rinse now, please?”

“Okay,” Ella said, turning on the water.

“I thought you had like a date book that you wrote everything important down in.”

“I do,” Ella said. “I just haven’t looked at it since …”

Sydney pulled the plastic cap off and leaned her head over the sink.

She looked back at Ella. “You going to help me rinse this?” she asked, but Ella was staring straight ahead, as if in another world.

“Sydney, that’s it!” she said.

“What? What’s it? This really is burning.”

“Sorry,” she said, walking up to the sink and slowly pushing Sydney’s head under the spigot with a touch too much force. She talked louder than the water.

“That’s it,” she said again. “The important place where you write things down. Astrid’s journal. Maybe she left a note in there.”

And just like that, things were so far from normal again. Like that, they were back where they had been, just yesterday. Sydney wanted to say something — she wanted to tell Ella that they couldn’t know that for sure, and that even if they did, they couldn’t very well get their hands on the journal — after the other night, Ella would probably not be invited back to Grace’s anytime soon — much less read it. She wanted to beg her to forget about all this and to just enjoy the fair tonight. She wanted one night — just one night — where they didn’t have to talk or think about Astrid.

But she couldn’t. Ella would think that she didn’t care about Astrid — or her.

And the thing of it was, she did care. So much. That’s why it was so hard to see Ella like this, obsessed. Looking for answers, looking for a sign, when Sydney knew in her heart that anything they could find would only make them feel worse. What could be in a journal, in a note, but solid, undeniable proof that they’d failed her?

She felt the water run cool against her scalp, and as it rushed around her, she squeezed her eyes tighter. She felt Ella’s fingers in her hair. “I’m telling you, Syd, she’s trying to tell us something. When we were in that cabin, I just knew.”

Ella dug her fingers deeper, washing off all the goop, unveiling something fresh and slick and beautiful, and Sydney thought of Astrid’s hands, softer, doing the same thing. The way when they were done she’d always say, in her old-timey voice, “Alright, Miss Collette, I think you’re ready for your close-up.” She thought of how, if she’d only tried to see Astrid, to
really
see her — instead of just the color of her stupid hair — how maybe none of this would have happened. But it had —
God
, it had — and now she just wanted to forget. She wanted Ella to give up this fixation, so they could just be normal again, so they could grieve together, move on together. But Ella was too caught up in the cabin and the journal and all of the things that would never, ever bring Astrid back.

And then the thought hit her like a brick — she could lose Ella, too. Maybe not physically, definitely not in the same way, but they could grow apart, they could lose touch, they could change.

They were so different, but Astrid had always been the one who held them together. With her gone, there was no guarantee their friendship wouldn’t die, too.

That’s when she felt it: tiny streams. Hot against the cool water rushing around her. Tears. The water keep running, until all of the goop was finally gone, and she knew that Ella wouldn’t even see that she’d cried.

• • •

That night, Sydney tugged on her bow, letting it moan.
Wail
.

The crowd screamed and cheered along, going wild.

They were right on the edge of the woods, and Sydney’s hair matched the sunset, which danced behind the clouds.

She finished the note as Max began to sing the last verse, and the crowd was singing, dancing, clapping on the off beats — they were finally starting to catch on, they were really getting a following — just like Astrid had always believed that they would.

Max stopped singing — there was only one note left — and Sydney dragged it out, feeling the momentum, the rush of it all. Letting her fiddle cry.

And she looked out at the crowd, and her eyes caught Ella’s, right near the front, and for a second she saw her smile.

And then with a quick flick of her wrist the show was over.

“Thanks for coming,” Max’s voice rang out. “We’re River Deep!”

Once their equipment was safely off stage, Sydney and Carter finished packing up while Max chatted it up with a giggling, longhaired fan-girl. He always said that in order to be successful, they needed to engage with the crowd. Give them a little something to love. Well, he certainly was giving
her
plenty. It was like watching a train wreck. Max went on about the power of the music while this wide-eyed freshman just drank it right up like cheap wine.

Sydney rolled her eyes, and Carter just shrugged, but she couldn’t help feeling a weight in her gut like one of those river rocks. Not the kind that are good for skipping. The kind that just sink.

Shouldn’t he be sharing this moment with them, with her? Shouldn’t she be the one he was smiling at, going on about the music? She knew that he was just getting back at her for throwing him out the other night. But couldn’t he just yell at her? Couldn’t they talk about it?

“You were great,” Carter said, smiling all wide. Like he did.

Sydney zipped up her case, wishing that it meant as much coming from him. “Thanks.”

The two of them carted the last of the gear over to his mom’s minivan, where a bright-eyed Mrs. Cheever was mirroring her son’s goofy smile. She was their unofficial equipment manager.

“Y’all were fabulous,” she said. “Just fabulous.”

“Thanks mom,” Carter said, wrapping an arm around his mother. He was almost twice her size.

“And you, Syddie. That voice. You’re going far dear. Very far, I always say. Don’t I, Bubs?”

Carter winced at the name, even though Sydney had heard his mom use it a million times. “You certainly do.”

“Thanks,” Sydney said, and Carter hugged his mom goodbye, and in a minute it was just the two of them, and they were quiet. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Max, walking towards another stage, blond freshie in tow.

Sydney scanned the crowd for Ella. She’d said she’d meet her here after the show.

She looked at Carter. “You haven’t seen Ben, have you?” she asked.

Carter shook his head.

Sydney pulled out her phone to see if Ella had texted her. Nothing.

She sent a quick text.
Where are you guys?

“You want to wait?” Carter asked, as she threw her phone back in her purse. “I’m hungry.”

“Hungry or hangry?” Sydney asked. He was so tall she had to look almost straight up to meet his eyes.

“Bordering on the latter,” Carter said with his puppy dog face. “Barbecue?” There was a stand not too far away that had the best pulled pork sandwiches in the whole entire world.

Sydney looked back down at her phone. It had taken them almost an hour to get everything fully packed up. Ella should be here by now.

Carter leaned down towards her. “They’ll find us,” he said. “They probably just wanted to catch the next act or something.”

“Okay,” Sydney said, but she didn’t quite believe it. Ella was one to stick to plans.

“Come on,” Carter said. “Let’s at least get something to eat.”

They got their sandwiches and headed back to the main stage, just as Broken Brothers were beginning their set. The group was a Falling Rock institution, complete with long curling gray beards, potbellies, wifebeaters, and suspenders. Once, long ago, they’d had a little success in Nashville. Now they mainly performed on the street corners in the summer and dominated the local folk scene. Carter loved them. So did everyone. Sydney stared at the saxophone player, thinking of Astrid and her mysterious, never-talked-about dad. Was that why she’d always loved music so much? Did he play for her? Which songs? Why did she have all these questions now, when it was way too late?

“You okay?” Carter asked, and she nodded quickly. She didn’t want to get upset right here, right now. She scanned the crowd again for Ella — nothing. She pulled out her phone and checked it for maybe the tenth time. No new messages.

“Aren’t they awesome?” Carter asked.

“Uh huh,” she said, but she was so damn distracted. By thoughts of Astrid, worries about Ella. Everyone. So she pulled out her flask and took a swig. She wanted to actually enjoy this. She
loved
this band. She didn’t want to waste the whole night.

Ella was fine. She was probably
just fine.

And there was nothing she could do about Astrid. It was something she had to accept — or forget. She chose forget.

She took another swig and then offered her flask to Carter, and he took it happily. Everything Carter did, he did happily. He took a drink, handed it back.

She didn’t wait to take another. “One more?”

Carter gave her a look like he was considering signing her up for AA. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she lied. “I’m fine. Yes or no?” She pushed the flask back at him.

He shrugged. “What the hell? It’s our night.”

Our night. The words buzzed through her as he took the flask from her, their hands touching as he did. His fingers were warm like the whiskey going down her throat. They felt nice.

Broken Brothers kept going, and the music strummed all around them, and there were so many people now, and she and Carter finished the contents of her flask, and as the sky got darker, the crowd got thicker. The liquor made her feel cozy, lit a fire inside her chest — made everything light, just like she wanted. She stopped checking her phone, and she pushed away thoughts of Max and the blond girl, and before she knew it, her body was moving along with Carter’s. They were swaying side to side, her shoulder grazing his arm. And she looked at him, and he looked down at her, and then the banjos strummed louder, sweat dripping off of the old men’s faces, and for a second, she was happy again, and then Carter slipped his hand in hers, and it was just friends, really, it was just a friendly thing. It was just Carter showing he cared, having fun, and for a second he clasped her hand tighter, and she wondered if maybe she had always been wrong …