The After Girls (29 page)

At first it was more of the same — detailed accounts of their days, the time Sydney had gotten lost on the way to Walmart and taken them on an ultimately fun scenic trip, the day that Ella and Ben had had their one-year anniversary, how the girls had helped her find the perfect outfit to wear to The Cheesecake Factory in the next town over. As she flipped through, she realized how strange it was that Astrid wrote so much about them, but so little about herself.

But as Ella kept reading, getting into their senior year, the journal started to change. It started to sound less like the Astrid she’d known. More like an Astrid who could be capable of something so horrible, so unthinkable. Of an Astrid who would eventually take her own life.

Some days there were just a few words.
Doing good today.
Some days just one.
Angry
. Some days there were drawings instead, not art-class drawings, with the sketchy pencil marks and the subtle shading. These drawings were hard and rough, so much so that sometimes they broke through the paper. They were big shapes. Long faces. Ella didn’t know what to think except that they looked like what it felt to be scared.

And they definitely scared her.

And the stories, when they were there, they stopped being about school so much, about friends and crushes and lists of boys that Astrid had thought were kissable; they turned vague, cryptic. All pronouns and emotions. About
her
moods.
Her
looks.
Her
clothes. Whether
she
was happy or sad —
she wouldn’t get out of bed all day
— pretty or slumming around —
she put her pearls back on, she hasn’t done that since he left
— really there or in some other world —
she screamed at me when I left the house, she tried to pull me back inside —

The
she
had to be Grace, but it was like reading about a whole other woman. One that Ella had never known. One that Astrid could hardly predict.

One that she seemed almost obsessed with.

Jake’s words rung in her head. “Astrid’s dad is alive … Grace was probably the least surprised of anyone.” It still didn’t all make sense. What exactly had happened?

And then Ella found a page with just a couple of sentences.

Went to Ella’s today. I couldn’t help it. I probably shouldn’t have done that. She won’t like it.

Ella stared at the page. It was dated a couple of months before Astrid died. April. Rainy April. Sad April. And in moments, she remembered. It came to her as if in a flash. Why had she not thought of it before?

On that day in April, Astrid had walked over, unannounced, the rain making her red hair deeper, darker, curled into wet ringlets. Astrid never wore much makeup, so her face just looked wet, like a child who’d been crying.

“Oh my God,” Ella had said as she opened the front door. “Are you okay?”

Astrid shook her head and walked inside. Ella got a towel, and they walked up the stairs to her room. Astrid sat on the edge of the bed and shook. At first Ella thought it was from being wet, but it wasn’t.

“What happened?” she asked.

Astrid spoke in bursts. “I just … all of a sudden …” she gasped. “She just screamed at me … she wouldn’t stop.”

Ella hugged her friend, her t-shirt getting wet. She didn’t know if it was from the rain or Astrid’s tears.

“Who screamed at you?” Ella asked. “What happened?”

But Astrid shook her head. “I wanted to talk about something, and she wouldn’t let me. I wanted to tell you something, but I can’t.”

“Who did this?” Ella asked, pushing the wet hair off of Astrid’s forehead. “You can tell me anything,” she said.

“Not this,” Astrid said. “Not this.” More sobs rocked her.

“Shhh,” Ella said, taking her friend in her arms. “I don’t want to pressure you, but I’m always here when you want to talk, A. I’m always here to listen.”

Astrid looked up at Ella, almost as if she were a different species, as if they were so different that Ella could never, ever understand. But then she nodded, as if trying to convince herself that what Ella said could be true.

“It’ll be okay,” Ella repeated, wrapping her arms around Astrid tighter, trying to calm her shaking body. “I’m here.”

“I’m just afraid,” Astrid said with a gasp, but she cut herself off.

Ella pulled back, rubbed her hand along Astrid’s shoulder.

“Afraid of what?” Ella asked, but her friend just shook her head, the sobs shaking her again, the tears coming down in a rush.

And she never told Ella what it was that she was afraid of. She never told her what it was that she wanted so badly to say.

And worse than that, Ella hadn’t pressed her. Ella hadn’t asked. She hadn’t even known it was Grace. The guilt hit her in the stomach like a punch. Why had she just let it go?

Ella felt her face grow hot, and a tear trickled down her cheek, but she just wiped it away. She was too tired for a breakdown. Instead she took a deep breath, and she kept flipping the pages, and it was just more drawings, more words here and there, and then there it was, that last page. So insufficient. Such a non-goodbye. Ella turned the page wishing that there were more. She ran her hands over it, but there was no more writing, just the back of the last page. Blank. Lined.

Empty.

But as Ella pulled her hand back she felt a sharp pain and then … blood. There was blood on her finger. She’d gotten a paper cut. And she looked closer, and she couldn’t believe that she and Sydney hadn’t seen it before.

Tiny slivers, right along the spine.

There had been pages.
Astrid’s
pages.

They’d been cut out of the journal.

Her friend’s final words had been literally cut off.

Ella put her finger in her mouth, sucking on the salty drop of blood, as her heart quickened and her brain began to race.

Ella knew what she had to do. There was no time to waste.

• • •

Ella was out of breath by the time she got to Sydney’s house. She’d run the whole way. Sydney’s mom opened the door and looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Hello, Mrs. Collette,” she tried to say politely, between gasps for air.

“Hey dear,” she said. “Are you okay?”

Ella nodded quickly. “Is Sydney here?”

She stepped back, making way. “She’s in her room, but if she’s not up yet, you’re going to have to deal with her crankiness. Not me.”

“Thanks,” Ella said, running up the stairs.

She knocked on Sydney’s door — two quick raps — before whipping it open.

Sydney groaned from the bed and flipped over.

“Hey,” Ella said, walking over to her. “Hey. It’s Ella.” She shook her shoulder, maybe not so gently.

Sydney flipped back over and her eyes fluttered open. “Whoa,” she said, sitting up quickly. “Whoa.”

“It’s okay,” Ella said. “It’s just me.”

“What are you doing here?” Sydney asked. “Ugh. Can you pull that shade down?”

Ella walked over to the window and snapped it down. Sydney was still in her clothes from the night before. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “It’s almost one.”

Sydney let out another groan. “I had a rough morning, okay?”

“I take it you guys kept drinking after I left?” Ella asked.

“It’s not just that,” Sydney said, and Ella knew there was a story there but she didn’t have time for it right now. “Listen,” she said, pulling the journal out of her purse, her hands already beginning to quiver in anticipation.

But Sydney interrupted her, holding up her hand. “Wait, what happened with you? Have you talked to Ben yet? Or Jake?”

Ella shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“I’m sure that Ben was just drunk, and he’s really such a good guy and — ”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“I know, but — ”

“Sydney,” Ella snapped. “Listen to me. There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Oh God,” Sydney said — and she really did look upset. “What now? What else can there be?”

“Look at this,” she said, pushing the journal in front of Sydney.

Sydney immediately shook her head vigorously. “No more storytime for me, thanks. Once was enough.”

“Just look,” Ella said, flipping the back cover open. “Feel that.”

“Feel what?”

“Right here.” Ella took Sydney’s finger and ran it along the inside of the spine.

“Whoa,” she said. “It’s sharp.”

“Exactly,” Ella said. “The pages have been cut out.”

Sydney looked up at her, and for a moment it looked like she was considering something, like she was weighing a choice. Like even she was interested — even she wanted to know — even
she
was shocked.

But the look left and her face went flat. She shrugged. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she said.

Ella couldn’t help it. She snapped. “How does a mother slicing pages out of her daughter’s diary not mean anything?”

Sydney just shrugged. She looked defeated. “How is that any worse than pretending your husband’s dead?”

“Don’t you think that’s why I want to see them?” Ella asked. “They could explain what really happened.”

Sydney just shook her head. “What are you even telling me this for? I’m presuming you want me to help you do some crazy thing.”

“We need to get them back.”

“
We
don’t need to do anything,” Sydney said.

“What do you want me to do? Just pretend I didn’t see them? Just pretend they didn’t exist?”

“Yes,” Sydney yelled. “Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Ella shook her head. She’d come too far now. She’d been through too much. She wasn’t going to stop now. She was so close. “No,” she said. “No. I can’t.”

Sydney sighed. “How would you even go about getting them?”

“I’ll ask Jake. I’ll look for them.”

“You’re going to tear up a house you were kicked out of for snooping to find a few sheets of paper?”

“What else am I going to do?”

“Give up!” Sydney said. “They could be anywhere. She could have burned them for all we know.”

“No,” Ella said. “You didn’t see her room. Not a thing was touched. Not a single thing except the journal. She hid them. She didn’t burn them. She wouldn’t destroy anything of Astrid’s. I know it. She wouldn’t.”

But Sydney just shook her head. Her eyes looked sad. Almost like she was going to cry. “And what then?” she asked. “When will it be enough? What else are we going to find? That she had a secret grandmother? That Astrid wasn’t her real name? That she didn’t speak a word of truth to us the entire time we knew her? It won’t bring her back,” Sydney yelled. “It’ll just make us feel even more like shit.”

“But we might know — ”

“We might know what?” Sydney practically screamed. “What? Tell me what could we possibly know that would make anything any better? Tell me how anything we’ve learned so far has made it anything but worse.”

“Sydney,” Ella said, but her friend ignored her.

“No,” and she did scream that time. “Don’t you get it? I’m hurting, too. I may not be seeing ghosts and dreaming about Astrid every night, but I need you. I need you to be here with me. Do you know that it’s a month tomorrow?
A month.
A month you’ve been playing this stupid game, and for nothing. I, for one, feel just as shitty as ever. It’s selfish. You’re doing this for you, don’t you get it? Not for me. Not for Jake. Not for Grace. And sure as hell not for her.”

Ella’s eyes opened wide. She absolutely could not believe what Sydney had just said. “Selfish? You’re the one getting drunk every night and hooking up with Max and leading Carter on just because you feel like it, and I’m the one thinking about Astrid. I’m the one trying to make sense of it all. You’re calling
me
selfish?”

“You don’t know shit about Max or Carter. And you can’t talk, miss I’m-in-love-with-my-dead-friend’s-cousin.”

“Oh yeah? Well, at least I’m trying to get to know her family. At least I’m trying to figure out more about her.”

“I knew plenty about her when she was alive!” Sydney screamed. “I don’t want to know any more. I don’t want to think about her anymore. Every time I do, I feel sick. I’m done,” Sydney threw her hands up in the air. “Done.”

Ella just shook her head. “You don’t really mean that.”

But Sydney was nodding. “I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t do it anymore. I’m not listening to your bullshit theories or reading my aunt’s book or hosting séances or stealing fucking journals. I’m moving on, okay? That’s what people do. You should try it sometime. But oh wait, you can’t. You’re too fucking scared so you’re stuck playing ghost hunter.”

But Ella shook her head. She started to pull out her phone. If Sydney could only see it, she would get it. She would finally understand. “Let me just show you one thing,” she said.

“No,” Sydney said. “You’ve shown me enough.”

“But — ”

“I said
no,”
she said, her voice getting even louder. “Just get out. I’m done with this.” And Sydney grabbed the journal, pushing it at Ella, practically shoving her out the door.

And it was then that she realized that it was no use. Sydney wouldn’t understand. Sydney didn’t even
want
to understand.

“You’re wrong,” Ella snapped. “You have no idea how wrong you are.” And then she rushed out as quickly as she could, practically falling down the stairs, and was out the door before Sydney’s mom could ask what all the yelling was about.

She ran her hand along the journal as she walked down the street.

It was the only thing she could count on now.

Sydney burst into sobs as soon as Ella left.

She shouldn’t have yelled at her. She shouldn’t have pushed her away. She knew Ella needed her more than ever. But she already knew too much. She didn’t want to see those pages. She didn’t need to see those pages.

She’d lived them. She didn’t need a reminder.

She’d gone over to Astrid’s just a couple of days before she died, 49 hours, to be exact. She’d counted. Multiple times.

Astrid had said she wasn’t feeling well, and Sydney wanted to see her. No one had answered the door, but it was unlocked, so Sydney let herself in. It was that kind of house. One without too many rules.