After (7 page)

chapter 9

T
he party was in full swing by the time we got there. I followed Jennica and Brian toward the house, feeling more nervous than I usually did. Even though I’d been to parties before with Jennica, I knew I didn’t belong. I didn’t drink. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t make out with random guys. And I didn’t really care whether people thought I was cool or not.

As we walked through the front door, we were blasted immediately by a wave of thumping bass turned up as loud as it could go. An old Kanye West song was throbbing from the speakers, and more people than should ever be crammed into any space were jostling and gyrating all over the Newells’ perfect living room.

Most of the girls were dressed skimpily and were laughing too loudly and swaying a little bit on their stiletto heels. The boys were talking in unnaturally booming voices, slapping one another on the back and shamelessly ogling the girls. And everyone was carrying big red plastic cups filled with what I guessed was beer. In fact, I saw several people sloshing it onto the carpet as they talked.

Jennica turned to me with a big smile. “Isn’t this
awesome?”
she asked, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Um …,” I responded.

“Let’s go get some beer!” she said loudly, close to my ear so that I could hear her over the music.

“I don’t really want any!” I said back.

“What?” she shouted. I repeated myself, but she shook her head again. The music was too loud. I shrugged and followed her and Brian through the living room, out the French doors in the back. There was a line of about a dozen people waiting for beer while Scott Moore, who was in my English class, cheerfully pumped the keg handle. There was a couple kissing on the hanging swing near the house, and a stressed-out-looking senior girl, whose name I thought was Trish, was furiously texting on her phone while she chewed on her lower lip.

Jennica, Brian, and I got in line.

“Wassup?” Scott said as we got close to the keg. He grinned and handed us empty red cups. “Who’s first?”

Jennica filled up her cup. “Your turn!” Scott told me as she stepped away from the keg and took a sip of her beer.

I hesitated. I’d always been so against drinking. But wouldn’t it be nerdy to say no with a keg right in front of me?

Just then, I saw Sam come out of the house, scanning the yard. My jaw dropped. What was he doing here? At the same time, he caught sight of me, smiled, and waved. I ducked my head, immediately feeling guilty, like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Lacey?” Scott prompted, glancing at the growing line behind me. I snapped to attention and looked from him to the beer keg and back.

“Um, no thanks,” I mumbled.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure.” Brian filled up and then slipped an arm around Jennica’s waist.

“It’s freezing out here,” she said. I couldn’t help noticing that she wrinkled her nose a little bit every time she sipped, like the beer tasted bad. Why would you drink something you didn’t even like? “Can we go inside?” she asked.

I followed her and Brian back into the hot, loud, crowded living room. It felt like a sauna. A tall guy I didn’t recognize splashed beer on me as he walked by.

“C’mon, Lacey!” Jennica shouted over the music. “Dance with us!” She took another big sip of her beer.

I shook my head and glanced around the room. I never should have come.

Just then, Logan and Sydney walked by, both of them clutching beer cups. From the looks of it, they’d been here for a while. One side of Logan’s shirt was untucked, and his hair was a little messed up. I wondered how much he’d been drinking.

“Hey,” he said when he saw me. “What’s up?”

I could smell the beer on his breath. I shrugged. “Nothing.” I glanced pointedly at the cup in his hand. Logan shifted it to his other hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m with Jennica and Brian,” I said.

Logan’s eyes landed on my cup. “You’re drinking?” he asked incredulously.

I realized it must look like I was holding a beer I’d finished, rather than one I’d never started. “So what if I am?” I asked.

“You don’t drink,” he said flatly.

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t think
you
drank either,” I said.

“Yeah, well.” He paused. “Maybe you don’t know everything about me.”

“Yeah, well,” I said. “I guess I don’t.”

After I walked away from my brother and Sydney, I looked for Jennica and Brian, but I didn’t see them anywhere. Amy Tan, from my trig class, told me she’d spotted them walking upstairs.

“To make out,” she added unnecessarily. “Lots of people make out up there.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve got it.”

I felt more out of place than ever. I walked through the backyard, past the beer keg, past the handful of couples making out near the deck. The backyard was larger than I would have thought, and there was a small lake at the end of the lawn. I made my way down to the old wooden dock, pulling Jennica’s cardigan more tightly around me as the wind whipped in stronger now that I wasn’t shielded by the trees in the backyard anymore. I shivered, but I liked the feel of the breeze against my face.

I sat down on the edge of the dock, took off my strappy heels, and dangled my feet over.

The night was cold around me, and I was surprised at just how far away the sounds of the party seemed. It was quiet enough that I could hear crickets chirping and the occasional splash of a fish or a bird in the water. Across the lake, the darkness was punctuated by porch lights of houses, which looked much farther away than they did during the day

I was so tuned in to the sounds of the water that I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I heard a voice just behind me.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

I jumped about a mile in the air and whipped my head around, my heart pounding double time.

It was Sam, standing there, looking down at me. He was backlit by the lights from the Newell house far behind us, and he seemed to almost glow in the shadows. I blinked a few times and tried to slow my racing heart. By the time my eyes adjusted, I noticed he had two cups, one of which he was holding out to me. “No thanks,” I mumbled. “I don’t drink.”

Sam looked amused. “Me neither,” he said. “All you need to do is take a walk through the party back there, and you realize how stupid it makes people act.”

I looked at the cup again and raised an eyebrow.

He laughed. “It’s not beer. It’s Coke. I had a few cans in my Jeep.”

I didn’t know what to say. I took the plastic cup from his hand. “Oh. Thank you.”

Sam sat down beside me, close enough that our thighs were almost touching. I could feel the heat from him. It made me shiver.

“So what are you doing down here?” he asked.

I shrugged and looked out at the water. “I don’t know. I just wanted to be alone, I guess.”

He seemed to consider this for a second. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” I said, surprising myself with how quickly the word came out of my mouth. “I mean, that’s okay. I don’t care what you do.”

“Why are you mad at me?” he asked.

“I’m not mad,” I said.

“Was it something I said the other day?” he persisted. “When I drove you home?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I
am
worried about it. You’ve been avoiding me since then. And I don’t know what I did.”

I squinted, wishing I didn’t have to explain it to him. He’d never understand. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t need another friend like you,” I said.

He stared. “What do you mean?”

I gazed out at the lake without answering. After a moment, I felt his hand close over mine. It was big and warm and reminded me a little bit of the way my father’s hand had fit around mine when I was little. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.

“Please,” he said. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

I hesitated. His hand didn’t move. And strangely, I realized I didn’t want it to. “Look, I know I’m being dumb,” I said. “But I didn’t want to talk about my dad with you. I’m sick of having to explain it to people who have no idea what it feels like. Okay? Can you just drop it?”

He looked surprised and withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just tired of people feeling sorry for me,” I added.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Sam said.

“Whatever,” I muttered. I paused. “And I hate it when people say they know how I feel. Okay? Because you don’t know how I feel.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know.” He paused. “But I do understand, Lacey. Better than you think.”

Our eyes met in the darkness, and he held my gaze. I blinked a few times. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “So how come you don’t drink?”

He gave me a half-smile. “First of all, I hate the taste of beer. Why would I drink something I don’t like?”

“True,” I said. I’d never had it, but it smelled terrible.

“It tastes like socks,” Sam said, reading my mind. “Dirty socks.”

I giggled.

“Plus, it makes people act like idiots.” I laughed. “True again.”

“But the biggest reason, I guess, is that it’s dangerous,” he said. “Think about how many people in that house are going to drive home tonight. What if they get into an accident and get hurt or cause an accident that hurts someone else?”

I felt cold, the way I did whenever I thought of car accidents. Suddenly, I couldn’t fathom ever wanting to drink anything in my entire life, if it could lead to something like that.

“I’d never drink and drive,” Sam added.

“Me neither,” I agreed. “No way.”

I looked up at the sky. It was clear out tonight, with just a few wispy clouds drifting across the nearly full moon like pieces of gauzy silk suspended in space. I searched for the brightest star and recited the familiar words in my head:
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish, I wish tonight
. Then, without even thinking about it, I silently wished that Sam Stone would kiss me.

Immediately, I regretted it. I didn’t necessarily believe in wishes coming true or anything like that, but what if they did? Shouldn’t I have wished for my dad to be safe in heaven? Or for my mom to stop crying in her room at night? Or for Tanner to come out of his shell? Or for Jennica’s mom to snap out of her weird teenager phase? What if I’d just wasted a wish? And why, of all the things I could wish for, would I wish for Sam to kiss me?

“So, I think I’m going to go,” Sam said after a minute. “My mom worries when I’m out too late.”

“My mom doesn’t worry about anything anymore,” I said before I could think about it.

Sam looked at me closely. “I bet she worries more than you realize.”

I wanted to tell him that he had no idea what it was like in my family, and he had no idea what my mom was thinking. But there was something in his eyes that stopped me from speaking.

“Are you okay getting home?” he asked.

I hesitated. “I’m actually spending the night at Jennica’s,” I said.

“She’s driving?”

I nodded.

“But she’s drinking,” Sam said. “I saw her.”

I shrugged. “I’ll figure it out,” I said. “Don’t worry.” But I was worried. I didn’t have my license, so I couldn’t get us home, and there was no way I was climbing in a car with someone who’d had a few beers. I figured we’d have to call Jennica’s mom, which I knew Jennica would argue with me about.

“How about I drive you home?” he asked. “You and Jennica and her boyfriend, I mean.”

“You don’t have to—” I started to say.

But he cut me off. “I’m not leaving you in a situation like that,” Sam said firmly. He stood and pulled me up. “Let’s go get her and tell her it’s time to leave.”

Sam didn’t let go of my hand as he led me into the party and upstairs to find Jennica and Brian. Ten minutes later, his fingers were still intertwined with mine as the four of us walked out to the street to pile into Sam’s Jeep. I realized I didn’t want to let go.

chapter 10

T
he next morning, back to thinking about the conversation I’d had with Kelsi, I Googled “grief counseling for teens” and “starting a group for people whose parents have died.” I read through all the entries, taking notes as I went, although there wasn’t much I didn’t know already. Most of the tips I found were pretty obvious, like letting everyone have a chance to talk and not pressuring anyone to open up.

Besides, I reminded myself, my goal wasn’t to start some kind of grief group. I intended to make sure it was casual and not at all like the stupid counseling sessions Mom made us go to with Dr. Schiff. I was sure we’d all had enough of well-intentioned adults who didn’t have a clue, who wanted to believe we were little kids they could fix with simple words from textbooks on grief.

I found a group in Atlanta called Kate’s Club that sounded a lot like what I wanted to do. Kate was a woman in her thirties whose mom had died when she was twelve, and now she ran a group for more than a hundred kids. According to the group’s Web site, they hung out together once a week, and once a month they did something fun, like go to a baseball game or to the aquarium. I imagined that one day I’d be like Kate.
Lacey’s Club
, I thought.

But I was getting ahead of myself again.

I started an e-mail.

Hi, guys. Lacey Mann here. As you probably heard, Kelsi Hamilton’s mom died last week, and Kelsi’s back in school. I’ve been trying to figure out how to help her feel better, and then I realized that all of us could pitch in to make things easier on her. It might even help us, too. I was thinking that we could get together once in a while to hang out. We don’t have to talk about anything if we don’t want to. It’s just a chance for us to feel like ourselves again and to hang out once in a while with people who get us. What do you think? Can you meet at the McDonald’s on Samoset Street on Tuesday after school?

I thought about it for a moment. Then, I deleted
McDonald’s
and typed in
Plymouth Diner
. It was only fitting that the place we’d meet for the first time would be the restaurant I thought of as belonging to me, my brothers, and Dad, the place we went for Saturday-morning pancakes. I hadn’t been back there since the accident.

I sent the e-mail to Cody, Mindy, and Logan. Then I sent a different e-mail to Kelsi, telling her the plan.

After feeling so helpless at home, it felt good to finally be in control of something that had a real chance of helping people.

•  •  •

By Sunday night, there was still no word from any of the people I’d e-mailed. So I decided to call them.

“Hey,” Cody said gruffly after his little sister handed the phone off to him.

“Hi, Cody. It’s Lacey Mann. Did you get my e-mail?”

“Yeah.”

“So? What do you think?” I asked. Cody and I didn’t have classes together this year because I was in honors courses and he was in regular, but we’d gone to the same elementary school and junior high, and we knew each other well, even if we hadn’t hung out in ages.

“I think it sounds kind of dumb,” he said. “You want to get together just because we have dead parents? I mean, get over it, Lacey.”

I took a deep breath. “I
am
over it, Cody. This is about Kelsi.”

“So? What does that have to do with me?”

“Look,” I said. “Let’s just try this. Once. And if it feels stupid, you don’t have to come again. But I just think it will be good for Kelsi to be around us now. Remember how weird it feels to have everyone treating you like you’re some kind of alien?”

I could hear him breathing. “Yeah,” he said in a low voice.

“I just think it would help if we could show her that there are people who know how she feels.”

“So, what, are we supposed to talk about grief and stuff?” he asked. “I already had enough of that crap with the military psychologist my mom made us go to. It was stupid.”

“No,” I said. “No grief talk. Unless someone wants to.”

There was another long silence. In the background, I could hear a television.

“Fine,” Cody said finally. “But if it’s stupid, I’m leaving.”

“Okay,” I agreed. We hung up, and as I placed the phone back in the receiver, I felt a little bubble of hope float up inside me.

I didn’t know Mindy’s number, so I called Kelsi next, and after a brief conversation about school stuff, I asked her if she was planning to come Tuesday.

“I guess so,” she said. “Being in my house is depressing.”

“I know the feeling,” I said.

“My dad just cries all the time,” she said. “Does your mom do that too?” I hesitated. “No.”

“I wish I could forget about it,” Kelsi murmured.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. Silence crackled over the line. “So how are you doing?” I asked. “I mean, really? Are you okay?”

“I guess,” she said. “It’s hard.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

“So I’ll see you at school?” she said.

I agreed, and we said our goodbyes. I mentally ticked Cody and Kelsi off my list. Two down. One to go.

A moment later, I was knocking on the door to Logan’s bedroom.

“What?” His voice was muffled.

“I need to talk to you,” I shouted.

“About what?”

“Can you just let me in?” I asked.

I heard a rustling, and then Logan pulled open the door, looking irritated. His room was dark, save for the light emanating from the monitor of his computer. An IM window was open. I figured he was probably talking to Sydney. Apparently, the world would end if they went more than a few hours without contact.

“What do you want?” Logan demanded, blocking the doorway.

“Can I come in?” I asked.

“Why? To snoop?” He didn’t move.

“I just want to talk to you about Tuesday.”

“Your stupid meeting thing?” Logan asked. I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot, which startled me. Had he been crying? The last time I’d seen his tears was Christmas morning, nearly ten months ago, when he’d come into the kitchen first thing in the morning and found me sitting alone there, staring at the wall, my hands wrapped around a mug of the Twinings Christmas tea that our dad used to drink all December. Logan had murmured, “He’s really gone, isn’t he?” before sinking into the chair across from me and starting to sob. He had cried, while I sat there, feeling uncomfortable, wondering why my own tears wouldn’t come. From that day on, he had avoided looking me in the eye.

“It’s not stupid,” I said.

“Whatever,” Logan muttered. “I don’t see why we have to hang out with some girl I don’t even know.”

“Because it’ll help her. So what’s a couple of hours one afternoon if it makes her feel better?”

“Why do you have to save everyone, Lacey?” Logan asked. He raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t get you.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, you can do it without me,” he said. “Some of us have better things to do.” He slammed the door without another word.