The Beginning of After

to be over quickly, then not wanting it, then wanting it again. Several times, Dr. Garrett paused to glance back at me and saw me doodling in my notebook. I saw this out of the corner of my eye, along with several people turning around to see me, and knew he wouldn’t say a word.
    When the bell rang, I instinctively shot up, but then saw Joe taking his time and hung back a bit. It took everything I had to walk slowly down the aisle and stop parallel to Joe’s desk instead of zooming out of the room like everyone else.
    “Hi, Joe,” I said. He was actually finishing up something he was writing, a final scribble at the bottom of his notebook page. He snapped it shut and looked up at me, a little distracted.
    “Hey. What’s going on?” He looked like I’d shaken him out of some fabulous dream.
    On Friday he had said my name at conspicuous places. Gotta go, Laurel. Now I just get a “hey”?
    I took his CD out of my pocket and held it up. This was premeditated; I thought it would be a good way to fill a pause.
    “So, you liked it?” Joe asked, taking my cue.
    “Yes. You were right about the comfort part. There’s something about hearing someone else moan and wail that makes you feel a little better. Like—”
    “They have it worse,” he said.
    I just nodded, looking at the CD instead of him. I was glad we had this prop between us.
    “That’s the whole thing about grieving,” Joe continued. “It’s part of the deal: You get to be alive and to love, but in exchange you also have to put in some serious hurt time.”
    I couldn’t believe he was saying these things to me. Nobody had been so direct about my situation. Not Mr. Churchwell, not Suzie Sirico that night on the white couch, not Nana driving our Volvo. Meg had the strong, stoic thing wired into her blood and would never dream of being so simple and ridiculously true.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no right to talk to you like that.”
    “No,” I said, snapping out of it. “You can talk to me like that. I appreciate it.” It sounded too bland and polite. In my mind I was throwing myself across the desk corner that separated us, wrapping my arms around his neck, adoring him.
    Joe finally stood up. “So, Laurel,” he began, “I know that you know that I want to ask you to the prom.” He was smiling as he said this, showing that he appreciated the weirdness of what was coming out of his mouth. His eyes said, Go ahead . Play along.
    “Okay. And I guess now I know that you know that I know.”
    We both laughed a little nervously.
    “You wanna know how I know? I’m the one who started the rumor. I told my sister and her friend, and told them to make sure they told Megan Dill’s sister. I guess that’s not really enough people to be a rumor. Maybe just a buzz.”
    “A buzz,” I echoed, nodding, feeling stupid.
    “To give you a heads-up. I didn’t want to take you by surprise.”
    “That’s considerate,” I said, cringing at another word from the Bland and Polite collection.
    “I’m glad you think so,” said Joe. “I was worried that maybe it was kind of chicken. Like it was the easy way to do it.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the easy way. I’m a big fan of it myself.”
    He looked at me and smiled again, those eyes, those eyes. It was the second or third instant with him that I thought, perhaps pity has nothing to do with this.
    “So. Will you? Go to the prom? With me?”
    “Yes. Of course,” I said. It came out sounding vague, like I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. “It’ll be fun.”
    “That it will.”
    We paused. Suddenly, brilliantly, there was Meg standing in the doorway. She looked back and forth between us, as if she’d been flipping through channels and landed on something strange but fascinating.
    “Hi, guys,” she said, then looked sideways at me. “Do you still want to go eat?”
    “Yeah. We’re going into town,” I told Joe. The whole school knew about our off-campus privileges.
    He looked at Meg with a “You can trust me” face, then turned to me. “I’ll call you. We’ll talk.”
    I looked straight into his eyes again and forced myself to hold them there, counting one, two, three, before it became unbearable and I had to glance away.

Chapter Eight

    I went with Meg, Nana, and Mrs. Dill to Bettina’s Boutique to shop for our dresses. It was the one store almost everyone went to for the prom, since decades ago. They actually kept track of who bought what so you wouldn’t get