The Beginning of After

that someday one of her worst fears would come true.
    At the end of June, another day came on my calendar that I knew was the last day of school. It would be a short day, with each class lasting only twenty minutes instead of forty-two. Teachers would have parties or show funny movies or, if they were clueless, actually go over what the class had covered. That live current of excitement and celebration, of ending and starting.
    I tried to distract myself by opening up the journal Suzie had urged me to start. She’d suggested I buy a simple unlined notebook with something silly on it, so I would feel free to write stupid and seemingly meaningless things in it. I’d found one adorned with a kids’ cartoon character I’d never heard of, its thin pages a bright, hopeful white, and cracked open the old set of colored pencils I hadn’t used since my sketches for the last Drama Club show.
    “Draw what you remember,” Suzie had said. “Draw what you feel. Write a word on the page, like angry , and then give it form.”
    So I tried to do that, but my drawing slowly morphed into the faces of dogs and cats I’d met at the hospital.
    Finally, Meg called me at noon sharp.
    “It’s done! I’m free!” I heard laughter in the background. “Wanna play today?”
    “I have to work, remember?” I said, then tried to make my voice a shade lighter. “Come up tonight and we’ll make ice cream sundaes.”
    So later, Meg and I sat outside on our back patio, eating Rocky Road topped with frosted cornflakes and whipped cream. I knew the rest of the junior class was at a bowling alley for the traditional “Now We’re Seniors!” party.
    “There’s still time to go over to Pin World,” I offered after we’d slurped together for a few minutes. “I won’t mind.”
    Meg licked her spoon and tried not to seem like she was thinking about it. “Maybe. But the person I really want to celebrate with is you, so what’s the point?” She paused. “It was really weird not having you at school.”
    “It was weird not being there. But you know . . .”
    “I know.” She plunged her spoon back into the sundae for another load. “But you’re going back in September, right?”
    September felt so far away. Far enough that I could say, “Of course,” and not think about it anymore.
    “What are you going to do about the stuff you missed? Will they let you finish over the summer?”
    “I think so. Mr. Churchwell talked to Nana and said I should contact him as soon as I’m ready.”
    Meg nodded and examined my face. “Let me know if you need help, okay?”
    I always got better grades than Meg, but I saw she needed to offer something.
    “I would love that,” I said, and we smiled at each other.
    As soon as I’m ready.
    Well, what the heck. I didn’t know what ready was supposed to feel like, so now seemed as good a time as any. The next day, I sent an email to Mr. Churchwell through the school website.
Hi, it’s Laurel Meisner. I’d like to finish my schoolwork and finals for the year. Can you help me?

    He wrote back almost immediately, while I was still online, which made me sad to think he was sitting in his office alone, the school emptied of students.
Laurel! I was hoping you’d get in touch and that you are well. I spoke to your teachers, and since you have an A average in all of your classes and you only missed about two weeks of regular course work, they’re going to excuse you from that. However, there is the issue of the New York State Regents exams (U.S. History, English, and Trigonometry this year), which I highly recommend you take if you want to stay on track. You can still do that in August. I will send you some information, and please let me know if you need anything; you can reach me at this address at any time.

    Ugh, the Regents. I’d forgotten about those, which I would have taken in June with everyone else if the accident hadn’t happened. Dad would have quizzed me on the practice tests, and Mom would have bought me a bouquet made of one flower for every point I scored above ninety.
    Mr. Churchwell had said, Stay on track .
    I had a job and was going to therapy and generally functioning as a human being. Was that staying on track? If it was, I wanted to stay some more.
    I wrote back to him to say yes, and please, and thank you.
    On the day David was scheduled to come in with Masher, I found myself reluctant to put on either of the two scrub shirts we’d bought. One was black and white printed