The Beginning of After

I was younger, I used to keep a list of ways she might die.” He sucked in his breath and his face turned instantly white. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. . . . You . . .”
    “It’s okay,” I said. But he looked so angry with himself. At that moment I realized how hard he must have been trying not to say anything to upset me. “You should definitely use this one,” I added, coming to his rescue. “I could draw a room where everything is gigantic in relation to her. Tables and chairs and stuff. Like, she thinks she’s a big shot but really, she’s tiny in her world.”
    “I like that!” said Joe, nodding. Our heads were bent close to each other, and when I smelled his hair, it brought me back to prom night and almost overwhelmed me.
    Joe, and this back-and-forth conversation. Not one-way postcards I couldn’t answer, postcards that might as well have been messages dropped out of the sky and all I could do was try to catch them.
    I grabbed my notebook and wrote something down about SuperBrat. “Okay, show me the next one.”
    A half hour later, we’d gone through all his sketches and picked out eight that should be in the show, and for which I could draw some backgrounds. Ideas came speeding through me, fully formed. It was as if they were traveling a highway that had been clogged with traffic but was now unexpectedly clear.
    When we reached the end of Joe’s sketch pad, we sat there for a moment. I didn’t want to leave yet.
    Then he said, “I hear you and a whole bunch of other girls have something fantastic planned for the Halloween dance.”
    I’d been wanting to find out whether or not he was going, but was afraid that if I asked, he’d think I wanted to go with him. Which I was sure would have been a terrifying prospect, given our history. Some things are just too scary even for Halloween.
    “Yeah, it’s a secret,” I told him. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
    Joe looked down. “Unfortunately, I have to work that night.”
    I swallowed my disappointment. “I’m sure there will be pictures after the fact,” I said casually, then started busying myself with my book bag in preparation to leave.
    “I’m trying to get out of it.” He still didn’t look at me.
    “Okay,” I said, not looking back.
    “Are you parked in the senior lot?” he asked, and when I turned to him and nodded, he made an After you gesture with his arm toward the door.
    The hallways were mostly deserted, and only a few people saw us walking out together. I knew it would be enough to start the rumor mill chugging again.
    “Thanks again for agreeing to do this,” said Joe as we approached my car.
    “It’s going to be fun,” I said. “Plus, I can put it on my applications, if I don’t get in early to Yale.”
    “I’ll take photographs of the finished pieces so you can send them in.”
    “That would be great,” I said. I stepped up to the car door and dug the keys out of my bag, then turned to wave good-bye, thinking that he’d stopped several feet behind me. But he hadn’t, and now he was closer than I expected.
    “Have a great night, Laurel,” he said. Then he paused, and for half of a half of a fraction of an instant, I thought he might kiss me.
    Kiss me, Joe. I won’t shatter.
    Instead, he leaned away from me, like he was afraid it might happen accidentally, and spread his arms wide. I copied him and we tilted into each other for the briefest of hugs. Not even a hug, really. More like a body brushing.
    Seriously, Joe, you can touch me without breaking me. In fact, you might even put me a little bit back together.
    Then he was stepping away from me and waving, and I waved back with the most normal smile I could muster.
    As I drove home, I thought of Joe’s lips by Adam LaGrange’s pool, and how his hands had felt on me. Not this brushing nonsense, but planted firmly, with a sureness. How could I ever get that back?
    And then I wondered about Mom. If she were waiting at home for me, would I ask her advice? Would we make tea and talk about what to do about Joe? I’d never gotten to the point with her of needing real boy guidance. But then, if she were alive, Joe and I would still be virtual strangers.
    The sad and twisted irony of that made me suddenly furious. I turned up the radio as high as I could and then screamed into the oncoming traffic. It was a trick Suzie had taught me. Anyone outside the car would just think I was rocking out to a really great song.
    Meg sat