The After Girls (17 page)

“I like it when you’re here,” he said.

She felt herself blush, and she turned the steamer off. The milk was about to spill any second. He was standing right behind her, waiting for an answer. It was unnerving.

“Okay,” she said finally, as she dipped her finger in, testing the milk. “I guess.”

“Perfect,” he said, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn back towards the front. “The show’s at nine and Google says its like an hour drive, so I’ll come get you around eight?”

“Sounds good,” she said and she wiped down the machine instead of turning to face him, because she knew if she did, he’d see a smile written all over her face.

And she didn’t want him to see it. Not yet.

• • •

When Ella got home, she sent a quick text to Ben telling him she couldn’t go. She said that she was going to a show, and thankfully, he didn’t ask anything else. So what if he’d just assumed it was with Sydney? She hadn’t said a word that wasn’t true.

She still had a few hours before nine, so she headed up to her mom’s studio. She wanted to feel the clay again — to work on something real, hell, maybe even make something this time — something she could touch, something she could use for the fair. She knew it had to be coming up soon — she needed to check the dates.

Plus, she knew if she didn’t keep busy she’d just start to think — about how a dead phone could call her, how the photos got on the wall, how Grace seemed almost like a different person now, how much she’d hurt Sydney by what she’d said — and how even after all that, she hadn’t gotten one step closer to understanding
why
.

Ella grabbed a mound of clay and threw it as hard as she could onto the wheel. She dipped her hands in water and she started to work, spinning the wheel fast while she carefully centered it. She didn’t want to ruin this one.

She thought she’d make a simple bowl — she always made them for the girls on each of their birthdays, giving them beautiful edges and bright colors. Astrid had loved them. She’d place them around her room and fill each one with jewelry, coins, notes, and knick-knacks.

Ella was almost done when her she heard footsteps on the stairs. She saw her mother walk in as she finished the edge, slowly taking her foot from the wheel.

“Sorry,” she said, backing up. “I didn’t know you were working.”

“It’s okay,” Ella said, taking her hands off the bowl. “I just finished.”

Her mom smiled. “I just came to ask what you wanted for dinner. I didn’t know you’d be at the wheel.” She clasped her hands together. “I’m so glad to see you up here again.”

Ella just shrugged and gave her mom a look like,
Don’t get used to it. I’m not making any promises.
One little bowl would not put the world back together.

Her mom walked closer. “It looks good,” she said. “It’s almost a perfect form.”

“Maybe I can sell it at the fair,” Ella said.

But her mom leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “El, you know that the fair’s this weekend. It won’t be ready.”

“What?” Ella asked. She’d known that it was coming but had no idea that it was so soon. In the wake of everything, she’d completely lost track of time. She always made pots for the fair. The Falling Rock Fair was like
the
big deal of the season. Her mom had a booth. River Deep played. It had always been such fun. It was their thing.

Her mom must have seen how upset she was. “It’s why I’ve been up here almost night and day, baby,” she said.

“I know,” Ella looked down at her hands. “I just thought there was still time. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve had so much going on,” her mom said. “I didn’t want to add another thing for you to worry about. You can do some pieces next year.”

But Ella stood up and just walked towards the sink. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, as she started washing her hands.

She could hear her mom walk towards her. “I know you’re upset, dear, but — ”

“I
said
it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” her mom said. “I’ll just be downstairs.” And Ella heard her footsteps slowly echo down the stairs.

Ella turned on the water as high as she could and scrubbed her hands until they turned red. She wiped them off on the towel and then stomped back to the wheel. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t made anything for the fair. It would be the first time she’d ever missed it.

Ella walked back to the wheel and looked at the bowl — exquisitely centered, nicely formed — and she hated it. She hated how perfect it was, how it would need to dry and be glazed and be fired; she hated this summer, how it made no sense; she hated her mom for not reminding her about the fair, and Ben and Sydney for not being able to ease any of this pain; and a part of her, a tiny part of her, hated Astrid for leaving her in this messy broken scary terrible world. For leaving her all alone. For taking the easy way out.

And without thinking, Ella scooped up the bowl and threw it down on the ground as hard as she could, watching it splatter and break and ruin.

And then she knelt down slowly and began to clean up the mess. Because there was nothing else she could do.

Jake was driving really fast.

And he was talking even faster. “Now this,” he said, “is my favorite track. Well, it’s my favorite of their more synth-y stuff. The best of their acoustic is ‘Blue Heart,’ no question. You like it?”

Ella started to answer but before she could he was turning up the volume, leaning towards the speakers, as if he might miss some crucial part of the song if he didn’t lean close enough. “Listen to this, right here,” he said, turning it up again. “That beat,” he said, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “That beat is so sick. Listen, you hear that? That,
da
dum dum
da
dum dum da.”

Ella nodded, half laughing. He’d been going on about the music since he picked her up at 8:20. He wasn’t exactly the best with time.

“Seriously,” he said. “Listen.”

“Okay,” she said. And she did. She closed her eyes, pushing it all away, her ruined pottery, the phone call, the cabin — all the questions she had about Grace. She let herself swim through the sound. She let it wash up around her and drown her. The music wooed her and enchanted her — just like it did him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back again, turning the volume down a little, and she opened her eyes. He turned to her and smiled so he looked almost … bashful.

“Sorry, sometimes I get overly excited about things.”

Ella laughed. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s a good thing.”

Music snobs were always passionate — and she liked that — but she wondered what it was that she got excited about. Was there even anything? Pottery? She liked it, liked the way the clay moved at her command, the way she was absolutely in control. But not like this. Not in this all-consuming way that moved Jake so much that he actually had to interrupt himself. The one thing that had always been important to her — so important to her — was her friends, and she’d always prided herself on being a good one, but now she wasn’t even sure about that. A good friend would have known what was going on with Astrid. A good friend would have
done something
.

“So have you heard much of their music?” Jake asked. He was zipping past a car on the freeway now, and she instinctively braced herself. Ben — her
boyfriend
— had a cool Jeep, but he never drove this fast.

Jake was waiting for an answer.

“The Black Rabbits?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Honestly, not really,” she said, pushing hair out of her face. Ben also never drove with the windows down. Unless the AC was broken. And then he complained about how hot it was the whole time. Maybe she should have just told him that she was going with Jake. It wasn’t like she was doing anything
wrong.

“Well, you, my dear, are in for a treat. You’re going to
love
them. They’re like The China Dolls on crack. But like,
good
crack.”

Ella laughed. She’d expected him to be a little disappointed in her musical knowledge. Sydney had acted flat-out astounded when Ella had said that she didn’t know who Woodie Guthrie was. Like Ella had committed some crime against music or something. Jake didn’t seem to care.

She liked that. She also liked how he’d called her dear.

Jake swerved around another car, and before she knew it they were on the exit ramp.

Pinbrook was what people called a highway town. It wouldn’t have been much of anything except that it was so damn convenient to everything else. It had about two restaurants and a movie theatre, but the music venue, The Cat, was close enough to the college to get some good acts. Or so she heard. Sydney had gone to see some bluegrass band there a couple of times. Ella had never been.

The Cat was just a few blocks off the highway. They pulled into a gravel parking lot, and Jake turned off the car.

He flipped down the sun visor and pulled the tickets out.

“For you, my lady,” he said, handing her one. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

She looked down at her mom’s old Grateful Dead t-shirt that she’d found in her bottom drawer. After her pottery disaster she figured she’d try to look nice for the show — or at least semi-hip. She’d finished it off with skinny jeans and her coolest sneakers. She wondered if he thought she was trying too hard. She wondered if he noticed the clay that was still caked beneath her nails.

“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for asking me.”

“My pleasure,” Jake said. “Thanks for coming with me.”

She smiled. “I’m really glad that I did.”

Outside The Cat, a gaggle of kids in plaid took drags from their cigarettes between glances at their iPhones. She and Jake walked through, and the scent of tobacco hit her strong — she hated cigarettes — she didn’t understand why after everything that they knew now, medically speaking and all, someone would even start.

A girl with a nose pierced like a bull took her ticket and marked her hand, and they walked through the door, Jake leading the way.

Inside, the air was a little clearer, but the room was dark.

“I’m going to hit the restroom,” Jake said. “Meet you back here?”

“Okay,” she said, and he left her alone, with the hipsters and the punks and the scene kids who all looked so much like they belonged.

Sydney would have fit right in, but Ella, even in her vintage t-shirt and painted-on jeans, looked terribly out of place. These people were pierced about everywhere you could be — most of them had loads of tattoos — while she didn’t even have her ears pierced (she avoided pain at all costs), and the closest she’d ever come to a tattoo was a butterfly number on her back that Astrid had done in henna one day down by the river. It had worn off in a week.

Ella leaned against the back wall, trying to become invisible. She pulled out her phone to pass the time — no new messages, new calls, nothing — but it only made her think of Astrid. So she put it back in her purse and tried to focus on this night. On going to a show. Having Fun. Being normal. The questions and the hurt would still be there tomorrow, waiting.

She wished she had a drink. Not for the alcohol, just to have something to do with her hands. Instead, she shoved them deep into her pockets (no easy feat in skinny jeans) and waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jake came back. “Sorry,” he said. “Long line. You want a drink?”

Ella held up her X-marked hand. “I don’t think we’re allowed,” she said.

Jake held up his with a smile. No Xs.

“Nail polish remover?” she asked.

He just looked at her like she was nuts. “Fake ID,” he said — and then he threw up his hands. “I know, I know, not the most upstanding thing in the world. But you have to have one to go just about anywhere in Chicago.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to judge them?” she asked, realizing immediately just how judgy that made her sound.

But Jake was unfazed. “I don’t think you’re going to judge me,” he said. “It just seems kind of like you like to play by the rules.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Jake ticked off his fingers. “You looked extremely flustered when you were late to work, I’ve yet to see you take anything longer than your allotted fifteen-minute break.” He paused for effect. “Plus, I could tell you were totally freaked out by my speeding.”

Ella frowned, but she knew that he was right. The only truly daring thing she’d ever done — going into Astrid’s room — had shaken her to the core.

He must have seen her disappointment even under the dingy lighting. “Hey,” he said. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” He smiled. “Seriously. It’s not a bad thing. Rules are good. Rules give the world order. Some people jibe with that order, and some people don’t as much. It’s no big deal.”

“Rules are for prudes, right?” she said, thinking of Sydney constantly dragging her into the beer line or Ben trying to get her to go to one of his macho drunken football parties. “For people who turn their homework in on-time and don’t fall down at parties and have the same boyfriend all through high school.” She stopped to take a breath.

“See, rules are good for something,” he said, smiling, but it sounded less like a statement and more like a question.

“Yes,” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. “In that way, I guess, yes.”

Jake nodded, but he looked like he was thinking hard on something.

Finally, he broke the silence. “So did that long answer mean that you do or do not want a drink?”

Ella didn’t hesitate this time. “I’ll have whatever you have.”

Jake smiled and quickly headed to the bar, while she watched a few skinny boys on stage pack up their equipment and make way for a new set of skinny boys setting up what must be The Black Rabbits’ stuff.

And sure enough it was. A guy with a ridiculously long beard for his age pinned up a backdrop, a big bunny silhouette painted across it.

Jake was back in minutes.

He handed her a beer can, cold and dripping with sweat, like it had been pulled right off an iceberg. “We got here at the perfect time,” he said, leaning closer to her for a minute. “Looks like they’ll be on soon. You want to go up a little closer?” he asked.