After

by Kristin Harmel

  Sam looked at me in surprise. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I mumbled. It wasn’t my business.

  “Summer Andrews?” he asked after a pause. “That senior girl?”

  I nodded.

  “What would make you think that?”

  “I just heard she liked you.”

  Sam seemed to consider this for a minute. “She seems nice enough,” he said. “But I barely know her.”

  “I’m sure that’ll change.”

  Sam turned left on Samoset. “She’s not really my type.”

  “Really?” I was baffled. Who was this new breed of boy, immune to Summer’s powers? “Oh.”

  “I like girls who are smart,” Sam continued. “You know, girls who don’t flirt with every guy in the school. Girls who have a little substance to them. I get the feeling I’m not exactly describing Summer.”

  “You’re right about that,” I muttered.

  We rode in silence for a few minutes as I tried to process what he’d said. He barely knew me either, but he’d sought me out in the hallway after school. Maybe it wasn’t just to study.

  I was just beginning to feel like maybe I’d gotten it all wrong, when we pulled up in front of my house and Sam turned to me. His eyes looked even brighter than ever, and even when he wasn’t smiling, the vague indentations of his dimples remained.

  “Listen,” he said. He was definitely nervous now. “I was thinking that maybe we could go out sometime. If you want to. I mean, it would be cool to hang out outside of class, you know?”

  Was he asking me out? A smile rolled across my face before I could stop it. “That sounds good.”

  Sam looked like he wanted to say something else. It was so nice, I thought in the silence, to finally have someone look at me for me, not as someone they had to feel sorry for or tiptoe around. Last winter, after the accident, several Plymouth East guys had messaged me on MySpace or stopped me in the halls, and I knew that it was just because I was a minor celebrity for a few weeks. That’s when Sydney had first taken an interest in Logan too; it’s when we became somebodies.

  And now, for the first time since the accident, I finally felt like someone was seeing me for something other than that-poor-girl-whose-dad-is-dead. Sam didn’t know my history. He didn’t know he was supposed to feel sorry for me or whisper about me behind my back or purposely avoid mentioning anything to do with fathers.

  And just when I was feeling good, Sam opened his mouth and ruined everything. “I heard about your dad,” he said.

  I could practically feel the walls coming up around me. The smile fell from my face, and everything went cold. I didn’t say anything. I just stared at Sam.

  He looked uncomfortable. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s old news.” My voice was full of ice.

  “If you ever want to talk about it …,” Sam said, his voice trailing off.

  “Look, I don’t need some hero to make it all better, if that’s what you’re trying to do,” I snapped. “I’m fine. It happened a long time ago.”

  “I’m not trying to do that.” Sam looked surprised. I could have sworn I saw hurt flicker across his face too, but I didn’t care. Who was he to be hurt? “I just meant, well, I know how you feel,” he added.

  I could taste bile in my mouth. I stared at him. Of all the things people said to me to try to make me feel better, I hated that sentence the most. Sam Stone didn’t know how I felt. How could he? I was sick and tired of people who’d had a grandparent die and thought it was the same thing. Or even worse, people who’d had to bury a pet iguana or the dog they’d grown up with. Sure, I felt sad for them, but how could they possibly compare that to losing a parent?

  “You have no idea how I feel,” I said coldly. I reached into the backseat and grabbed my bookbag. I couldn’t get out of the Jeep fast enough.

  “But Lacey—”

  “Forget it,” I said firmly. I fumbled with the door handle and spilled out with my things. I could feel Sam watching me all the way to my front door, but I didn’t turn around.

  • • •

  I was overreacting. I knew it. But I couldn’t melt the wall of ice that had formed around my heart in those last few minutes in Sam’s Jeep. I hated it when people tried to help me, especially now. Couldn’t they see I was dealing just fine? I was the person holding my family together. I didn’t need anyone’s help or pity. Especially not some new guy’s. I wondered if he had roved the halls of his old school too, looking for sad girls to save.

  So I steadfastly ignored Sam, even when he tried to pass me a note the next morning in trig class, even when he threw a paper airplane at my arm to get my attention. I didn’t want to talk to him. He wasn’t the person I thought he was; he was nosy, just like the rest of them.

  That was what I was thinking about when Brooke Newell arrived in the doorway with a note in her hand. She was one of the seniors who was community college-bound already and was taking an office-assistant class for credit. She handed Mrs. Bost the note, snuck a look around the classroom, waved to Krista Sivrich, and then hurried away.

  Mrs. Bost unfolded the note and read it. When she looked up, she stared right at me.

  “Miss Mann,” she said, “your presence is requested in Mr. Miller’s office.”

  A murmur went through the class, and I swallowed hard. Mr. Miller was the main principal. You didn’t get sent to him unless something was really wrong. I certainly hadn’t done anything to get myself in trouble, so my first thought was Mom. Had something happened to her? Or to Tanner? Could something have happened to Logan since I got out of the car thirty minutes ago?

  I stood up and stuffed my notebook and pen into my bag.

  “Does it say why he wants to see me?” I asked, hating that my voice sounded nearly as panicked as I felt. Someone in the back of the room snickered, and I heard someone else say, “Ooh, she’s in trouble!”

  “No,” Mrs. Bost said. I glanced at Jennica, who looked worried. Then, just because I couldn’t help it, I locked eyes with Sam.

  “Want me to come with you?” he asked, like it was the most normal question in the world. I opened my mouth to say no, but Mrs. Bost preempted me.

  “I think Lacey is capable of finding the principal’s office by herself,” she said, giving Sam a look.

  Sam glanced at me again and shrugged. I could feel my cheeks getting hot. I strode quickly into the hall before my throat could close up entirely.

  chapter 4

  Mr. Miller’s secretary ushered me into his office right away, which only added to my already heightened sense of panic.

  “Is my mom okay?” I asked immediately, without bothering to say hello. “And my brothers?”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Miller said hastily. He looked a little confused. “Of course. As far as I know.”

  I felt the air I’d been holding in leave my body in a whoosh. “Thank God,” I said.

  Mr. Miller was silent for a minute, as if waiting for me to say something else. He gestured to a chair facing his desk, and I sat down. He continued to stand, staring down at me. He was tall, well over six feet, and he had a comically thick shock of dark hair—too uniformly brown for a man over the age of fifty—that looked out of place on his egg-shaped head. “He’s had hair transplant surgery, for sure,” Dad used to murmur to me whenever we’d see Mr. Miller at football games and school concerts.

  That’s what I was thinking about when Mr. Miller cleared his throat. “Lacey, do you know Kelsi Hamilton?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Her mom has cancer.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I hated myself a little bit for saying them. It was the way everyone identified me: by the sad thing that had happened in my life.

  I’d known Kelsi since elementary school, and I’d had a class with her last year, but she was quiet, and we hadn’t sat near each other, so we barely ever talked. I knew as well as anyone else in the school that her mom had been diagnosed with lung cancer back in May. Bad news tended to tr
avel fast, whispered near lockers between classes, until everyone was walking around with a piece of your life stuck in their back pocket like a trading card.

  “Lacey, Kelsi’s mother passed away last Saturday,” Mr. Miller said.

  “Oh no,” I said, my heart sinking for Kelsi. “That’s awful.”

  “Yes,” he said, sitting down. He pressed his hands together. “Lacey, I need to ask you a favor. And please, feel free to say no.”

  “Okay.”

  “Kelsi is back in school today,” he said. “For the first time since her mother, um….”

  “Died,” I filled in. It was sometimes hard for people to actually say the word. I had gotten used to filling it in, in awkward silences, like I was playing a constant game of Mad Libs with only one word to put in the blanks.

  “Yes,” Mr. Miller said. “I was wondering whether you might … spend some time with her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Miller cleared his throat. “Kelsi’s father called this morning, and of course she’s still very upset. He was hesitant to send her back to school, but apparently she insisted. Now, last year, when your father passed …” He paused awkwardly. “Well, I know you had Logan to help you through. At school, anyhow.”

  I resisted the urge to snort. What exactly had Logan done to help me?

  “So I’d like to ask you, as a favor to me—well, to Kelsi, really—if you’d talk to her,” Mr. Miller concluded.

  “Talk to her?” I echoed.

  “You know. Just let her know that you’re there for her.”

  “Oh. Of course,” I said right away. After all, Kelsi had to know that I’d understand in a way other people couldn’t. I wished I’d had someone like that when my dad died, instead of feeling like such an oddball. Sure, Cody Johnson’s dad had died in Iraq when we were all in eighth grade, so I suppose he could identify with me when my dad died. But he never said anything. In fact, I could swear he deliberately avoided me, just like so many other people who didn’t know how to act. I wished I could scream at people that I was the same person, that all they had to do was treat me normally. But apparently when you had a parent die, you became some sort of science experiment, to be poked and prodded and stared at.

  “I’ve already spoken with your second-period teachers,” Mr. Miller said. “You and Kelsi are both good students, so they have no problem releasing you from class so you can have a chat. Maybe the two of you can take a walk or something.”

  Well, that sounded supremely dorky. I suspected that Mr. Miller was imagining that when we came back from our stroll, Kelsi wouldn’t be upset anymore. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him that real life didn’t exactly work that way.

  “Sure,” I said instead.

  “Thank you, Lacey.” Mr. Miller sighed and looked very relieved, like he had just had a great weight lifted off his slumped shoulders.

  I could feel the weight he’d just lifted settle inside my chest. “No problem.”

  • • •

  Back in class, I pretended I didn’t notice Jennica’s raised eyebrows. I also pretended I didn’t see Sam staring at me. Actually, pretty much everyone was looking at me. I’m sure they were all wondering what I’d done wrong to be called into the principal’s office.

  I escaped Jennica’s questions after class by mumbling something about Logan being in trouble again. I knew I should have just told her the truth. But I figured that it wasn’t my place to be telling people Kelsi’s bad news. I knew that the rumor would be all over school in a few hours, but I didn’t want to be one of the people to spread it.

  Thirty minutes later, I was headed back to Mr. Miller’s office with a hall pass, filled with a strange kind of trepidation. I wanted to help Kelsi, but I was almost paralyzed by the fear that I wouldn’t know what to say or do. Relax, Lacey, I told myself. You’re holding your family together. You can definitely figure out how to help this girl.

  Kelsi was already sitting in Mr. Miller’s office when I got there. Her carrot-colored curls, which were usually cute and perky, were hanging limply, like she hadn’t thought to wash or comb her hair in days. She looked thin. She was wearing old, faded jeans and a Plymouth East marching band shirt that was too big for her. I stared for a second, realizing this was what I must have looked like in the weeks after the accident, like I didn’t care, didn’t even realize that people were noticing my disheveled appearance.

  “Hey,” I said to Kelsi.

  Kelsi looked up at me. “Hey,” she said. Her eyes looked tired, but not like she’d been crying. Maybe she’d run out of tears. It happened sometimes.

  I glanced at Mr. Miller and sat down in the other chair facing his desk. Kelsi was staring at her lap now. She looked like she wanted to disappear. My heart ached a little with the familiarity of it all.

  “I’m sorry,” I heard myself say after a minute. I hadn’t meant to say it. In fact, I hated it when people said that to me. It wasn’t like they were the ones who had killed my dad. What were they sorry for? But the words escaped before I could stop them.

  Kelsi looked up. “Yeah,” she said. It seemed like she was having trouble focusing on me.

  I glanced at Mr. Miller again. “So,” I said, “do you want to take a walk or something?”

  The question sounded strange, and I expected Kelsi to react like I was crazy. But instead she just shrugged. “Whatever.” Without looking at me, she grabbed her bookbag. “Let’s go,” she said. I followed her out of the office, thinking for the first time that I might be in over my head.

  • • •

  Outside the school building, I had to jog to keep pace with Kelsi.

  “Wait up,” I said. This probably wasn’t the bonding experience Mr. Miller had visualized, me speeding after Kelsi while she practically ran to escape me.

  By the time we rounded the corner, I realized she was making a beeline for her car, a lime green VW Bug. She slid behind the wheel and slammed the door. I heard the engine turn on, and for half a second, as I stood in front of the car, I half expected her to lay on the gas pedal and run me over. Instead, she just sat there, staring at me. Finally, she rolled down her window. “Well? Are you getting in or what?”

  I glanced around. “We could get in trouble,” I said. We could get detention for sitting inside our cars during the school day, and suspended for leaving school grounds.

  “You really think anyone’s going to bust you and me?” Kelsi asked. “The girls with the dead parents?”

  She was right. Besides, Kelsi needed me. And my responsibility to help her outweighed the risk. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I agreed.

  I opened the car door and slid in. “So. Are we going somewhere?”

  Kelsi didn’t look at me. “No,” she said. “Unless there’s somewhere you want to go.”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  The car engine continued to hum. The air conditioner was on high, even though it was in the fifties outside.

  Just as the silence was getting uncomfortable, I blurted out, “Kelsi, I’m really sorry about your mom.”

  More silence. I could feel my cheeks flaming. Mr. Miller had obviously picked the wrong person to talk to Kelsi.

  Then Kelsi said softly, “Thanks.” She glanced at me. “I’m sorry about your dad, too. I never told you that.”

  “Thank you.” I was quiet for a moment. “So are you okay? I mean, how are you?”

  Kelsi glanced back out the windshield. She squinted, like the answer to my question might be located on the brick wall of the school. “It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything,” she said finally, still not looking at me. Her words poured out in a rush, like she couldn’t wait to get rid of them. “I mean, she’d been sick for a while. We knew it was coming. I should have—I should have been more prepared for it.”

  I wondered what it was like to have time to say goodbye, to know the end was coming. Did you have fewer regrets? “But it’s not like that makes it any easier,” I said.

  “But it’s supp
osed to,” Kelsi mumbled. “Isn’t it?”

  She was looking at me like I had all the answers. The truth was, I wasn’t even sure what the questions were anymore. “I don’t think so,” I said finally.

  I tried to think of something else to say, the kind of thing I would have wanted someone to say to me. But nothing was coming to me. I sat back in the seat.

  “Can you just go away now?” Kelsi asked. “I want to be alone.”

  I looked at her, surprised. “Um, yeah, sure,” I said, hoping she wasn’t depressed enough to do something stupid. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She glanced at me. “What do you think? Are you okay?”

  I was taken aback. “Yeah,” I said.

  She snorted and looked away. “Yeah. You’re very convincing.”

  Her words startled me. I was fine. I was happy. I had gone back to being normal. “I am okay,” I insisted.

  “Whatever,” Kelsi said. “But look, I really just want to be alone.”

  I grabbed my bag and opened the car door. “If you need anything, you can ask me, okay? I mean, I’ve been through this.”

  “I know,” Kelsi said. She paused and then added, “Thanks.” The word was so soft I could barely hear it.

  chapter 5

  “You have to help me,” I told Logan at lunch. As I plunked down beside him in the cafeteria, Sydney looked at me like I’d just arrived from outer space. In Plymouth East terms, maybe I had.

  “Hi,” Sydney said, glancing around, probably calculating how much my presence at the table was reducing her social status.

  “I have to help you?” Logan said. “With what?”

  “With Kelsi Hamilton,” I said.

  “Oh yeah, I heard her mom died,” Logan said casually, like it was no big deal. “Bummer.”

  “It’s all over school,” Sydney chipped in. “Did you only just hear about it? I’ve known since, like, nine this morning.”

  “Now it’s a contest?” I asked. I refrained from adding that I’d known earlier than that.

  Sydney mumbled something and made a face. I turned back to Logan. “Yeah, Lo, her mom died. It’s horrible.”