The After Girls Read Online Free Page A

shrugged. “I need a distraction.” From the couch, Max gave her the obligatory head nod but nothing more. He wasn’t one to talk about feelings. He was one to pretend that they didn’t exist.
    “I’m getting a drink,” she said, turning back to Carter. “Do you need one?”
    Carter shook his head, and he didn’t quite let her go, so she ducked out of his arms and headed straight for the kitchen, pushing through the packed bodies, the summer skin that emanated heat. She didn’t really care who was in her way. People expected her to be a little abrasive anyway. It was part of her hair-dyed, eyebrow-pierced, fiddle-punk charm. She picked up the darkest bottle and poured it into a plastic cup, watching it fill. It was deep, muddy — a good place to get lost.
    She topped it off with Diet Coke and took a fiery sip and knew in a few minutes that she wouldn’t have to think about any of it, that feeling in the cabin and the sadness on Ella’s face when she discovered there was nothing to help them, the way Ella had stared at the center of the room as if she’d seen a ghost, the shiny wood of Astrid’s casket that looked just like the wood of her fiddle, the thought that picked at her every minute, that wouldn’t go away — that she should have known, that she should have done something, that she should have saved her friend — she knew that if she kept on sipping they would leave for a bit, at least until later when they’d come back even worse and with a headache, to boot. But that was later. Now was now.
    So she took another sip and waited for the liquor to hit.
    • • •
    Sydney felt strangely famous. Different, definitely different from being up on stage, even during the couple shows that had been big enough to have fancy lights. In that, there was anonymity. She was up high with Max and Carter, and the crowd was apart, in another world. Not aware of her so much as they were the music, the feeling in the air.
    This wasn’t the same. She’d had two full drinks, and people were touching her. Like she was Jesus or something. They were actually grabbing her clothes. Everyone wanted to know if she was okay. Everyone wanted to know if Astrid’s death was a surprise. Everyone wanted to know how the suicide was affecting her, and was she really ready to go to parties? How was Astrid’s mom? Was Sydney going to see a shrink about it? Was she sure she hadn’t seen it coming?
    All the questions that they knew weren’t appropriate to ask sober.
    Becky was there.
Bubbly Becky.
A chatty girl in their class whose hair was about as blond as could be and whose eyes always looked like they’d just beheld the Holy Grail. She’d worked at Trail Mix with Astrid and Ella, and Sydney had always aimed her visits for when Becky was off the schedule.
    “Sssydney,” she said, grabbing her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
    Syd smiled her widest smile. With the whiskey inside her, it almost felt real.
Okay
? Of course she wasn’t okay. She was the opposite. Somewhere inside were all the bad feelings, ready to escape. But not yet, not now. She had the warmth instead, flowing through her body, pulsing through her blood to the beat of the bass that pumped through the house. Sydney couldn’t make out any of the words to the song. Someone bumped into her from behind.
    “Sure I’m okay,” she yelled with way too much enthusiasm. Like she was in some kind of weird drama class exercise.
    Becky shook her head like there was no way in hell she believed her. Like Sydney should do a few more character studies before getting any role in the school play.
    “I know it must just be
so hard
for you,” she said. “Having to go through something so … so … well, just, you know, so
horrible
, right at the end of the year. Right after graduation!”
    Sydney put a hand on her hip and some of the Jack and Diet sloshed out of her cup. It was long past the point when spilling mattered.
    “But you don’t know, now, do you Beckster?” Syd