The Beginning Of After Part 8

"Wow," I said. "I can see Orion's Belt, but not the rest of him."

"Where?" asked Joe. "Oh, yeah. You're right. Where's the rest of him?"

"Maybe he left his belt behind and is off doing something else."

"Borrowing the Big Dipper to make some soup."

"Or hitting on Ca.s.siopeia. I heard he does that."

Joe snorted and some beer came out his nose, which made me laugh too. Before I even realized I was doing it, I reached up and wiped the front of his s.h.i.+rt, now dotted with beer spray.

"I don't want you to get charged extra by the tux rental place," I said, avoiding his eyes as I did this.

"You know what I want?" he said. I still didn't look at him. "Actually, it's what I wish." He paused, and it seemed I had no choice anymore but to meet his gaze.

"What do you wish, Joe?"

"I wish Gavin and Meg weren't in the limo right now."

For a second, I didn't get it. Did he want them here with us? But then it dawned on me. He wanted us to be in the limo. Alone. Without people's eyes wandering toward us, always scanning to see where we were and what we were doing.

First, panic again. But I looked at him, him looking back at me as if we'd known each other forever, and I wasn't afraid anymore.

"Well, we still have most of the night, right?" It wasn't me who said that. Blame it on the girl in the not-Laurel dress.

"We have most of the night," Joe echoed, and then he was standing up. "I've gotta go find a bathroom. You all right here?"

I had my arms resting lightly on the lounge chair's edges, my ankles crossed, my heels popped out of my shoes. I was slightly drunk, and the thought of people seeing me sitting alone by a pool had no effect on me. I was definitely all right.

Joe was gone about a minute, maybe five. I'm not sure. I closed my eyes and listened to the murmurs, the music, rubbing my fingers lightly over my skirt.

"Hi," someone said from above me. I opened my eyes.

It was David.

This took a few seconds to register, the outline of his head frayed with Christmas lights. He had a bottle of something, too big to be a beer, in his hand, and there it was again, that pot smell. He was wearing a black jacket, but I could see the markings of a T-s.h.i.+rt decal underneath.

"Hey," I said, slowly sitting up. None of my usual David reactions were firing. No wanting to hide around a corner. No urge to pretend we'd never played Batman and Robin or collected rocks in the woods or even known each other at all.

He walked around me and sat on the edge of the other chair, his elbows on his knees, the bottle-it was a two-liter soda bottle with no label, a flat, amber liquid inside-dangling between them.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was at the prom."

"You're drunk." David's bottom lip curled down a bit, and he sniffed.

"I don't think so." This conversation wasn't going in the right direction. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with your dad?"

The thought of Mr. Kaufman made my vision tilt a little.

"Haven't been to the hospital in a few days," said David casually.

"Where have you been staying?"

"This guy I know. His folks are out of town." He looked at my dress, from the hem up. His eyes traveled quickly but steadily along the seam of the skirt, landed on my shoulder. "Nice outfit." David took a swig from his bottle and shook his head slowly.

"What?" I asked, taking the bait.

"I just can't believe you're here. All dressed up, doing the prom thing. A freaking corsage."

I fingered the miniature roses on my wrist, unable to move beyond that, not knowing how to answer his non-questions. David took another swig from his bottle, and it occurred to me that he hadn't yet looked me in the eye. My hair, my shoes, anywhere safe and only distantly related to the person he was saying these things to.

"Leave me alone," I finally said, swallowing hard. It came out lame, weak, a little kid being bullied on the playground. My mother had taught Toby what to say when I teased him: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. It only made me laugh and tease him harder.

"You're living it up over here with Joe Lasky. Aren't you even the slightest bit broken up by what happened to you?" David said.

Something dark inside me knocked twice. He's right, you know. Why are you in this place, when they can't be? Just like you were home that night when you should have been with them.

"That's none of your business," I said, trying to make it sound forceful. But then suddenly I popped out with: "What about you? If you're here, why can't I be here?"

"Because we're just cras.h.i.+ng this party. Do you see me wearing a G.o.dd.a.m.n tux? My buddies and I came here to pour some kamikaze in the punch, then leave."

He held up his bottle as proof, but the kamikaze-if that's what it was-was almost gone. Where was Joe? Joe would make David go away.

David saw me looking toward the house. "Laurel, you can go to as many proms as you want, but it's not going to change things."

"I know that."

"You're an orphan. That's what I heard someone say inside. *She's an orphan now.'"

The word made me think of d.i.c.kens, of Pip and David Copperfield and even Oliver! It wasn't me. Clinically, officially, yes, but I'd never connected to it.

I must have looked shocked, because David regarded me now with more regret than anger.

"That came out sounding way harsher than I thought it would," he said, then looked down at his kamikaze accusingly. I noticed his hands were shaking. "I wasn't prepared to see you here," he added, his voice a little deflated now.

But if he was deflating, I was doing the opposite. Something in me was filling with air.

"You're an orphan too," I said, as matter-of-factly as I could. This made David stand up, his confusion giving way to defensiveness.

"No, my dad is still alive. He'll be fine."

"If that's what you want to believe. Personally, I think he's going to be a veg forever."

I blamed that one on the alcohol, making me brave for one or two seconds at a time.

"Shut up," he snapped.

So I'd struck a nerve.

"Which is what he deserves," I said, "considering he killed four people."

David paused, his hand squeezing the plastic bottle so tight I heard it pop a bit. "My dad wasn't drunk."

"He didn't have to be drunk," I said. "He just had to be careless. Either way, he's a murderer."

David wanted to hit me. I could tell. He wanted to hit me so bad that his heels came up out of his shoes. I had put my beer cup on the ground, and now he kicked it into the pool, where it landed without making noise.

Even though he was standing and I was sitting, I could feel things s.h.i.+ft. I had found a box of ammunition somewhere, tucked into the back of my mind. What else was in it?

"What about Masher?" I asked, as if we were a married couple breaking up, figuring out custody of our joint life.

"What about him?"

"I don't have to take care of him. I can give him back to your grandparents."

David shook his head, looked away. "You can't do that. They don't want him."

"Then you want me to take care of him?"

David's face had caved in a bit, the shadows carving deeper across his cheeks and chin. He didn't seem that different from Toby after one of our arguments, after I'd beaten him on every front. This was when Toby would have jumped on me for the wrestling portion of the program, but I was pretty sure David wasn't about to do that.

"Yes," he said, and placed his kamikaze bottle carefully on the ground.

"Yes, what?" That's what this ammunition box was. Big-sister power. The only power I had in the world, at least when Toby was still in it.

"Take care of my dog, please," whispered David. He turned around and walked back toward the house, then around it in the direction of the driveway. I watched him cross paths with Joe, who looked at David, registered where he was coming from, and searched me out in the half-light. In seconds he was running over to me.

"What was David Kaufman doing here?" asked Joe, breathless. "Did he talk to you?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

I opened my mouth to recap it, to report it to Joe in order to make it all real, but instead a noise came out like a sob. Loud, a short barking burst.

"Oh my G.o.d," said Joe, and he scrambled onto the lounge chair with me, his hand on my back. "What happened? What's the matter?"

I turned my head to answer him and wow, his face was so much closer than I thought. There wasn't enough room between us for words.

So I kissed him. I had practiced on my pillow dozens of times, and I was so used to that pillow that I didn't even expect Joe to kiss back. But he did, his lips warm and larger than I imagined they'd be. Hesitant at first, a little confused, but then confident and well-trained. He put his hand on the side of my head, his palm moist against my ear, his fingers crunching against hairspray. I stepped out of us for a second, in my head, to get a wide-angle shot of how it looked from a few feet away, wondering if it matched what I'd seen in movies and on TV.

Joe pulled back after a little while, glancing around to see who might be watching.

"Why are you stopping?" I asked, also looking around.

Joe turned back to me and smiled. "I have no idea." Now he put both hands on my face, one on either side, and drew me closer. His turn at kiss initiation was softer than mine, gentle, as if we had all the time in the world.

Fooling around with Joe lasted minutes, but I couldn't tell you how many. I had crawled into a place inside myself, hearing only my own thoughts and what Meg called "mixing tuna" noises. Do I open my eyes? What if I open them and his are open too? I should open my eyes.

Happy, nervous, angry, excited. Neurons exploding in fireworks.

I was laughing and then, I was crying. It started when I was still lip-locked with Joe, and it took him a few moments to pull away and see why my shoulders were heaving up and down.

"Laurel?" he asked.

I wanted to look up and smile, wipe away my tears, then wink at him for some damage control. But I couldn't. I was just staring at his hand on my knee, and I was wailing.

"Oh my G.o.d . . . ," said Joe, standing up. Backing away.

I put my face in my hands and let the top half of me fall toward the lounge chair, a violent crumple. Noises were coming out of me that I didn't think I was capable of. Noises like I was being physically attacked, afraid for my life, a girl in an alley at midnight.

The pressure of my hands against my eyelids was making me see starbursts, yellow and red, but I was seeing David's face too.

A freaking corsage. You're an orphan.

I heard Joe's feet move away, scuffling against the patio. "Hang on, I'm going to get Meg," he said.

I looked up to watch him go, running. Running from me, because I'd totally freaked him out. Three minutes ago we were playing Tongue Twister, and now he was fleeing for his life. I should have been wearing a label on the back of my dress that said CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE. OPEN WITH CARE.

"No!" I yelled, an answer to nothing. "No!"

I stood up, grabbed the lounge chair, and flung it across the patio. It was lighter than I thought it would be.

Now I had an audience. Whoever had been standing around, sneaking peeks at Joe and me, was signed on for the full performance.

I picked up the other lounge chair and threw it into the pool. It landed with a big splash and slowly started to sink. Things got very quiet, and I think someone even turned off the music inside the house. With no place to sit anymore, I moved to the lawn and lay down on my side, my right arm over my face, my left hand pulling chunks of gra.s.s out of the ground. The wailing came back, rus.h.i.+ng out of my body.

Before too long, Meg was kneeling in front of me. "Laurel? It's me. I'm here."

I couldn't even pull my arm away from my face. Didn't want to look at her. "I'm sorry. G.o.d! I'm so sorry."

"Laurel, please just get up. Sit up. . . . Gavin, can you go get some Kleenex or something?"

I heard Gavin rush away, his feet on the patio like Joe's a few minutes earlier.

For Meg I sat up, even as another wave overtook me and I sobbed again. She held me and I felt her wrist corsage poke the back of my neck. We began to rock.

"Shhhh . . . shhhh . . . it's okay," she said.

"I-"

She cut me off. "Don't talk. Just breathe."

Gavin was back. Joe was with him. They stood there, their legs forming a spa.r.s.e, silent forest around me and Meg. Joe held out the box of tissues, letting it hover over our heads, but neither of us took it from him.