The Beginning of After - By Jennifer Castle Page 0,17

so hard not to get caught staring at me. I still felt like they were watching me out of the corners of their eyes, every bite and every chew, and I was having a hard enough time wanting to eat as it was.

Meg and I strolled through the north lobby, through the crowd, and out the door toward the parking lot. We walked slowly, making it obvious that we were doing nothing wrong. Flaunting it.

At McDonald’s, we sat in the corner by the window. I scanned the room and realized with relief that I didn’t recognize a single face. Meg took the first, eye-crossing drag on her milk-shake straw and leaned back, looking amused.

“What?” I asked.

“I heard something, but I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

My heart sank. “It’s not something else about me and David Kaufman, is it?”

“No, this is a good one. I think you should be prepared, in case it’s true.” She took another short sip of milk shake and shot a glance around the restaurant. “Okay,” she said, looking me square in the eye. “It’s very possible that Joe Lasky is going to ask you to the prom.”

“Who?”

“Lasky!”

It seemed like all noise in McDonald’s, the hum of voices and ringing of cash registers and even the sizzling grill sounds, stopped suddenly. Because the key words here, Joe Lasky and ask and prom, had plugged up my ears, making them pop a bit.

“Shut up,” was all I could say.

I hadn’t really thought about the prom since the night of the accident. There was a photo in the family room of my mother in her baby-blue prom dress, all taffeta and ruffles, standing at the base of her parents’ staircase with some nerdy, pizza-face date. She used to tell me that when I went to prom, she’d snap a photo just like that of me, and then we’d put the two pictures in a nice double frame. And I’d nod and think, Not even a pizza-face nerd would take me to the prom, but you believe what you want to.

When I felt my throat start to close up again, I pushed the thought of Mom’s photo away. It doesn’t exist, it never existed. Concentrate on something else.

What I thought of was a word from my SAT list. Aghast: “struck with terror and amazement.”

Joe Lasky. Even though we hadn’t spoken since eighth grade, he was on my personal list of Ten Cutest Guys at school. Meg and I had made one up back in September; while Meg kept revising hers, mine held fast. Even though he was not unhandsome, he was crazy tall, with such bony legs and arms that most people called him Joe Skellington. But I loved the way he bounced a little when he walked, and how he’d worn his brown hair in the same Beatles cut for years, and the way he sketched made-up superheroes on his notebooks.

“Mary heard it from his sister’s friend, or something,” said Meg. “I think that’s a decently reliable source.”

“Why? Out of pity?”

“Laurel, don’t—”

“He’s asking me out of pity.”

“What makes you think that?” Meg grabbed a couple of french fries, looking down, away from me.

“Why else?” I watched Meg shove her fries into her mouth, and remembered that she and Joe were on Debate Team together. The question came out before I could think it through. “Did you put him up to it?”

“No!” she said, through the french fries, her eyes wide with hurt. “No way!”

Now I felt guilty. “Sorry. It’s just . . . he’s never acted like he likes me.”

“So what? You’ve never acted like you cared about any of the guys you’ve liked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as cruel as when you were crushing on Mike Shore. You totally ignored him.”

It was true. I wasn’t good with liking someone. My instinct was total self-preservation; show no sign of weakness. This was my pathetic way of being shy.

“Isn’t he worried about David Kaufman and me?” I said sarcastically. “I mean, hasn’t he heard the buzz?”

Meg looked down and her shoulders sagged. “Laurel, you need to get over that. Anyone with half a brain or who knows you at all knows it’s BS.”

“This is great,” I said. “Now I’m going to be walking around every day, wondering when it’s coming . . . if it’s coming.”

Meg raised her head hopefully. “If it is, what will you say?”

From Meg’s face, I could tell that this was very important to her. It made sense. Me saying yes