Free The After Girls by Leah Konen Page B

practice seemed to disappear beneath the lights. She didn’t need to count; she just felt, whipping her bow back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster and faster across the strings, until powerfully, and with a final quick stride, the song was over, and the crowd burst into applause, Ella’s cheering voice among them.
    “Thanks,” she said into the microphone, between big gulps of air. She looked over to Max, and he was smiling right at her, bright and wide. “Perfect,” he mouthed, and it was moments like this that proved to her that she’d never quite be over him. When he smiled at her like that, when they were up on stage, when he kept up with the rhythm of her movement. When he let her lead, when he followed faithfully behind, when he really believed in her, as she knew deep down that he did. It almost felt like the two of them were the only people in the world.
    Max leaned in towards the microphone. “Let’s hear it for Syddie,” he said, to more applause, and in spite of the sweat on her face, the heat in the room, she swore that she blushed, beamed hotter.
    The crowd stilled, and there was a moment of pretty silence. Max broke it.
    “Now we’re going to slow it down a bit,” he said, turning to her. “This one’s the first song that we ever wrote.”
    Sydney took a breath to steady herself. Here it was: Astrid’s favorite. It certainly shouldn’t be hard. She and Max had written it in a couple hours one night when they’d first started the band. It was quiet and slow, unlike most of the others. Simple rhythms; the chorus just the melodic coo of her fiddle. It had never been anybody’s favorite but Astrid’s. But they almost always squeezed it into the lineup just for her.
    Now, in the midst of the lights and the set and the crowd and the real, actual night, Sydney wished that she’d asked Max to leave it out. Astrid wasn’t here to hear it. She was far away, away from them, away from all that she’d loved, all that they’d loved together.
    But Max’s guitar was already strumming slow. In a few seconds, his voice rang deep.
    Spring left quickly; summer’s all around.
    Sydney leaned towards the mic.
    The sun shines brightly on the ground.
    Max took a quick breath, glanced over.
    You and I will swim through creeks.
    Syd trilled back, light, careless. Trying to sound that way, at least.
    Thirteen happy, pretty weeks.
    Sydney pulled back and Max kept strumming. The chorus was just her and her fiddle: slow, melodic. No words necessary.
    She pulled her bow across the strings, feeling it move, vibrate. Hearing it ring. This was harder, this playing quietly. She wished she could go back to the ones from before, angry and energetic and fast, but instead, she moved slowly, easing her bow back and forth, staying legato, dark, sad. Just like she was supposed to. Just like Astrid had liked.
    She held the last note until Max’s voice was back.
    Autumn leaves crunch beneath our feet.
    Sydney leaned forward again.
    Though we fight, you still seem sweet.
    Max looked right at her then.
    I don’t want to let you go.
    And for once, it wasn’t him that she thought of.
    Stay with me through winter’s cold.
    Sydney tugged on the bow, and it made a quiet, low moan. Back and forth. Up and down. Ella’s eyes caught hers and she knew that they were on the same page. She wished that Astrid could be there, too. She wished that the song didn’t have a different meaning for her now. She felt the heat rise up through her cheeks, and she couldn’t do this now, not during their first show, not in front of everyone. She had to show them that she was okay.
    She held back all she could, and Max went on.
    Murky snowdrifts, frosted windowpanes.
    She only had to get through this. They were almost done.
    Tell me why we had to change.
    Max’s voice got louder, right on cue.
    I wish I hadn’t let you go.
    Syd leaned close, sang almost in a whisper.
    Now we’re broken. Winter’s cold.
    She pulled back for her final