Side Effects May Vary (23 page)

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Harvey.

Now.

I
'd only been asleep for about forty-five minutes when that asshole stumbled out of Alice's room last night. I'm not a violent person, and I'm not the type of guy who's going to beat up some dude because he looked at the girl I liked the wrong way. But when I saw that guy's silhouette moving through the living room, I wanted to kill him.

This time yesterday morning, I'd woken up next to Alice with our bodies huddled together, our foreheads touching, and our skin warm with early morning sun. I wanted so badly for that to be my every morning. I'd made a point of being the first person in the house to wake up. Considering Bernie's requirement to keep our door open, I didn't think she would have appreciated us sharing a twin bed.

I meant to tell Alice about Debora joining all of us for the last two days of our trip, but every time I had the opportunity, the moment was too good to ruin. Especially yesterday morning when it was the five of us in the kitchen. It was all too easy to forget Debora. I'd held back that night when Alice first kissed me. But, later, as she and I lay in bed, I left the memory of any girl that wasn't her on the beach.

A few weeks ago, when I'd asked my mom if Debora could come, she raised an eyebrow and nodded. Bernie and Martin knew too. Everyone but Alice knew. And all of that was my fault, but this went so much deeper than me dating someone else.

“Hey, Harvey.” Debora stood in the doorway of the sliding glass door, which was actually useless now, thanks to Alice and her iron-skillet pitching skills. I had to admit, that had impressed me.

“Hey, Debora.” I pulled my legs in and patted the length of lawn chair in front of me. She dropped her duffle bag and sat down in front of me. “So I guess you're checking out of this mess early, huh?”

“I should go home.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for driving out for the night. I'm sorry it was like this.”

She nodded, her hair grazing her chin. “Harvey, I want to be with you. But I can't.” Her finger traced a pattern between us. “You two are too . . . intense. I don't think I can be in the middle of that, not while trying to stay sane.”

I knew this was coming. I lay awake all night thinking about it—and well, Alice too. Debora didn't need to get caught up between me and Alice. Even Dennis had said so.

“Dennis is freaked out about us anyway.” I squinted my eyes at the beach behind her. “You can tell him if you want. Or I can,” I said, staring into the sun, letting my eyes ache.

“I'll do it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. “Need help taking your bags out to the car?”

“No. I've just got the one.”

Debora was as put together as ever in a khaki skirt and polo, but she looked tired, less perky than normal. Sometimes you don't know how wrong your life is until you imagine it from an outsider's point of view. Debora must have thought we were crazy. And we were, too.

“Debora?”

“Yeah?”

“It wasn't bad. Being your boyfriend.”

“I was thinking that maybe if someday you decide—”

I kissed her. Her lips felt full and soft. My hand drifted to her face and I held her cheek lightly, my hand almost hovering. I parted her lips, just barely. She leaned into me once and then pulled back. It felt . . . good.

“Well, I'll see you at school.” She stood and smoothed invisible wrinkles out of her khaki skirt, avoiding eye contact with me. I could be happy with Debora. We would be good for each other.

“I'm sorry for all of this.” I thought about telling her that I'd kissed Alice, but it didn't seem like it would make a difference. It was probably wrong of me not to say anything, but I didn't want to hurt Debora any more than I already had.

“No,” she said. “I think I wanted to fool myself into believing that you were ready for something that you're not.”

“Yeah.” I was an ass. I knew from the moment I asked Debora out that I wasn't over Alice. I was too selfish to even bother wondering how this might end.

“This isn't my story; this is all Alice. But you know where to find me. Be smart, Harvey.”

 

Alice towered over me, eclipsing the sun, with her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She sat down on the edge of the lawn chair, exactly where Debora had been. After she left, I had drifted off to sleep beneath the early morning sun. “What time is it?” I yawned.

“Eight thirty.”

“Our parents still asleep?”

She nodded.

“What is it?” I asked.

“We need to talk, Harvey.” Her voice was soft and so unlike her.

She pulled her knees to her chest, concentrating on a point past my shoulder. I turned, my eyes following her gaze to the shattered sliding glass door. “Harvey, there's something wrong with me.”

She paused, and I waited. Whatever she had to say wasn't going to come out easy.

“I'm sorry for everything. I've used you and manipulated you, and I don't know how I'll ever fix it. And us, I've ruined us completely. But you—” She paused again. “You freak the shit out of me, Harvey. I don't get it—how you can feel like there are no consequences for living with your feelings on your sleeve. Because there are, you know. There are consequences so horrible, and I wish I could ignore them like you can—the feelings and their consequences. I wish it didn't matter to me.” She stopped, pushing her fingers through her hair. “I don't know how you love me. I really don't.”

“I wish I didn't.” I almost took it back, until I remembered what she'd said to me yesterday on the beach.

Her lip trembled. “I know I can't fix us, but please let me try.”

I wanted to reach for her. But I couldn't. I didn't want to be her pathetic Harvey anymore.

When I didn't respond, she took a deep breath. “I need you to know—” She stopped, twisting a piece of thread hanging from the bottom of her denim shorts. “I need you to know that I really care about you. You make me crazy. Angry and happy and terrified.”

That was it. After everything—our childhood, the cancer, her list—that was all she could say. “You
care
for me?” My jaw twitched. “Alice, I—I care about our principal, and my boss, and the lady at the donut shop who gives me extra donut holes. But I love
you
,” I spat. “And you know what that feels like? It's like a fucking cheese grater against my heart.”

Her face scrunched up like she was about to cry. “I'm sorry.” She let out a shaky sigh, but it wasn't enough to stop her tears. “I wish I could be better.” Her voice shook. “I want you to have everything you deserve. But I can't give you that.”

I leaned toward her, our faces only inches away. “Say it. That's all you have to do.” I tried to hide the desperation in my voice. “Say you love me.” I needed to hear her say it out loud.

She turned her head to the side, facing away from me, and knotted her fingers in her hair as her shoulders began to shake.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. Rubbing my hand up and down the back of my neck, I asked. “Why? Why can't you say that to me?”

She shook her head and bit down on her thumbnail.

She couldn't even give me a reason—a fistful of words that would explain to me how it could be that she didn't love me. It didn't matter, though. She wouldn't say it. I was done. Saying good-bye to her would hurt, but nothing could ever hurt worse than this.

“Alice,” I said, forcing myself to look at her even if she wouldn't look at me. “All I ever wanted was to be proud of myself and to be with you, but I can't be both at the same time. And now we're too far gone. There's no going back from here. I won't do this anymore.”

Silently, she cried, her whole body trembling, but I couldn't comfort her. Not anymore.

After a few minutes, she stood and walked to the doorway.

“Hey,” I said, my voice barely working. “What did that mean yesterday?” I had to know, and I knew my mom would never give me the whole story. “About your mom and another guy?”

Her face stayed blank and unmoving as she said, “She's been cheating on my dad. I saw her. Before I had cancer. Luke did too.”

I opened my mouth.

“He told Celeste.”

A puzzle of memories slipped into place. “Is your mom still, you know . . . ?”

She shrugged and walked inside, little pieces of glass that Bernie had missed with the broom in her wake.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Alice.

Now.

I
t'd been about a week and a half since spring break and about two and a half since The Day I Died. I started calling it that in my head—The Day I Died. Our detention had been served, and now the only proof of my faux memorial was my memory of it. And it seemed to be there every time I closed my eyes. Candles, dying flowers, and tears. The tears that made me cringe with embarrassment. The tears that made me want to lash out and retaliate against Celeste and Luke.

I felt out of place in this room. Although they'd never made me uncomfortable in the past, the mirrored walls made me too aware of myself. I'd only turned on half the lights in the studio and was grateful for the minimal lighting. The black leotard I'd found in my closet was loose, so I'd taken a safety pin to the straps, making an X across my shoulder blades. Behind my ear was a small bald spot where my hair hadn't grown in yet.

The cool wood floors bled through my tights, a familiar relief against my skin. Inside the stereo, I'd found an unlabeled CD with a mix of popular warm-up songs. Starting out with some sit-ups seemed like a good idea. When I lifted my upper body, my abdomen whined in protest. I was so out of practice I swore I could hear my body creaking and groaning.

After a few labored repetitions, I sat upright and spread my legs so far apart I was almost in the splits. The muscles that stretched along the insides of my legs burned. I reached forward and laid my cheek flat on the cool floor in front of me—difficult, but still possible. Sweat began pooling at my hairline. I tried rolling through the splits and onto my stomach, but my hips felt like they were stuck in mud. I sat, frustrated, with my cheek still pressed against the floor. I inhaled a great big gulp of air and tried again. With little grace, I rolled through the splits and onto my stomach.

“Aw, is this the comeback part of your story?”

Celeste
.

I'd barely seen her or Luke since coming back from spring break. So much had happened since their little prank that I'd forgotten to be angry with them.

She stood in the doorway, light flooding in behind her silhouette, with her hands on her hips. “Don't stop on my account.”

I didn't.

She shifted her weight, leaning up against the door frame.

“I guess you didn't hear,” she said after a moment.

Still on my stomach, I studied myself in the mirror, panting, tired from a simple exercise.

“Luke and I broke up.”

Took long enough. “Who did the breaking?”

A few seconds passed before she said, “He did, actually. Said he didn't want to start college with a girlfriend.”

Or maybe he didn't want a girlfriend in general. “He probably would have cheated on you anyway. If he hadn't already.”

“I guess you would know from experience.” Each word felt like it was meant to sting, but only fell short one right after the other. She inspected her manicure and ran a fingertip along the edge of each of her nails. “You know,” she said, her voice quiet, “I have some ideas for Luke. In case maybe you're interested.”

I sat up, still watching her in the mirror. She was right. Together, we could destroy Luke. And she didn't even know about the picture of him stowed away in my room. But the idea of revenge no longer gave me the satisfaction it once had. In a way, part of me felt strangely empty, but it was a good kind of empty. Spring-cleaning empty. The kind that left room for better things.

I would never like Celeste, but I could see now that we were only the result of my own making. I didn't care anymore about who'd started what. I only cared that I was the one to say no more. I could make this second chance at life whatever I wanted it to be, and I didn't want to waste any more time on Luke, Celeste, or Mindi. Shaking my head, I said, “Thanks for the offer, but I'm out on all the games.”

“Huh, surprising.” She studied me for another long moment and then turned and walked away.

For me to have surprised someone—especially Celeste, who always expected the absolute worst of me—meant that I was doing
something
right.

I slid on my worn ballet flats and moved to the barre to start on the basics. I swooped down low, reaching to the floor, and then stood upright, my muscles beginning to warm with each movement. I concentrated on my breathing, counting through each motion.

“Shoulders back. Posture's all off.”

Natalie walked up behind me and placed one hand on my back, the other on my stomach, and pressed in. Beneath her touch my entire body fell into place, my core aligning. “There.”

I nodded.

She sat on the floor with the soles of her feet touching and her legs in a butterfly stretch. She pushed down on her knees and sat up alarmingly straight. Besides asking her for the studio space, we hadn't spoken since spring break. Natalie had never held anything against me—not even when I quit ballet—but I'd crossed a line, and I didn't know if she could just let it go this time.

“What prompted this?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my feet in fourth position and my arm extended in front of me.

“Lift your arm a little, parallel with the center of your breastbone,” she said pointedly. “Why are you here?”

“Dr. Meredith said I should be staying active.” I'd had an appointment with him the Tuesday after spring break, and he said my body would adjust quicker if I were somehow more active. My dad nagged me for a few days before I called Natalie about some studio time.

“This studio space is available from seven thirty to nine o'clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” She stood from her spot on the floor in one graceful movement. “I'm closing up soon after nine. I'll give you a ride home then.”

“Okay.” It sounded more like a question.

She left, and I continued working through each position over and over again. The empty room left me nothing but my thoughts and those always seemed to drift toward Harvey. I had walked out onto the deck of the beach house fully prepared to tell him that I loved him. But when the time came, the words stuck to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. It was the last piece that I didn't know how to let go of. All I could think of was all the ways that love had failed. Standing in front of a mirror, in my room by myself, I could say it. I could say I loved Harvey. But when it was
to
him, the words sat trapped inside of me because we were in high school and we wouldn't last, and because nothing—not even my parents—ever seemed to last, and because when someone loved you, you had power over them, and because love made people do really dumb shit. And that was why I couldn't say it.

The few times I'd seen Harvey since spring break had been at school and he avoided me every time. I'd walked past him in the halls a few times, my hand lifting involuntarily, about to wave, before remembering he had no reason to wave back. Dennis and Debora were always there with him too. And of the three of them, Debora was the only one who ever acknowledged me with a wave or a nod, like we shared some kind of secret. And the weird thing was that we sort of did. She and Harvey had stopped holding hands. I didn't want to take pleasure in that, but I did. I so did.

Since both Harvey and Eric were noticeably absent from my life, I spent most of my time at home. My mom didn't really talk to me, only my dad. When we got home from our trip, I went straight to my room and only left it for food until I went back to school the next morning. Almost all communication had gone through my dad since the pan-meets-glass incident.

After my mom got home from work that first Monday night after spring break, she came into my room without knocking and said, “I'm angry. And I don't think we should talk while either one of us still feels this way, but your father and I worked out our issues after you were diagnosed. I just needed you to know. And that little fit you threw was way out of line.” She stopped and took a deep breath, reining herself in. “As soon as you're well enough to get a part- time job, you'll be paying us back for that glass door. That's all I'm going to say for now.”

Beyond a few yeses and noes, we hadn't spoken since then.

At the end of my studio time, I felt like cooked spaghetti—completely limp. It didn't hurt so much while I was moving, but the minute my body had time to catch up, my muscles were sorely displeased. As promised, Natalie drove me home.

“School's out in six weeks,” she said as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“Yeah. Six weeks too long.”

“Your mom said you'll be doing more treatments over the summer.”

I nodded, twisting the strap of my dance bag in my hands.

“Maybe you'll want to work for me part time when all that's over.” Her voice was quiet, but not at all tentative.

“That would be good,” I said. I'd always said that I'd rather not dance than have to teach. Especially in a small-town studio like Natalie's where most people only signed their kids up for the tutus and not the ballet, but being inside a studio had made me feel a little more like the me I wanted to be.

When we pulled into my driveway, she put the car in park and said, “When you're ready to go back on pointe, there's a rosin box in the far corner of that studio you were in tonight.”

I nodded. “I remember.” I loved rosin boxes. The way they smelled. The way the powder from the rosin crystals left a trail behind me, giving my toes traction on the slippery wood floor.

We said good night and she waited for my dad to answer the door, before reversing out into the street.