Side Effects May Vary (19 page)

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Alice.

Now.

I
didn't have it in me to go to first period. To my surprise, no one had confronted me about the classes I'd skipped since being back at school. But if they tried to, I'd tell them that I was puking my guts out in the bathroom and that I still felt weak.

It was true, though. There were still times when I felt just as sick as I had before. Dr. Meredith had told me I'd feel like that sometimes. The only difference was that I didn't get the awesome pain meds anymore. During my last appointment with Dr. Meredith, he confessed that he had yet to discover what triggered my remission. Since my recovery had been steady, and I had had such a negative response to that last round of chemo, he agreed to let me finish the rest of the school year before beginning my closely monitored intensification treatment. Everyone seemed confident that my stint with cancer was a thing of the past, but I didn't know where their absolute positivity came from. Because, for me, cancer would always be a shadow I lived in, an addiction that was never quite through with me.

Between first and second period, I waited in the second-floor girls' bathroom for the first bell to ring. After the hallway cleared, I traced a path through each corridor, dragging my fingers along the walls—leaving invisible signs of life. I wondered where Eric was and if he'd even bothered to come to school today.

Shuffling through the music hall, I heard a teacher coming and slipped into an unused classroom. When the hallway was empty again, I opened the door, but saw Harvey and shut it immediately. I flipped the lights off in the classroom and squatted down, so I could still see him as he sprinted past me and turned the next corner.
Where was he going?

I headed for the gym, where I usually met Eric beneath the bleachers. Maybe if he was here, I could at least say good-bye. I didn't know. All I knew was that I didn't want to be alone. When Eric left, he would take my distractions with him. And now here I was, with a whole week of family and Harvey ahead of me, and it seemed like the things I'd been running from all along might find me anyway.

Inside the gym, I glanced beneath the bleachers to check, but no Eric. The first-period girls' phys ed class played dodgeball on one side of the gym while the student council set up for the senior luau on the other side. The game of dodgeball looked brutal. There were only six girls still standing and Celeste was one of them—of course. I watched from beneath the bleachers. Now it was four to two. Celeste's team held the two balls still left in play. Celeste pelted hers at one of the two girls, a chubby freshman. The ball bounced off the girl's hip and hit her shorter counterpart in the boob.

Coach Wolfen blew his whistle from where he sat in the volleyball perch and yelled, “Game!”

The girls filed into the locker room as I jogged across the court to see if maybe Eric went to the snack machines.

“Watch out!” yelled Celeste from where she stood by the locker room door. “Walking dead!”

I didn't stop, but just gave her my favorite finger.

“I don't know where you're supposed to be,” called Coach Wolfen, his finger pointed at me, “but you'd better get there!”

Walking into the hallway, I found myself in a crowd of gasps. There was some laughter too. At the back of the crowd, I saw Mindi, her lips curved into a cold smile.

The door behind me opened. Celeste leaned forward and whispered, “I know how you love to be the center of attention.”

Dennis shoved through the crowd. “Alice.” He pulled me by my arm. “It's stupid. Don't waste your time. Harvey's looking for you.”

“What are you talking about?” I looked down at my arm. “Let go.” All I felt were bodies huddled together and hushed whispers as everyone turned to me. It couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty students, all seniors headed to the luau, but it felt like hundreds. And the weight of their eyes almost sank me all the way through the cracks in the linoleum floor.

Dennis gripped my arm a little tighter.

I pulled away from him. If I spoke, I didn't remember what I said.

I pressed through the crowd. It wasn't difficult. No one pushed back.

Fingers brushed my elbow and my eyes followed them to Debora, reaching past two or three people, trying to grasp me. My brows furrowed, but I pulled back and continued moving forward.

I stepped into a small open space surrounding an old trophy case, and I swore my ears popped and all I heard was static. Black fabric covered the glass shelves. And wilted carnations.
I hated carnations
. There were a few mini arrangements of flowers too, like the ones you see at funerals on wire stands, but smaller. There were signs with things like I
N
M
EMORY
O
F
and R
EST IN
P
EACE
. Where there weren't carnations, there were candles, mostly in those tall cylinder glasses like they used in Catholic churches. Some had decals with saints or Jesus or the Virgin Mary. Peppered between the flowers and candles were pictures.

Pictures of me. Pictures of me laughing and dancing.

There were a few school pictures too, going as far back as elementary school. Some were big, some were small, but every picture had one thing in common—my eyes had been crossed out with a black ballpoint pen. Whoever had done this—and I knew who it was—had dug the pen so hard on the pictures that the glossy finish had been scratched off so all that remained was white paper. It looked angry and violent.

The only thing I could hear were my shallow breaths as it dawned on me. This was my memorial. In the late-night hours, I'd wondered—fantasized even—about what it might look like and who might be there. Would there be music? Tears?

Here it was, the proof of my life in a dusty old trophy case. This was life's memory of me. Scratched-out eyes, wilted flowers, and melting candles. I touched the glass in wonder, like a child at an aquarium where a whole world lived behind the glass. And behind this glass existed a whole world without me, where I'd died and left behind
this
. Because I knew who did this, I could close my eyes and see it all play out. This was Celeste's master plan. The key to the trophy case—that must have been Luke. He could have stolen it from Coach Wolfen's office without the coach even knowing. And Mindi had probably taken care of every little thing in between.

My eyes drifted to the bottom right corner of the case. Propped up against some sad-looking flowers was an old photo of me; I was no older than seven or eight. I sat on the floor of the studio with my hair smoothed into a bun, and Harvey sat across from me with his fists held out, hiding an object—probably a penny or something—in one of them. My eyes were scratched out, but I'm sure they'd been squinted, trying to discern which fist the penny was in. I took the smallest of steps back and saw the whole thing. Each picture was a milestone in my life. And here it was—my life—all gathered in one case for everyone to see, like a simple thing that could be explained.

The marvel of living through my own funeral slipped away as sheer horror swept through me. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn't be here for this. I wasn't supposed to witness my own memorial.

That girl in the case was dead. And that girl in the case was me.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Harvey.

Now.

T
he third bell for second period buzzed. I'd covered every inch of school property and no Alice. Her phone went straight to voice mail every time I called.

The hallway leading to the old trophy case was congested with students, many of them going in and out of the gym. I fought against the current of bodies. There were murmurings of
Messed-up shit
and
Was that the girl with cancer?
that made my feet move faster.

The crowd shrank slowly, like the show was over. The last warning bell buzzed. And then I saw her.

Alice was there, standing in front of the case, and all of a sudden I was drawing a blank. I knew I was supposed to find her, but I didn't know what I was supposed to say when that happened. And I didn't expect to find her here of all places.

I placed my hand on her shoulder to let her know—
I'm here
.

Her chin lifted as her gaze fell on my hand. When she recognized the hand as mine, she let out a shaky sigh. Standing next to her, I caught a glimpse of a few stray tears still sliding down her cheeks. The shrine thing in front of us was hideous, with drying flowers and too many candles. It was garish, a cartoon version of a memorial.

Alice took three deep breaths and exhaled slowly, hiccuping a little.

We stood in silence for what felt like hours, waiting for an interruption.

Alice's eyes followed every detail as she stood with her arms crossed, holding herself together. She dropped her hands to her sides, and we stood so close that when her hand brushed past mine, I grabbed it and held on to it. You don't expect this. You don't expect to stand next to the girl you love at her own funeral.

“I couldn't find the key.” It was Debora.

Alice's shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice. She pursed her lips together and dropped my hand. Silently, she walked off, past Dennis and Debora.

I almost called out for her to wait, but what would I tell her then? What magic words would I say that would fix us and this fucking mess?

“So sorry for your loss,” Luke called out, laughing from where he stood in front of the gymnasium door.

Alice spun around and marched straight over to him. I had these moments where I wanted to protect her, but in this case she wasn't the one I was scared for.

Luke smirked. “I bet you didn't—”

There was no warning, just Alice's swinging fist connecting with Luke's nose. And then there was blood too.

Luke screamed, holding his hands over his face.

Debora clapped her hand over her mouth, gasping.

“Get out of here,” I told Debora, and she ran inside the gym without a word.

Alice lifted her fist again, but Dennis pulled her back. Luke stood there laughing at them, and the anger that simmered inside of me boiled over.

Yanking the collar of his T-shirt with both hands, I pushed Luke up against the wall. “Give me those fucking keys to that case, or I swear to God I will break every one of your fingers and when those heal, I'll break them again!”

He spat in my face.

The gymnasium door swung open.

“In my office, all of you. Now,” barked Coach Wolfen.

 

Coach Wolfen may have been the head of the athletic department and the coach of, like, six teams, but his office wasn't made to fit any more than three people.

Luke leaned on the edge of Coach Wolfen's desk, while Alice sat in a chair and Dennis and I stood behind her.

“You,” said Coach Wolfen, motioning to Dennis. “Clean out that case. Now.” He opened his desk and threw Dennis a key ring.

Dennis left, and Coach Wolfen pointed at Luke. “You said you needed those keys for some project the pep squad was working on. You lied to me, son. Your ass could get expelled over something like this.”

Luke held up his hands. “It wasn't even my idea!”

Of course it wasn't.

“You and I are not done talking,” he said to Luke. “You two.” He pointed to Alice and me. “Detention for a week, starting the Monday after spring break. Get out of here. And you,” he said to Luke. “Have a seat.”

I shut the door behind Alice and followed her out into the hallway.

Dennis stood in front of the case. He'd dragged a big black trash can right up next to him and was tossing everything. He looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

“A week of detention,” I said.

I turned, expecting to see Alice behind me. But she was gone, walking down the hallway. I watched her go, her silhouette shrinking as she went.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Harvey.

Now.

“I
wouldn't have to work hard,” sang Martin.

He couldn't sing, but I thought everyone had at least one song that was meant for them, one song that they
could
sing. “If I Were a Rich Man,” from
Fiddler on the Roof,
was Martin's song—his one and only.

It was pouring outside, those big, fat raindrops so heavy they could crack your windshield. So far our spring break vacation was turning out to be pretty dreary. Bernie navigated from the front seat while Martin drove. Alice, my mom, and I were crammed into the backseat. Both Alice and my mom had been adamant about not sitting in the middle. I would have been adamant about that too, but I was the last to be adamant about it. Therefore, I was stuck with the bitch seat.

Alice wasn't talking to me. As we loaded the car this morning, she sat outside her house, on the porch, watching everyone else do the work. She seemed eerily calm, shell-shocked, almost. Like how people act when someone they know has died of a freak accident. I didn't even know how to talk about what had happened at school. How to ask her if she was okay. So, really, I wasn't sure who wasn't talking to whom. But the sum of it was that we weren't talking to each other.

Due to their time-consuming jobs, my mom and Alice's parents rarely took us on vacations. In my entire life, I had been on four vacations, and they had all been with Alice, Bernie, and Martin. We always went places that only took a few hours to get to by car, mainly because our time was limited and no one wanted to waste it traveling. Mom's Saturday classes went until three o'clock, so we did the four-hour drive to the beach on Sunday morning, giving us exactly one week of vacation.

Typically on road trips, people pass the time sleeping or reading, but this had always been a big no-no on our trips. For us, the only car rule was that if the driver couldn't do it, neither could you. We all took turns listening to our preferred tunes, starting with the driver (typically Martin, but never my mom). Martin's choices were usually lots of obscure eighties and nineties rock and the
Fiddler on the Roof
sound track. When the music silenced between tracks, he glanced at Alice and me through his rearview mirror.

Bernie followed his gaze and hit the Power button on the stereo. She turned around as best as she could with her seat belt fastened and said, “Out with it.”

Alice watched scenery pass us by outside her window, and I tried to stare a hole through the center console, but Bernie had one of those magnetic gazes that drew your eyes to her even when you were doing your best not to look.

“Harvey,” said Bernie, dragging out the last syllable. She was such a lawyer.

I swallowed. “Yeah?”

My mom must have found this amusing because she crossed her arms and turned her body to face Alice and me.

“What's wrong?” asked Bernie.

“Nothing's wrong,” I said.
Some assholes threw a mock memorial for your daughter, and the only faculty member who witnessed it would rather pretend he didn't.
“School's been stressful lately, right, Al?” I did my best to sound friendly, but her name sounded bitter and strained in my mouth. I was mad at her for not talking to me. And maybe that was shitty, but I'd just gotten a week of detention for her. I didn't need her to say thank you or anything, but maybe a hello would be nice.

Alice tilted her chin. I think it was supposed to be a nod.

Bernie dug into us. “You two listen to me very carefully.” She over-enunciated each word. “The three of us,” she said, making a triangle with her finger, pointing from Martin, to herself, to my mom, “work extremely hard with very long hours. This may be your spring break, but this is our vacation. Understand me when I say: petty bullshit will not ruin our vacation.” My mom bit her lip, trying not to steal Bernie's thunder by laughing. “Are we clear?”

“As mud,” mumbled Alice.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice rough.

Then she turned the stereo up all the way. The Who's “Baba O'Riley” pumped through the speakers. Martin caught Alice's eye in the rearview mirror and gave her a meaningful look, their eyes having some sort of conversation that I couldn't decipher. Alice sat back in her seat, her shoulders relaxing enough so that they rubbed against mine. Something had shifted in the car, and I think I had Martin to thank for that.

By the time Martin gave his encore of “If I Were a Rich Man” (because he never just sang it once), I was orchestrating the song with my bare fingers and Alice was shimmying her shoulders to the beat, but barely, and she always stopped when anyone looked at her.

Things had taken such a significant turn that when we got to the beach house, Alice didn't even complain about having to share a room with me. Granted we each had our own beds, but still I was surprised when she shrugged her shoulders without protest.

We were told the house had four bedrooms, but that turned out to mean four beds. My mom offered to sleep on the bunk bed with me, but Bernie said that she should enjoy her vacation as much as anyone, and sleeping in the same room with her son was not very vacation-worthy. I volunteered to sleep on the couch, but was told by Martin that it was silly to sleep on the couch when there was an open bed. The compromise was this: Alice and I would share the room with two bunk beds, but we'd have to keep the door open at all times. But Alice never did like to follow rules.