Side Effects May Vary (9 page)

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Alice.

Then.

A
fter Christmas, I started school a week later than everyone else because of my second round of chemo. It felt pointless to keep going, but my parents didn't seem to think so. Besides teachers and administration, no one had known I was sick. But when I came back to school without a head of hair, my health was no longer a private matter. There were whispers and questions, which at first I'd ignored, but then I figured the fastest way to stop the whispers was to answer the questions.

Within a week, I was Hughley High's poster child for cancer. People offering to stand in line for me at lunch or carry my bag to and from classes became a regular occurrence. I usually declined, unless it was Harvey doing the offering.

I didn't know how to explain it, and only the doctors seemed to understand, but my body always ached, and for the pain I was prescribed Tramadol. I wasn't allowed to carry it on school grounds, so Miss Shelly, the school nurse, always held my stash for me and let me hang out in her office for as long as it took to shake off the dizziness brought on by the meds.

Today, I skipped out on English lit in favor of the nurse's office because I couldn't take the echoing sting my body felt every time I moved. Miss Shelly doled out my meds and set me up on the cot farthest from the door with the curtain pulled shut in front of me.

“Do you need anything else for now?” asked Miss Shelly.

I shook my head, my eyes closed.

“There's a cup of water and some crackers on the counter if you need them.” The curtain rings scraped against the metal rod. “I'm going to run down to the teachers' lounge for lunch and a slice of Mr. Welston's birthday cake. I won't be long.”

My brain told my head to nod, but I didn't feel the motion of it. Drifting, my mind went places I wished my body could follow.

 

“Hurry, come on,” said a voice, interrupting my pharmaceutically induced sleep. “She just went to the teachers' lounge.”

“I don't want to do it,” said another voice. “I don't want to know.”

“Oh,” said the first voice, “and you'd rather wait and find out when your clothes don't fit in six months and you can't see your freaking toes?”

From the other side of the curtain I heard a whimper.

“Come on,” said the first voice again. “You're probably not even pregnant.”

My eyes flew open, my mind suddenly registering that this wasn't a dream.

“Okay.” It was the second voice. “But you'll keep an eye out, right?” The voice was panicked, but familiar.

“Mindi, yes. Of course I will.” Mindi. It was Celeste and Mindi. I held my breath, trying my best not to make a sound. Holy shit. Mindi might be pregnant. Quietly, I let my chest fall.

“You're the one who didn't want to take the test in one of the main bathrooms.”

“I can't pee in public bathrooms like that,” said Mindi. “I have a shy bladder. You know that.”

I heard a zipper and papers rustling. “Here.”

“Do I just pee on it?” asked Mindi.

“I think you can use a cup if you want.” A cabinet door creaked open. I closed my eyes and could practically see them standing right there outside Miss Shelly's bathroom, next to the cabinets full of supplies. “Pee in this if you want.”

“How much was the test?”

“I didn't pay for it,” said Celeste.

“You
stole
it?”

“Uh, yeah, I did. I wasn't about to be seen buying that thing. Hurry up.”

The door to the bathroom closed and opened again a few minutes later.

“I used the cup,” said Mindi.

“Now we let it sit for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? Are you serious? I can video chat someone in Russia in real time and it takes ten minutes for a stick to tell me if I'm pregnant?”

“Like five minutes ago you didn't even want to know,” said Celeste. “Come on. Sit down.”

Mindi sighed as one of Miss Shelly's stools creaked, and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

I hadn't pegged Celeste as the type to risk stealing a pregnancy test for a friend in need. I never really had a girlfriend like that, though. Growing up, I was always sort of friendly with Celeste because we went to school together and spent so much time together at dance class, but as we got older, the competitive tension between us swelled. A month before freshman year and a few weeks before quitting ballet, Mindi invited all the girls from dance class to a slumber party for her birthday. After her parents had gone to bed, we all piled up on the couch with liters of soda and bags of jawbreakers. We flipped through channels until we found
Carrie
. For the most part, we laughed and made fun of the clothes, until the prom scene at the end where those skanks drop the pig's blood on Carrie. We watched, our jaws slack, as the high school gym went up in flames and Carrie turned everyone else's joke into their nightmare.

After the movie, I found Celeste in the kitchen, tears spilling down her cheeks as she held her phone to her ear. When I asked her who she was calling, she told me she was asking her mom to pick her up. The movie had freaked her out and she wanted to go home. I told her that if she left, none of the girls would ever let her live it down. After a few seconds, she nodded and hung up the phone. And that was it.

I was the first to fall asleep. And when I woke up the next morning, I was covered in shaving cream and permanent marker. Celeste had been the ringleader. I guess she was ashamed of how I'd found her in the kitchen. It took me hours to rinse off the permanent marker so that my parents wouldn't see what had happened. That day changed everything for me. I would never make the mistake of trusting Celeste again.

It had been at least three minutes before Mindi began to cry. “How am I supposed to tell Drew? And what about my mom?”

“Hey,” said Celeste, her voice dropping an octave, and I had to strain to hear. “It's going to be fine. You're on the pill. You're probably just late, and it's not like your parents will make you keep it anyway. Drew's nowhere near ready to have a baby. He goes to a freaking community college.”

“It's just—” Mindi paused, and when she spoke again her voice shook. “I really liked him, and now—” She paused. “I'm going to get huge. And I'll have stretch marks and my boobs will get gross. And he won't stay with me. I wouldn't want to stay with me. And I'll have to do, like, night college—”

“Okay, stop. No more crying. In four minutes you're going to feel so ridiculous when you find out you're not pregnant.”

Mindi laughed a little.

“You're totally wrecking your pretty makeup,” said Celeste.

It was so weird to hear Celeste like that, being a friend.

Mindi took a few deep breaths. “Okay, I'm good. I'm good. I didn't even ask you—how did you feel about the
Oklahoma!
auditions?”

The school musical. Of course Celeste had auditioned.

“I've totally got it. I mean, the only person who can even compete with me is Tyson, and as much as he'd love to play Laurey, it's not going to happen. And then there's the ballet number. I'm without a doubt the most qualified. There's no way Mr. Achron doesn't see that.”

“What if you don't get it?” asked Mindi.

“Not going to happen. I won't let it. And neither will my parents. They're sponsoring the play, and I don't think they'd be too willing to keep their commitment if I'm just some chorus member. Worst case scenario: I make up a story about Achron inappropriately touching my leg or some bull and threaten to take it to the school board.”

“No,” gasped Mindi. “You would not.”

“Someday this is going to be my career, and I'm not about to let some washed-up theater teacher jeopardize it.” If I didn't hate her so much, I would admire Celeste's ruthless drive. “I don't think it'll come to that, but I'm prepared to do whatever it takes. Musical theater programs need to see me as a leading lady. I'm not doing all this shit to play someone's dopey best friend.”

“Yeah,” said Mindi. “How much longer?”

“Two minutes,” replied Celeste. “So, Luke's been a little weird lately. I feel like—” She stopped herself. “It's nothing.”

“Come on,” said Mindi. “I spilled my freaking guts to you.”

“It's, like, when we were hooking up before we were together, it was so hot. He would call me while I was at dance and be like, ‘Meet me in the parking lot. I need you.' He'd do stuff like that and it was such a turn-on. But now we sit around his house and watch movies and it's—wait. Oh my God, wait. Get the box! What does one line mean?”

Shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor. “Pregnant,” said Mindi, her voice hollow. “No, hang on. No! Not pregnant! I'm not pregnant!”

Their words turned into incoherent squeals.

Mindi let out a heavy sigh. “I am so relieved. Shit. I didn't even realize how tense my whole body was until it relaxed.”

“God, do you realize how
over
your life would have been?” asked Celeste.

Mindi laughed. “Bitch.”

“Whatever, we've got to get out of here.”

“Wait,” said Mindi. “What were you going to say? Before the test results showed up.”

Celeste sighed. “We haven't really hooked up since he broke up with
her
.”

I smiled. They deserved each other.

“Oh my God,” said Mindi, “can you believe it? She has
cancer
.”

“That's what my mom said. So freaking crazy. It's sad, in a way.” She paused. I waited for her to say something about my mom. “And I'm not a bad person for saying this, because you know what I mean, but karma's a bitch.”

Mindi laughed. “That is so messed up.”

“Oh, come on, you were thinking the same thing.”

She was right. Karma was a bitch, but so was I.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Alice.

Then.

O
ver the last few weeks, and between sporadic vomiting and spells of nosebleeds, I'd become very well acquainted with the various girls' bathrooms and their locations.

I'd never been the type to stop and ask someone what was wrong when they were visibly upset. I am, however, the type to wear emotional blinders and mind my own damn business, which is exactly what I planned on doing the day I found Tyson Chapman bawling his eyes out in the girls' bathroom. Tyson and I had taken ballet together in first grade, but eventually he'd found his niche with theater.

Most girls might be alarmed to find a boy crying in the girls' bathroom, but finding Tyson there on the floor was no surprise. You didn't want to be the guy crying in the bathroom, but you especially didn't want to be the gay guy crying in the guys' bathroom. Tyson had come out of the closet the summer before freshman year and he'd been getting shit for it ever since.

After spending ten minutes kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, I realized there was nothing inside my stomach to throw up and that I would just have to live with the nausea. And, thanks to the chemo, I had puffy chipmunk cheeks, another chemo pamphlet bullet point. Seriously, each of my cheeks looked like they were storing three gumballs apiece.

I walked out of the stall nonchalantly, like I didn't just have my fingers down my throat. Tyson still sat there in the same spot on the floor. I did a good job of ignoring him as I studied my scalp in the mirror. After two rounds of treatment, I'd made no progress, living up to my grim prognosis. We'd recently found out that I wasn't a bone marrow transplant candidate, but Dr. Meredith had suspected that from the beginning. Since the start, chemo had felt more like a participation grade, except without the gold stars. Now, faced with the decision of our next step, my parents asked me to continue treatment. I didn't know how to say no to them. My time was running out, though, and I had things to do.

I shook my hands dry, then pushed the swinging door open with my back when Tyson said, “I thought the day you broke up with him was the best day of my life.”

I took a step back inside. “What?”

“When you broke up with Luke. I saw it all happen in the hallway. He called me a homo, remember?”

I nodded. “You've got my attention,” I said and dropped to the damp floor next to him. It smelled like mildew covered in bleach, and I tried not to think about it. I already felt queasy enough.

“Okay. So, this last weekend I was at this house party out in Alton. I guess he had been at some other party, because he was plastered. Anyways, he kind of wandered in all by himself. I swear to God, I thought it was a sign.” He scooted closer to me. “Alice, I've been in love with him since the
third
grade.” He said it like it hurt, and I bet it did. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, making me feel uncomfortable, like I shouldn't be seeing this.

I knew what house party Tyson was talking about. It was a weekly thing at this old drag queen's house. You didn't go there without knowing what you were getting into.

“My friend Courtney has always known how much I loved him, so she went over to him and dragged him onto the dance floor. Well, the center of the living room, but you know what I mean. She danced with him for a little while, but made sure I was right by her side the whole time. There were people, like, everywhere, so he didn't notice when Courtney left him in my very capable hands.” Tyson leaned even closer to me. “I was kind of freaked out, but he was dancing with me so I kept going along. It was like he was still dancing the way he would've with Courtney, but he was dancing with
me
. There was no way he didn't know I was a guy. We were, like, grinding and—”

I shook my head. “No further explanation necessary, thanks.”

“Anyways,” he said, rolling his bloodshot eyes, “I went to go get a drink from the keg outside and he followed me. We didn't really talk. It was just us back there. I was crazy nervous. I was about to ask him why he was there when he sort of leaned in and kissed me.”

I waited for some kind of an explanation. This was the guy who had practically begged to get into my pants. He even slept around with other girls. “Hang on,” I said, holding my palm up. “
Luke
sort of kissed you?”

“Yes, and it was earth-shattering. Everything I had dreamed of since third grade. Okay, well, I didn't realize people used their tongues to kiss when I was in third grade, but you get the idea. After that he kind of freaked out and took off.”

I recalled all of those times Luke and I had kissed, and it was okay enough, but nothing I could ever imagine someone dreaming of or hoping for. The thought actually made me want to gag, and I wondered if Tyson and I were even talking about the same guy.

Luke had kissed a boy. I couldn't believe it, couldn't understand how I didn't see it. A girlfriend would have known something like that.

“Courtney couldn't believe it either, so she snapped a picture with her cell from inside the house.”

The wheels in my brain began to spin. “Does it look like him?” I asked.

Tyson's head cocked to the side and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“The picture,” I said, “can you tell it's him?”

“I can,” he said cautiously, as he pulled out his smart phone. My breath caught in my throat as he showed me the picture. It was a little blurry, having been taken with drunk goggles, but oh, God—it was definitely him. He even wore his letter jacket with the unmistakable MVP varsity soccer patch emblazoned on his bicep.

“So what happened next?” I asked, handing the phone back reluctantly.

“Well, today I went up to him in the locker room before gym. Everyone had cleared out but us. When I asked him if he was okay, he said ‘Okay with you being a faggot?'” Tyson choked out a sob.

I hated that word.

Tyson sniffed and continued. “Then I reminded him that he kissed me in the first place. He told me to keep my mouth shut, and then this happened,” he said, lifting his shirt to reveal a long, colorful bruise that stretched the entire length of his left side and seemed to continue well past the waistband of his jeans. The bruise yellowed at the edges, getting darker and angrier toward the middle.

“Wow. Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. A little sore, but okay.”

“So, you still think you're in love with him?”

“Probably.” His face was severe and now free of tears.

Sometimes love is so intense that it turns into this gray area that borders on hate. That's what happens when the people you love have that type of power of you.

“I'm sorry, you know,” he said, motioning to my scalp.

I nodded. “Can you send me the picture?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why? What do you want with it?”

“Oh, I want to ruin that asshole.” I felt bad for Tyson and even for Luke, but that didn't change what he had done to me.

He chewed on his lip for a second, thinking. “Yeah, you can have it. Let me know before it goes public, okay?”

I stood. “I will.”

He nodded. “Hey, isn't your birthday this week?”

“Next Monday, sweet sixteen.” I'd be spending my sixteenth birthday at the treatment center. “Sorry about the bruises, Tyson.”

“It's okay. Suddenly, the pain is starting to fade.”

“Yeah, revenge does that.”