Side Effects May Vary

When he finally let go, it was Natalie’s turn. I hadn’t seen her for over a month, and I had assumed I might never see her again. She curled her long, lean arms around my shoulders and placed her chin atop my head. She was a gazelle of a woman, standing at least a few inches taller than my five foot nine inches. “Welcome back,” she whispered into my hair.

Everyone in my life was ready for this except me.

“Happy birthday to you . . . ,” my dad began to sing, as he approached us from behind. His voice was a little unsure at first, but rose in volume when everyone else joined.

I turned to him. He held out a huge strawberry-ice-cream cake, my childhood birthday party staple. Natalie squeezed my shoulder, telling me to make my wish. Heat warmed my face, and the countless candles made everything and everyone look fuzzy. I closed my eyes and pretended to make a wish, but I didn’t, not really. I had nothing left to wish for, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wish for it; I would do it.

My eyes must have been closed for too long because my mother cleared her throat. My eyes sprang open. They all stared at me, waiting. It took me three puffs to blow out all the candles but one. Without missing a beat, Harvey swiped his tongue over his thumb and pointer finger, using them to snuff out the last stubborn flame.

Next, we opened presents. My parents gave me cash, which was what I asked for every year. From Natalie and Harvey, I received a generic Happy Birthday card and a rectangular box wrapped in champagne-colored wrapping paper. I knew what it was before I opened it, but I still went through the motions. Tucked into a small brown box and shrouded in white tissue paper was a pair of brand-new pointe shoes.

The minute I opened the box, Natalie tried to explain herself. “I know.” She stopped, collecting her thoughts. “I know that you don’t dance anymore, but I read somewhere that your body would recuperate more quickly if you exercised.”

Natalie was never verbally confrontational. In fact, she might even come across as shy at times, but she let her feelings show in her actions. So while this seemed like a nice gesture, it was also Natalie’s way of saying, It’s time to get back to the studio. I picked up the shoes, the silk smooth against my fingers and the leather soles blemish-free. My throat went dry and my fingertips numb. Anxiety sank deep into my abdomen like a set of hooks. One more expectation I didn’t know how to live up to. At least this one could live in a box beneath my bed.

I wanted to be that person for all of them—the person they’d painted into their memory, the memorialized version of Alice—but that girl wasn’t me. And that scared me. As it turned out, my greatest fear in life had become expectations.

Natalie looked back and forth between my parents. Dad patted her back. And Mom looked at me with anticipation. My forehead knotted in confusion, not sure what she wanted me to say. She raised her brows and tilted her head to Natalie.

“Oh,” I said. “Thanks.”

Like an old friend, I wanted to keep ballet within reach, but this was too close. With this defunct body, I wasn’t all that interested in testing my limits. I slid the shoes back in the box, and gave Natalie and Harvey a stiff-lipped smile.

The summer before freshman year, I’d told my mom that I wanted to quit ballet. She agreed as long as I told Natalie myself. On the surface, I think I wanted to start high school fresh. I was done being the girl who had to go to ballet class every day. We lived in a small town and, yeah, I was considered good here. But in comparison to whom? I couldn’t be like Natalie, teaching pupil after pupil, hoping something might stick. If ballet was going to be my life, I’d only be happy living it on a stage. I preferred to accept the disappointment now rather than waste more years in a studio and have a casting director or an admissions board tell me I wasn’t good enough.

On that day, I ran through the front door of the studio and into the changing room, bobby pins slipping from my bun as I changed out of my denim shorts and tank top and into my black leotard. I slid my black convertible tights on over my leotard and threw my backpack beneath Natalie’s desk.

“Alice, get back here with that nest of hair,” called Natalie.