Side Effects May Vary

Dennis turned for the break room and Debora followed him, so I did too. Their family did pictures every year at the same portrait place in old downtown. They always wore black bottoms and a different-colored shirt every year. I knew this because the portraits lined their staircase, starting with the most recent picture at the bottom.

Mom and I had never taken real family portraits, only pictures at Christmastime and sometimes for one of our birthdays.

In the break room, Dennis slipped into the small employee bathroom while Debora and I sat down at one of the lunch tables.

Debora took a napkin from the center of the table and pushed a few stray crumbs into a neat pile. “So,” she said, “have you thought about where you want to apply?”

I tilted my head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Colleges, Harvey.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought much about the future in the last few years. “I guess I’ll go to a community college until I figure it out.”

She nodded.

“What about you?”

“Well, Mom graduated from Cornell and Dad’s a Dartmouth grad. Personally, I’ve got my eye on Cornell.” She continued to sweep the crumbs into little piles, micromanaging them.

I watched her hands, smiling. “You’ll get in. Besides, if you can’t get into those places, nobody can.”

She smiled with her lips pressed tight together. “What about you?”

I shrugged. “I just hope a school accepts me.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” she said.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“You’re smart and talented and . . . I know these things. If you don’t get into a decent school, it will only be because you didn’t apply.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Okay, what else do you know, Oracle Debora?”

She closed her eyes, still smiling. “I see you volunteering to wear the big foam diploma costume at the college fair I’m planning next Saturday.”

I laughed. “So not going to happen.”

Her smile widened and, for the first time, I realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses. “Hey,” I said. “No glasses. You look nice.”

“Yeah, contacts irritate my eyes. I only wear them for pictures.”

I nodded.

“Come on!” she called to Dennis.

“Chill, sis!”

She rolled her eyes, and returned to the pile of crumbs. “I know I’m, like, a year late or something, but Dennis said you quit the piano.”

“I did. Yeah, I don’t know. I felt like I had no life.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I know what you mean.” She paused. “I don’t really know much about music. I sort of listen to whatever’s on, but I always thought you were good.”

My lips twitched. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” said Dennis, bursting through the door. “Who picked the color this year? Because I look fine. This is way better than the burnt orange we did last year.”

“Let’s go,” said Debora.

“Later, man!” called Dennis. “I’ve got to tell the front I’m leaving.”

I stood and gave him a wave, but he was already gone. “See ya, Debora.”

She turned, before following Dennis out the swinging door. “Bye, Harvey.”

I sank down into my chair. The doors to the break room swung back and forth. I’d just had an entire conversation without once thinking of Alice. The knot that had been in my chest since last Saturday didn’t feel so big. And, for that, I had Debora to thank. I couldn’t help but wonder what else she could make me forget.

Alice. Then.

Prom wasn’t always on my list, but after having been released from the hospital two weeks ago, my days felt even more finite. It was the type of thing that I never wanted to go to until I’d realized I never would. Prom was for juniors and seniors and their dates, and I was a sophomore. But that was okay. It’s not like I planned to walk through the front door or anything.

I was done with chemo too. Or maybe it was done with me. Either way, chemotherapy hadn’t helped. In fact, most recently it had done more harm than good and had begun to attack the healthy parts of me. Dr. Meredith said lots of different things about my blood counts and my immune system, but what I took away from the conversation was: chemo equals bad, for now.

It was almost a relief to find out that the chemo was no longer an option. I knew the treatment had taken a toll on me, but living without the weight of it “added to my quality of life,” which was the exact wording Dr. Meredith used when he discussed other treatment options. My parents, though, had left the decision up to me and I decided no more.

With our shoes dangling from our fingers, Harvey and I walked across the golf course behind the Shady Grove Country Club.

“Maybe we should have dressed up,” said Harvey.

“We’re not going inside,” I said. “I just want to see it, that’s all.” We couldn’t have bought tickets even if we wanted to. Only upperclassmen were allowed to buy tickets, and they’d sold out weeks before it even occurred to me that I might want to crash the thing.

“How close do you want to get?”

“I don’t know; close enough to see everything.” We walked across the green so that the lake was at our backs. In front of us was the event space. The grass was so perfect it made me want to throw my shoes in the lake.