Side Effects May Vary

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.

Alice. Now.

It’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.