Side Effects May Vary

After a few labored repetitions, I sat upright and spread my legs so far apart I was almost in the splits. The muscles that stretched along the insides of my legs burned. I reached forward and laid my cheek flat on the cool floor in front of me—difficult, but still possible. Sweat began pooling at my hairline. I tried rolling through the splits and onto my stomach, but my hips felt like they were stuck in mud. I sat, frustrated, with my cheek still pressed against the floor. I inhaled a great big gulp of air and tried again. With little grace, I rolled through the splits and onto my stomach.

“Aw, is this the comeback part of your story?”

Celeste.

I’d barely seen her or Luke since coming back from spring break. So much had happened since their little prank that I’d forgotten to be angry with them.

She stood in the doorway, light flooding in behind her silhouette, with her hands on her hips. “Don’t stop on my account.”

I didn’t.

She shifted her weight, leaning up against the door frame.

“I guess you didn’t hear,” she said after a moment.

Still on my stomach, I studied myself in the mirror, panting, tired from a simple exercise.

“Luke and I broke up.”

Took long enough. “Who did the breaking?”

A few seconds passed before she said, “He did, actually. Said he didn’t want to start college with a girlfriend.”

Or maybe he didn’t want a girlfriend in general. “He probably would have cheated on you anyway. If he hadn’t already.”

“I guess you would know from experience.” Each word felt like it was meant to sting, but only fell short one right after the other. She inspected her manicure and ran a fingertip along the edge of each of her nails. “You know,” she said, her voice quiet, “I have some ideas for Luke. In case maybe you’re interested.”

I sat up, still watching her in the mirror. She was right. Together, we could destroy Luke. And she didn’t even know about the picture of him stowed away in my room. But the idea of revenge no longer gave me the satisfaction it once had. In a way, part of me felt strangely empty, but it was a good kind of empty. Spring-cleaning empty. The kind that left room for better things.

I would never like Celeste, but I could see now that we were only the result of my own making. I didn’t care anymore about who’d started what. I only cared that I was the one to say no more. I could make this second chance at life whatever I wanted it to be, and I didn’t want to waste any more time on Luke, Celeste, or Mindi. Shaking my head, I said, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m out on all the games.”

“Huh, surprising.” She studied me for another long moment and then turned and walked away.

For me to have surprised someone—especially Celeste, who always expected the absolute worst of me—meant that I was doing something right.

I slid on my worn ballet flats and moved to the barre to start on the basics. I swooped down low, reaching to the floor, and then stood upright, my muscles beginning to warm with each movement. I concentrated on my breathing, counting through each motion.

“Shoulders back. Posture’s all off.”

Natalie walked up behind me and placed one hand on my back, the other on my stomach, and pressed in. Beneath her touch my entire body fell into place, my core aligning. “There.”

I nodded.

She sat on the floor with the soles of her feet touching and her legs in a butterfly stretch. She pushed down on her knees and sat up alarmingly straight. Besides asking her for the studio space, we hadn’t spoken since spring break. Natalie had never held anything against me—not even when I quit ballet—but I’d crossed a line, and I didn’t know if she could just let it go this time.

“What prompted this?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my feet in fourth position and my arm extended in front of me.

“Lift your arm a little, parallel with the center of your breastbone,” she said pointedly. “Why are you here?”

“Dr. Meredith said I should be staying active.” I’d had an appointment with him the Tuesday after spring break, and he said my body would adjust quicker if I were somehow more active. My dad nagged me for a few days before I called Natalie about some studio time.

“This studio space is available from seven thirty to nine o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” She stood from her spot on the floor in one graceful movement. “I’m closing up soon after nine. I’ll give you a ride home then.”

“Okay.” It sounded more like a question.