Side Effects May Vary

Side Effects May Vary by Julie Murphy

Dedication

To Mom for giving me this beautiful life, and to Ian for sharing it with me.

Alice. Then.

If ever my parents gave me a religion, it was the gospel of honesty. Babies don’t come from storks, and my mom never dared to tell me that a flu shot would hurt her more than it would me. But even though we lived by the truth, there were some things I would never know how to say out loud. What I hadn’t said for the last year was: I miss Harvey. I couldn’t say it out loud, but that didn’t stop it from being true. In the collection of my memories there was no specific moment that I was most fond of, a moment that so defined this whisper of loss. Still, every time I thought of simple things like eating pizza on Friday night, Harvey was there. And now, he was not.

“Let’s get out of here,” someone whispered in my ear, tickling the hair at my neck. For the briefest moment, I wondered if it was Harvey.

I didn’t turn, but flicked my eyes up to see the corner of Luke’s lips in the reflection of the magnetic mirror on my locker door.

“I’ve got bio,” I said, answering his silent question.

“I’ve got an idea.”

I smiled and his arms twisted around my waist, like he’d won me. I shook my head. “It’s our first test review of the year. I can’t miss it.”

Luke pulled me to face him and slammed my locker door shut. “This weekend’s our one year. I’m going to be out of town with the team, so I thought we could do something today. Please,” he begged, his grin widening. It was true. One month into my sophomore year marked one year with Luke. Dropping his chin down into my shoulder, his lips pressed against my hair, he said, “Come on, Alice. Don’t be like this. I said I was sorry. Laurel’s trying to get to you. You know it’s not true.”

Laurel, a senior and Luke’s ex-girlfriend, had cornered me in the bathroom three days ago. He’s a cheater, she said. If you’re not sleeping with him, I can guarantee you that other girls are. I’d skipped gym to ask Luke about it. He looked at me like he was about to cry; I couldn’t tell if it was because he was scared of losing me or getting caught. I wanted to believe him.

Luke was a junior and a year older than me. There were a lot of reasons why we’d started dating. I liked the way he nibbled on his knuckles when he was thinking and how he trimmed his hair every week—a blond fuzz that felt good against the tips of my fingers. He was funny, but only when he didn’t mean to be. He didn’t lie, not even when he’d gotten my birthday confused. My mom didn’t like him. And Celeste—who was more enemy than friend and always foolish enough to want anything of mine—had a thing for him.

Tracing circles on the small of my back, he said, “You know homecoming’s in a few weeks, right?”

Luke was one of the junior class representatives for homecoming court, and I’d teased him about it relentlessly. “Yeah, my mom was going to take me to buy a dress this weekend. Unless you decided to take some other girl.”

He sighed. “Let me know what color dress you get. I’ll pick up a tie to match.”

I nodded, smiling into his shoulder.

My mom was supposed to take me dress shopping. She never thought Luke was smart enough to date her daughter, and she wasn’t too appreciative of his popular jock status either. Actually, at home, my parents simply referred to him as “bro.” Really, neither of them was a fan of any boys who weren’t Harvey. But when I’d told Mom about homecoming, she’d immediately volunteered to take me to the designer outlet mall on the way to Alton—the best shopping in a thirty-mile radius.

I watched the crowd of students brush past as Luke stayed there with his lips on my neck, trying to arouse something, but all I felt was the ache for Harvey whirring in my chest.

He almost didn’t see me. His head bobbed above most of the crowd, his brown hair curling at his neck, long overdue for a haircut. Every time I saw Harvey, he was taller and broader than I’d remembered. Still, though, I saw the little boy with eyes too big for his face, who I’d bossed around since I could string together enough words to make a sentence. Our moms had always been best friends in a way that felt more like family. We’d grown up together because we didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. There was never that horrible getting-to-know-you phase most everyone had to go through.

Then we’d drifted. High school did that to you, turned you into pieces of driftwood. And the parts of you that you’d tried to keep in one piece became the property of the wind and the water, sending those dear pieces everywhere you were not. He’d gone right; I’d gone left.

“Cut the PDA!” called Coach Wolfen as he jogged past us through the door of the teachers’ lounge.