Side Effects May Vary

She flexed and unflexed her feet. “Yeah. They kept saying things like ‘inconclusive’ and this ‘warrants further testing.’ They did a bone marrow biopsy and finally came up with something.”

It sounded painful. “Did it hurt?”

“They gave me stuff for while they were doing it, but now it’s just sore.”

I wanted to have an answer to that, a way to fix everything. “What do we do now?” We. It sounded presumptuous, but it’d just come out. And even though I knew it shouldn’t have been the case, the last year felt inconsequential—minuscule in comparison to the weight of her confession.

“Let’s turn off the lights and look at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling.”

It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but I wanted to do it all the same. “Okay.”

I turned off the lights and navigated my way back to my bed by moonlight. Alice lay on my bed and patted the empty space next to her. Didn’t have to ask me twice.

“Are you scared?” It was the question game, but this time I was asking all of the questions.

“I don’t want to be.” I heard the words she didn’t say.

“I am.”

“Good,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“Are you staying in school?”

“My parents haven’t said otherwise.” We were quiet for a moment. “Do I tell people at school? How does that work?” She hadn’t told anyone else.

“The booster club is going to have a field day with this.”

“Oh God,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes, and when she did, her T-shirt shifted, revealing a sliver of cream skin in the moonlight. I slid my hands beneath my back. Look, but don’t touch.

“I think I’m going to die.” There was an eerie calm to her voice that terrified me more intensely than any cancer.

“Don’t say that, Alice.”

“We all die. We are dying. I’m just in the fast lane, I guess, dying faster than the rest of you slugs.”

My knowledge of leukemia was limited. I knew that leukemia involved blood and that there were two major types of leukemia—chronic and acute. And I also knew that Katie Cureri’s little sister Emma had leukemia when we were in fifth grade and she was in third. The elementary hosted a ton of events and fund-raisers for her and her family. The more money they raised, the better Emma got and now she was fine.

Money was the cure to cancer.

I wished I was rich.

I couldn’t think of anything that would piss off Alice more than a charity event in her name. I cracked a smile and laughed.

“What?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. “Do you think you’ll be eligible for handicapped parking?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Without giving me a second to respond, she continued. “That would be incredible.” She paused. “I don’t drive yet, though.”

“Yeah, but I bet your parents could get one.”

“Yeah.” She agreed, and then after a moment, “I could, like, sell it online.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

She sighed.

I wanted to ask her if whatever was going on right now, between us, would end when we turned the lights on and she walked out of my room.

“I have something I want to talk to you about.” Her voice filled my dark bedroom.

My stomach flipped in anticipation. “Okay.”

“I’ve got some research to do first.” She shimmied down to the edge of my bed and made large steps over piles of clothes and books, ranging in height and mass. She headed for the door, and I wished there was a dead bolt on the other side so she could never leave. So we could never leave.

“Good night, Harvey. I’ll be in touch,” she said, like she was the godfather of cancer. She flicked the light back on and slunk out of the room. Did girls with cancer even slink? Alice did.

This felt like a dream. Tonight had been the best and worst night of my life, and the only logical explanation was that it had been a dream. I stretched out my limbs like a starfish with my feet hanging off the edge of my bed, staring at my plastic stars, their colors muted and dull beneath the bright lights. My room was too small for everything inside of me.

After a while, my mom came in my room without knocking. Normally, I would have made some smart-ass remark about things teenage boys did behind closed doors, but not tonight.

She sat on the edge of the bed, right where Alice had been only a little while ago.

With her eyes glued to the empty space ahead of her, my mother wiped a tear from each cheek. She squeezed my hand once, stood up, and left without a word. On her way out the door, she flicked off my bedroom light, leaving me to my stars.

Alice. Then.

“Harvey, I appreciate you being here,” I said, taking a seat at my kitchen table.