Side Effects May Vary

“I’ve totally got it. I mean, the only person who can even compete with me is Tyson, and as much as he’d love to play Laurey, it’s not going to happen. And then there’s the ballet number. I’m without a doubt the most qualified. There’s no way Mr. Achron doesn’t see that.”

“What if you don’t get it?” asked Mindi.

“Not going to happen. I won’t let it. And neither will my parents. They’re sponsoring the play, and I don’t think they’d be too willing to keep their commitment if I’m just some chorus member. Worst case scenario: I make up a story about Achron inappropriately touching my leg or some bull and threaten to take it to the school board.”

“No,” gasped Mindi. “You would not.”

“Someday this is going to be my career, and I’m not about to let some washed-up theater teacher jeopardize it.” If I didn’t hate her so much, I would admire Celeste’s ruthless drive. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, but I’m prepared to do whatever it takes. Musical theater programs need to see me as a leading lady. I’m not doing all this shit to play someone’s dopey best friend.”

“Yeah,” said Mindi. “How much longer?”

“Two minutes,” replied Celeste. “So, Luke’s been a little weird lately. I feel like—” She stopped herself. “It’s nothing.”

“Come on,” said Mindi. “I spilled my freaking guts to you.”

“It’s, like, when we were hooking up before we were together, it was so hot. He would call me while I was at dance and be like, ‘Meet me in the parking lot. I need you.’ He’d do stuff like that and it was such a turn-on. But now we sit around his house and watch movies and it’s—wait. Oh my God, wait. Get the box! What does one line mean?”

Shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor. “Pregnant,” said Mindi, her voice hollow. “No, hang on. No! Not pregnant! I’m not pregnant!”

Their words turned into incoherent squeals.

Mindi let out a heavy sigh. “I am so relieved. Shit. I didn’t even realize how tense my whole body was until it relaxed.”

“God, do you realize how over your life would have been?” asked Celeste.

Mindi laughed. “Bitch.”

“Whatever, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“Wait,” said Mindi. “What were you going to say? Before the test results showed up.”

Celeste sighed. “We haven’t really hooked up since he broke up with her.”

I smiled. They deserved each other.

“Oh my God,” said Mindi, “can you believe it? She has cancer.”

“That’s what my mom said. So freaking crazy. It’s sad, in a way.” She paused. I waited for her to say something about my mom. “And I’m not a bad person for saying this, because you know what I mean, but karma’s a bitch.”

Mindi laughed. “That is so messed up.”

“Oh, come on, you were thinking the same thing.”

She was right. Karma was a bitch, but so was I.

Alice. Then.

Over the last few weeks, and between sporadic vomiting and spells of nosebleeds, I’d become very well acquainted with the various girls’ bathrooms and their locations.

I’d never been the type to stop and ask someone what was wrong when they were visibly upset. I am, however, the type to wear emotional blinders and mind my own damn business, which is exactly what I planned on doing the day I found Tyson Chapman bawling his eyes out in the girls’ bathroom. Tyson and I had taken ballet together in first grade, but eventually he’d found his niche with theater.

Most girls might be alarmed to find a boy crying in the girls’ bathroom, but finding Tyson there on the floor was no surprise. You didn’t want to be the guy crying in the bathroom, but you especially didn’t want to be the gay guy crying in the guys’ bathroom. Tyson had come out of the closet the summer before freshman year and he’d been getting shit for it ever since.

After spending ten minutes kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, I realized there was nothing inside my stomach to throw up and that I would just have to live with the nausea. And, thanks to the chemo, I had puffy chipmunk cheeks, another chemo pamphlet bullet point. Seriously, each of my cheeks looked like they were storing three gumballs apiece.

I walked out of the stall nonchalantly, like I didn’t just have my fingers down my throat. Tyson still sat there in the same spot on the floor. I did a good job of ignoring him as I studied my scalp in the mirror. After two rounds of treatment, I’d made no progress, living up to my grim prognosis. We’d recently found out that I wasn’t a bone marrow transplant candidate, but Dr. Meredith had suspected that from the beginning. Since the start, chemo had felt more like a participation grade, except without the gold stars. Now, faced with the decision of our next step, my parents asked me to continue treatment. I didn’t know how to say no to them. My time was running out, though, and I had things to do.

I shook my hands dry, then pushed the swinging door open with my back when Tyson said, “I thought the day you broke up with him was the best day of my life.”

I took a step back inside. “What?”

“When you broke up with Luke. I saw it all happen in the hallway. He called me a homo, remember?”