Side Effects May Vary

by Julie Murphy

  Yanking the collar of his T-shirt with both hands, I pushed Luke up against the wall. “Give me those fucking keys to that case, or I swear to God I will break every one of your fingers and when those heal, I’ll break them again!”

  He spat in my face.

  The gymnasium door swung open.

  “In my office, all of you. Now,” barked Coach Wolfen.

  Coach Wolfen may have been the head of the athletic department and the coach of, like, six teams, but his office wasn’t made to fit any more than three people.

  Luke leaned on the edge of Coach Wolfen’s desk, while Alice sat in a chair and Dennis and I stood behind her.

  “You,” said Coach Wolfen, motioning to Dennis. “Clean out that case. Now.” He opened his desk and threw Dennis a key ring.

  Dennis left, and Coach Wolfen pointed at Luke. “You said you needed those keys for some project the pep squad was working on. You lied to me, son. Your ass could get expelled over something like this.”

  Luke held up his hands. “It wasn’t even my idea!”

  Of course it wasn’t.

  “You and I are not done talking,” he said to Luke. “You two.” He pointed to Alice and me. “Detention for a week, starting the Monday after spring break. Get out of here. And you,” he said to Luke. “Have a seat.”

  I shut the door behind Alice and followed her out into the hallway.

  Dennis stood in front of the case. He’d dragged a big black trash can right up next to him and was tossing everything. He looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

  “A week of detention,” I said.

  I turned, expecting to see Alice behind me. But she was gone, walking down the hallway. I watched her go, her silhouette shrinking as she went.

  Harvey.

  Now

  “I wouldn’t have to work hard,” sang Martin.

  He couldn’t sing, but I thought everyone had at least one song that was meant for them, one song that they could sing. “If I Were a Rich Man,” from Fiddler on the Roof, was Martin’s song—his one and only.

  It was pouring outside, those big, fat raindrops so heavy they could crack your windshield. So far our spring break vacation was turning out to be pretty dreary. Bernie navigated from the front seat while Martin drove. Alice, my mom, and I were crammed into the backseat. Both Alice and my mom had been adamant about not sitting in the middle. I would have been adamant about that too, but I was the last to be adamant about it. Therefore, I was stuck with the bitch seat.

  Alice wasn’t talking to me. As we loaded the car this morning, she sat outside her house, on the porch, watching everyone else do the work. She seemed eerily calm, shell-shocked, almost. Like how people act when someone they know has died in a freak accident. I didn’t even know how to talk about what had happened at school. How to ask her if she was okay. So, really, I wasn’t sure who wasn’t talking to whom. But the sum of it was that we weren’t talking to each other.

  Due to their time-consuming jobs, my mom and Alice’s parents rarely took us on vacations. In my entire life, I had been on four vacations, and they had all been with Alice, Bernie, and Martin. We always went places that only took a few hours to get to by car, mainly because our time was limited and no one wanted to waste it traveling. Mom’s Saturday classes went until three o’clock, so we did the four-hour drive to the beach on Sunday morning, giving us exactly one week of vacation.

  Typically on road trips, people pass the time sleeping or reading, but this had always been a big no-no on our trips. For us, the only car rule was that if the driver couldn’t do it, neither could you. We all took turns listening to our preferred tunes, starting with the driver (typically Martin, but never my mom). Martin’s choices were usually lots of obscure eighties and nineties rock and the Fiddler on the Roof sound track. When the music silenced between tracks, he glanced at Alice and me through his rearview mirror.

  Bernie followed his gaze and hit the Power button on the stereo. She turned around as best as she could with her seat belt fastened and said, “Out with it.”

  Alice watched scenery pass us by through her window, and I tried to stare a hole through the center console, but Bernie had one of those magnetic gazes that drew your eyes to her even when you were doing your best not to look.

  “Harvey,” said Bernie, dragging out the last syllable. She was such a lawyer.

  I swallowed. “Yeah?”

  My mom must have found this amusing because she crossed her arms and turned her body to face Alice and me.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Bernie.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said. Some assholes threw a mock memorial for your daughter, and the only faculty member who witnessed it would rather pretend he didn’t. “School’s been stressful lately, right, Al?” I did my best to sound friendly, but her name sounded bitter and strained in my mouth. I was mad at her for not talking to me. And maybe that was shitty, but I’d just gotten a week of detention for her. I didn’t need her to say thank-you or anything, but maybe a hello would be nice.

  Alice tilted her chin. I think it was supposed to be a nod.

  Bernie dug into us. “You two listen to me very carefully.” She over-enunciated each word. “The three of us,” she said, making a triangle with her finger, pointing from Martin, to herself, to my mom, “work extremely hard with very long hours. This may be your spring break, but this is our vacation. Understand me when I say: petty bullshit will not ruin our vacation.” My mom bit her lip, trying not to steal Bernie’s thunder by laughing. “Are we clear?”

  “As mud,” mumbled Alice.

  “Yes,” I replied, my voice rough.

  Then she turned the stereo up all the way. The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” pumped through the speakers. Martin caught Alice’s eye in the rearview mirror and gave her a meaningful look, their eyes having some sort of conversation that I couldn’t decipher. Alice sat back in her seat, her shoulders relaxing enough so that they rubbed against mine. Something had shifted in the car, and I think I had Martin to thank for that.

  By the time Martin gave his encore of “If I Were a Rich Man” (because he never just sang it once), I was orchestrating the song with my bare fingers and Alice was shimmying her shoulders to the beat, but barely, and she always stopped when anyone looked at her.

  Things had taken such a significant turn that when we got to the beach house, Alice didn’t even complain about having to share a room with me. Granted we each had our own beds, but still I was surprised when she shrugged her shoulders without protest.

  We were told the house had four bedrooms, but that turned out to mean four beds. My mom offered to sleep on the bunk bed with me, but Bernie said that she should enjoy her vacation as much as anyone, and sleeping in the same room with her son was not very vacation-worthy. I volunteered to sleep on the couch, but was told by Martin that it was silly to sleep on the couch when there was an open bed. The compromise was this: Alice and I would share the room with two bunk beds, but we’d have to keep the door open at all times. But Alice never did like to follow rules.

  Alice.

  Now

  My dad gave me that look. That fucking look that said, You owe us this. And, okay, I did owe them this, but I also felt like the world was crumbling beneath my feet. Still, I tried to smooth my attitude around the edges just enough so that everyone could have a nice week. After the last year or so, my parents, Natalie, and Harvey deserved a week of peace. But peace, as it turned out, wasn’t really my thing.

  In every quiet moment, all I heard was the throbbing silence of Friday morning. Every inch of it—the flowers, the pictures, the candles—haunted me, and I knew that no matter how hard I tried to forget, I would die with those images. Maybe I should have let it be a good thing, and maybe I should have left all the horrible parts of me there in that hallway to be forgotten in that graveyard of memories, but I didn’t know how to do that. I didn’t know how to separate out the wrong parts of me while keeping everything else. It felt like the cancer—forever inside of me. I
didn’t think it worked like that, though. I didn’t think I could cut out the pieces of me that no one liked. There would always be remains, and that version of me would always exist. On top of all that was this huge weight of devastation. The more time I had for all this to sink in, the worse it felt, like an untreated wound.

  It rained all day Sunday, which was fine because everyone was exhausted. My mom failed to mention that the beach house, on loan from her boss, had only three bedrooms. When Natalie offered to share the bunk bed room with Harvey, I almost agreed with her, but my mom froze me with one of her signature glares and told Natalie she was being ridiculous. I shrugged, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort.

  I walked into our room on Sunday night and found Harvey in the process of putting his sheets on the top bunk. I threw my duffle bag on the floor and said, “I call top,” and walked out of the room.

  When I came back after brushing my teeth, Harvey lay on the bottom bunk flipping through an old MAD magazine he’d probably found in the closet. I closed the door behind me and twisted the thumb lock.

  “We’re supposed to leave the door open,” he said, not looking up.

  “I have to change.”

  It was dark out, but the white nighttime clouds brightened the blackness. I turned off the light and, with it, the buzzing ceiling fan. The slat blinds cast long lines across the dim room. Under the blanket of darkness, the room didn’t look so bad. Everything always looked better in the dark, including me.

  I strode over to my duffle bag on the floor, turned my back to Harvey, and yanked at the button of my denim shorts. The sound of my zipper sliding down cracked the silence while the ceiling fan whirred to a stop.

  Harvey’s eyes slid down my back. I could feel them in the same way you could feel the sun on your face while you’re sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. But now it was him and Debora. On Friday morning, Harvey had been there for me, like always. And I thought I was ready to be there for him until Debora showed up, reminding me that Harvey wasn’t mine to be there for anymore. Right now, though, Debora wasn’t here.

  I wiggled out of my denim shorts and yanked off my T-shirt.

  Harvey gasped, which he tried to disguise with a cough. I pulled my tank top on over my head and reached my hand up my back, beneath my tank, unhooking my bra with two fingers. Teach my mom to let me sleep in the same room with a teenage boy, even if it was only Harvey. I slid the straps off my shoulders, pulled my bra out from underneath my shirt, dropped it on the floor, and then pulled on my boxer shorts. I unlocked the door and climbed up to the top bunk. Slowly, my body was filling in again, and I could get used to this, this healthy body. But I knew it could be temporary, and that this time in remission might only be a short reprieve. I listened as Harvey turned over in his bed in a huff, the springs creaking against his weight.

  And just like that, the Harvey/Alice balance had been restored to the universe.

  Monday morning, I woke to the sound of rain splattering against the window. Harvey stood on the edge of the bottom bunk, his elbows looped through the wood slats, peering down at me.

  “I’m kicking your ass at Sorry in five minutes,” he said, pointing to the closet on the other side of the room, which was completely cleared out except for a tall stack of old board games.

  “Huh?” My brain wasn’t awake yet.

  “The board game—Sorry.”

  I propped myself up on my elbows and said, “Oh, I think you’re the one who’s going to be sorry.”

  “Your ass is grass, Al.”

  It was like he woke up and decided that we were okay. We didn’t have to talk about it or our feelings or whatever bullshit. We were okay. And I wanted to live in that state of blind happiness for as long as I could.

  Tuesday was Operation. I couldn’t hold my hand steady enough and got frustrated, so I sabotaged Harvey by punching him in the armpit. Wednesday was Monopoly. I won and foreclosed on every inch of Harvey’s property. Thursday was Life. I was in charge of doling out the little peg figures and made the executive decision that all of Harvey’s stick people would be pink and mine blue. I chose not to marry and sold all my children to an Eastern European Iron Curtain–era traveling circus. Harvey and his life partner, Rhonda, had nineteen children, which we caravanned in other cars using twisty ties found in the kitchen drawers. Friday was Clue. I killed everyone, using every weapon, every time. The end. (Actually, it was the maid.)

  I took every chance I could to bend over with my ass in the air or to brush my boobs up against Harvey’s arm. I felt pretty stupid, but I didn’t know how else to stop him from forgetting. Because now that I couldn’t have him, I knew that I would never get over him—at least not any time soon. It could’ve been because Eric was gone, but every time I thought about him with Debora, I felt like someone was ripping off my fingernails one by one.

  But what if this worked? What if he couldn’t resist me and he broke up with Debora? His happiness would depend on me, and that was a weight I didn’t know if I could carry. I thought about all the ways I could give Harvey happiness, but everything I could do for him seemed to rely on my inability to be consistent and present—to be always. There was still that one thing on my list that I hadn’t been able to complete. Something I could give to Harvey, a little piece of satisfaction that would be all for him and not at all for me. It was the thing I planned out in my head in those moments between asleep and awake when my brain was unable to tell the difference between dreams and reality.

  After playing Clue with Harvey on Friday afternoon, I passed out on the couch. I woke to a darker, quieter house than what I’d fallen asleep to and a blanket tucked around my shoulders. Rain tapped against the windows as the smell of coffee wafted in from the kitchen. I followed it to find my dad sitting at the table with a half-empty mug of coffee, reading a bright green book about new wave music.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “Oh, hey,” he said, sitting up a little straighter and pulling on his earlobe. “Picking up Chinese food. Should be back soon.”

  I sat down in the chair next to him. “How long was I asleep?”

  He folded over the page he’d been reading and closed his book. “Only a few hours.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  I nodded and touched my fingers to my cheek, feeling the creases left by the couch. “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah?” He looked at me and I couldn’t hold his gaze, because I was scared he would see all the things I’d ever seen and know all the truths I’d never told him. Not telling him about Mom made my throat ache. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. “Did you ever meet Harvey’s dad?”

  He shook his head. “Never met the guy.”

  “You don’t know anything about him?”

  “Nope. Natalie only talked to your mom about that stuff.” He leaned forward. “How come? Did Harvey say something?”

  “No. No, I was—”

  “We’ve got egg rolls!” called my mom from the front door.

  Dad patted my arm. “Grab some plates, would you?”

  “Okay.”

  We ate dinner and when we were done, we each plucked a fortune cookie from the bag full of leftover soy sauce packets. Mom made everyone read theirs out loud. Dad’s was about taking a chance on a sudden business venture. Natalie’s said something about patience making the world go ’round. Mom’s told her to let compassion guide her decisions.

  Harvey cleared his throat. “‘Every road has a fork.’”

  It was my turn; I cracked my cookie open, but it was empty.

  Alice.

  Now

  “Alice. Alice, wake up.” Harvey hovered over me. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, and stretched my muscles so hard they stung. “You just fell asleep, but—”

  “No shit,” I mumbled.

  He stared down at me the way teachers always did. “Like I was saying, you just fell asleep, but look,” he said, pointing to the window at the foot of our bed.

  I pulled myself upright
. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. I twisted around and slid onto my stomach, facing the foot of the bed. Harvey stood on the ladder, watching me.

  I stuck my neck out over the edge of the bed and immediately saw what he was referring to. Stars. Thousands, probably millions or trillions of stars hung against the black velvet sky. The rain had stopped and the clouds were gone.

  “I can’t wait to get in the ocean tomorrow,” Harvey said. “I wish we could go in tonight.”

  Harvey had always loved to swim. I told myself that I didn’t mind it, but the ocean always made me uneasy. It was so bottomless and unknown. That’s why I surprised myself when I said, “Now. Let’s go now.”

  Skipping the ladder, I jumped off the top bunk and rummaged through my duffle bag for a bikini top and bottom. I didn’t even wait to find a matching set and found myself with a neon green bottom and navy-and-white-striped top. Harvey grabbed his trunks and went to the bathroom.

  I met him on the deck. He held two towels and was wearing his trunks and a sweatshirt.

  “It’s a little cold,” he said. “You okay?” He wrapped a big, fluffy towel around my shoulders in such a familiar way. Maybe, I thought, maybe this thing between us isn’t gone.

  I didn’t answer and just ran right off the deck and down to the ocean. The beach house itself was a piece of shit, with this faint mildew smell, but the view was what counted. And when it wasn’t raining, the view was worth it. Dropping my towel, I ran into the ocean.

  But then I stopped when the water hit my knees. The shock of the cold ocean water sent a shot of terror up my spine. Harvey ran ahead of me, the water splashing around him. The moon soaked him with dim light. He had filled into his long, lean frame—even more so over the last few months. Slim muscles coated his bones, clearly visible beneath his skin. Not until he was in up to his waist did he turn around to see where I was.

  “You want to go back?” he asked.