Free The Distance from A to Z by Natalie Blitt Page A

completely a lie. “I’ve seen too many athletes go from girl to girl, and I’m not interested in that. It turns out that my first boyfriend only dated me because my family has season tickets to the Cubs. And true, that was seventh grade. But then in high school,my two short-lived romances were all spent listening to guys talk ad nauseam about sports with my brothers. I think Eddie actually had a crush on my brother Si, though nobody believes me.
    â€œSo let’s just say that between having a family that puts all things on hold for a Cubs game, and then having a boyfriend who didn’t want to go to homecoming with me because he wanted to watch the conference championship on TV, I’m a little done with anyone who’s into sports.”
    â€œHe might not be—”
    I can’t do this.
    â€œSo, what are you up to today?” I ask, and I so appreciate that Alice lets me get away with the punt.
    â€œThere’s a pottery studio in town I want to check out,” Alice says.
    â€œYou do yoga and pottery?”
    We’re crossing the quad, close to our dorm, and I’m not really paying attention. I’m thinking about not tripping on the cracks in the pavement, and how I don’t like Zeke, not really.
    â€œThey’re both good for helping with my anxiety. The yoga is something I do every day, sometimes more than once a day. And the pottery I do when I can. They both help me center myself in different ways. Well, between that and the medication.”
    â€œYou take medication?” I don’t notice the surprise and slight disdain that creeps into my voice, but I see Alice’s reaction. She heard it.
    Alice stops, her hands fisting on her hips. “Yes,” she says, looking me in the eye. “I do. And it helps a lot.”
    â€œI didn’t mean—”
    â€œYou meant only crazy people take medication?”
    â€œNo,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. “No. I just didn’t realize that you need medicine for something like that.”
    â€œIt’s not a choice,” Alice says, her words dripping with rage and pain. This is not the gentle Alice I’ve grown to see as someone who understands me better than most. Not the calm Alice who writes pages and pages in her journals. This is an Alice who is trying her hardest to keep it together. Her thin shoulders are shaking with the effort. “I don’t want to be like this. It isn’t a matter of just trying harder. It’s about using all kinds of techniques. Breathing techniques. Centering techniques. Self-talk and therapy. And yes, medication. Before I started taking my meds, it was hell. And while things are still hard now, I wouldn’t give up a day of medication just so that people won’t judge me. I’m giving my body the support it needs. And I won’t apologize for that.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I whisper again, but Alice’s head is shaking so hard now that I’m not even sure she can hear me.
    â€œI’m heading into town for the day. I’ll see you later,” shesays, her eyes firmly trained on the polished blue toenails that stick out of her leather sandals.
    And before I can think of the right answer, of any answer, anything to make this better, she’s gone.
    I clean our room. I refill our fridge with snacks from the campus convenience store, careful to pick up the chocolate-covered espresso beans I know Alice loves to snack on and the flavored seltzer I’ve learned she likes. And then I wander through town, trying to figure out what else I can do to make things better.
    I call my mom.
    â€œEverything okay, sweetie?” she asks. The booming voice of the Cubs announcer welcoming everyone to the game is loud even over the phone, and I know she’s outside Wrigley Field trying to sell her extra tickets for today’s game.
    â€œEverything’s fine,” I lie. “I miss you.”
    â€œI miss you