Page 105 of Friends with Benefits

She rolls onto her side. “You’re such an ass.”

“You need to sleep,” he whispers against her hair, nestling in and wrapping his arm around her.

“Yeah.” She grinds her ass against his crotch. “So. Make me tired.”

He groans. “Ev.”

“Theo.”

“You need to sleep,” he repeats, his breath tickling her ear. “So I’m going to hold you until you fall asleep.”

“You think that will work?”

“It’s always worked for me.”

Silence.

Tears prick her eyes.

Evie swallows the emotion in her throat. “It won’t work.”

“Okay.”

“Itwon’t,” she insists.

Then, obviously, immediately falls asleep in his arms.

SOME CONVENTION CENTER IN ANAHEIM

Senior Year

By the time she’s eighteen, Evie excels at downplaying pain, dancing through pain, existing in pain. What choice does she have? She’s spent her entire adolescence bouncing from one unhelpful doctor to the next, who all report that her bloodwork iswithin normal rangeand assure her that if it were serious, she wouldn’t be able to perform at the caliber that she does. One doctor refers her to a psychiatrist. Another prescribes naproxen and a muscle relaxant with a gentleSome of us just have a low pain tolerance. Evie is a child, so she accepts this. Lives with unpredictable stomachaches. Learns to first locate a toilet whenever she’s in a new setting. Pops pain relievers like candy and gets on with life. What else is she supposed to do?

She’s a dancer.

Anathletewho is curled up in the fetal position on her bathroom floor the night before Nationals, unable to sleep due to severe stomach stabbies. It’s just stress. Obviously. If something were serious… doctors would take her pain seriously. Right?

Stress.

In the morning, she pops three Tylenol and an antinausea medication.

Sees blood in the toilet and is confused.

Her period is never early.

But she doesn’t have time to dwell, instead double-, triple-checking that everything is packed. Costume pieces. Hair and makeup products. She adds a handful of tampons into her duffel bag as Lori and Theo pull up in front of the bungalow. An iced chai waits for her in the back seat cup holder. Car still in park, Lori twists and snaps a candid photo of her sipping the chai.

“Mom,” Theo groans.

“What? It’s Evie’s last competition chai.”

“She’s been like this all morning.”

Evie hears the smile in Theo’s voice. Earlier this week, Lori’s most recent scans came back all-clear. NED. No Evidence of Disease. Still in remission. Theo’s anxiety always spirals into overdrive in anticipation of the results. When Lori told them that she’s still in the clear, Evie could literally see the tension leave his body. Now, in the passenger seat, her best friend is at ease. Lori puts the car in drive and blasts the White Stripes, a precompetition ritual. Evie hums along to “Seven Nation Army” with Theo for the last time, relieved that the extra pain reliever kicked in, that her pain has subsided enough to hide it.

Her phone vibrates in her lap.

She’s stupid enough to hope that it’s Naomi. Her mom is currently in Santa Monica, leading some yoga retreat. Naomi, now vegan, took Evie and Imogen to Gracias Madre, a new restaurant in West Hollywood. Evie told herself she would be stone-cold in her resolve to give her mother nothing at thislunch, only to instantly spill her guts and forward the details for Nationals the moment Naomi asked for them.

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