Page 34 of Styx & Stones

“Pretty sure you’ve managed to succeed.”

I smile. Despite the pain in my head, the lethargy in my body. Despite how my arms are aching, and my fingers are covered in paint regardless of the gloves. I pull off the mask and step back to look at my work.

“So cancer, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Is it treatable?”

“Is it ever?” I reply, and Dean looks confused. “It’s only curable if I let them cut my head open and remove the tumor, assuming they can shrink it first.”

“Shit. That’s heavy, dude.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna do it?”

“I don’t know.” I glance between him and the mural, wondering if it needs anything else. Wondering if I have the strength to lift my arm again and keep going. “How much do you know about Styx?”

“Not much. He seems like a cool kid.”

“He has it too, you know? Cancer, I mean.”

“Damn, that’s rough. I’m sorry, man.”

“Will you do me a favor, Dean?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Will you keep this up for Styx, but also for me? See, if I let them take my tumor, I may lose my ability to paint. I don’t know if he’ll get a chance to see it before you change the artwork in the alley again.”

“I’ll keep it up. No matter what. No one gets this part of the wall.”

“Thanks.”

Now I just have to convince Styx to forgive me.

***

My phone chimes andI glance down at the notification from my Insta account. I tap the screen and open it, close the door with my foot, and throw my keys on the table in the hall. “Mom, Dad? I’m home.”

“Oh, honey. We’ve been calling and calling. Where have you been?”

“Out with Styx.” I lie, because I seriously doubt my mom would be okay with me kicking it with some random adult male in a dark alley. No matter how cool Dean is.

“I called his mother. She hadn’t seen you.”

“You have his mother’s number?” I shake my head, deciding I definitely don’t want to know how that came about. She likely called every Hendricks listed in the Bay Area. “And she hadn’t seen us because we were at his dad’s.”

“They’re divorced?”

“Yes, Mom. His parents are divorced. Maybe you and Dad should try it sometime. It might save me having to listen to you argue about how much my cancer is costing you.”

“That’s enough,” Dad bellows from his favorite armchair before finally joining us in the hall. “Apologize to your mother.”

“Sorry, Mother.”

Mom looks at Dad and smiles. Her eyes are bright with excitement as she grabs my wrist and squeezes. “Honey, we have a surgery date.”