Page 8 of Styx & Stones

“Except those with cancer, right?”

“Oh.” El shakes her head and her cheeks turn pink. “I mean, it was just a handful of people really, but you know when Cole Meyers and his friends are in a room, it feels like a lot of people.”

“You guys don’t have to lie to me. It’s not like I didn’t see the evidence of it on Snapchat. By the way, Grace, nice work making out with my ex. Of course, I found kissing Cole was like the equivalent of making out with a wet log, but you looked like you were really getting into it, you know?”

“It just happened; it wasn’t intentional. And we would have invited you, but we didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to come to a party with my best friends?”

“Because you’re sick,” she snaps. “How do we know if you’re up for partying? Doesn’t chemo like ... make you puke twenty-four-seven?”

“No,” I lie. Technically, I have spent the last few days puking my guts up, but I hear it’s supposed to get better. “And you could have asked.”

“Sorry,” she says, sounding not sorry at all.

“Grace,” El chides.

Grace stands, grabs her backpack, and slings it over her shoulder. “I have to go. I’ve gotta help my mom with her event tonight.”

“But you said we were going to hang at Cole’s after this?” Eleanor grabs her bag too.

“Change of plans, El.” Grace shoots her a glare that says, “You’re too dumb to live.”

“You guys should definitely go.” I sigh and shake my head. “I’m tired anyway.”

“For the record, Al,” Grace says. “I was going to invite you to my birthday party.”

I cock my head to the side. “Was?”

“Am. Iamgoing to invite you. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be okay.”

“Why? Because I have a brain tumor, or is it because you don’t want me puking on the cake? You know, since I do it so often?”

“Whatever,” she says, and storms toward the door. “Come or don’t come. I don’t care.”

“Great,” I say sarcastically. “See you there.”

Eleanor grimaces. “Bye, Al.”

“See you, El.”

She walks to the door and stops, turning to me with a sad smile. “I really am sorry.”

I shake my head, fighting back the tears that sting my eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

El leaves and closes my bedroom door behind her. A beat later, they’re whispering outside in the hall. Their footsteps retreat to the stairs and Grace says, “God, it’s like the chemo killed her personality.”

My tears spring free, thick droplets that splatter against my duvet. I flop back on the bed and wish for the cancer in my brain to disappear.

Oh, and for better friends.

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