Warrior Princess

The cafeteria was a whirlwind of noise, a usual symphony of voices and clanging trays. My eyes zeroed in on Evan, and a familiar wave of nausea washed over me. Three days ago, I might have crumbled, seeing him with Tahni, the smug curve of her lips as she leaned in for a kiss. Then? Annoyance simmered in my gut, tinged with defiance.

Stetson and Chandler, oblivious to the drama unfolding, were locked in their own conversation. Should I have warned them? Nah. Stetson, ever the protective twin, would likely have caused a scene. And honestly, I didn’t care that much anymore.

“Sloane, are you seeing this?” Emory gasped, snapping me back to reality. His eyes were comically wide as he pointed towards Evan.

Noelle chimed in, her bubbly voice uncharacteristically sharp, “Seriously? Evan? With her?” I could tell she wanted to verbally eviscerate Tahni’s outfit, but for my sake, she bit her tongue.

“Guess new relationships make people do dumb stuff,” Maekynzie muttered, her perfectly manicured nails tapping a staccato beat on the table.

Stetson finally caught on. I watched as his shoulders tensed, the carefree smile vanished. “Sloane…” he began, his voice laced with concern.

Tinsley slammed her palm on the table, making us all jump. “What a freaking lowlife,” she spat, barely caring who heard. “Sloane, ditching you for… that? Seriously, you’re so much better off.”

Chandler, his usual easygoing expression now hardened, glanced between Evan and me. “You want me to have a little chat with him?” he asked, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

I managed a weak smile, more of a grimace. “Appreciate it, Chan, but it’s fine.” I tried to inject lightness into my voice. Better they focused on Evan’s idiocy than the lingering ache that hadn’t quite vanished. Chandler and I… well, it was new, a comforting warmth in the face of Evan’s mess.

“Hey, babe,” Tahni cooed in that sickeningly sweet voice I loathed, leaning in to kiss Evan again.

He kissed her back, and that traitorous, jealous part of me twitched. But only faintly. She didn’t have the depth of what Chandler and I were building, brick by careful brick. Maybe I hadn’t fully healed, but I was rebuilding myself. Tahni and her new prize? They were the least of my worries.

I refocused on our table. Chandler squeezed my hand under the table, the gentle pressure a silent reassurance. Seeing him, feeling the solid warmth of him beside me, was a balm against the sting of Evan’s betrayal.

“So,” Noelle chirped, determined to change the subject. “Double feature at the drive-in this weekend. Anyone in? They’re doing that old-school horror marathon.”

Maekynzie wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, all that gore and screaming? Hard pass.”

Emory grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Come on, Mae, it’ll be fun! Besides,” he lowered his voice, a teasing smile playing on his lips, “maybe someone could use a brave protector from the big, bad monsters.” There was a subtle emphasis on the word ‘someone’, and I saw a blush creeping up Maekynzie’s cheeks.

Tinsley snorted. “More likely the greasy popcorn will be the biggest threat.” She nudged me playfully. “What about you, Sloane? Up for a little retro fright night?”

I hesitated. The thought of being out in the open, vulnerable, still made a knot tighten in my stomach. But staying cooped up wasn’t getting me anywhere either. “Actually,” I said, surprised at the steadiness in my voice, “that sounds kinda fun.”

Stetson gave a whoop of approval, and even Chandler cracked a smile. “Count me in,” he said, “Only if we get a mountain of snacks, though.”

The conversation shifted to movie choices and who was bringing what snacks. I let their banter wash over me. Emory was positively glowing, tossing out silly jokes and movie trivia, his gaze flicking towards Maekynzie every so often. She, in turn, pretended to find him annoying, but the corners of her lips were twitching upward.

The harsh shriek of the warning bell jolted me back to reality. Lunch was over. As we gathered our things, the ache returned, a dull throb beneath my ribs. Healing isn’t a straight line, after all. But I was walking that line, and with each step, with my friends and Chandler by my side, the thought of a silly horror flick under the stars felt a little less terrifying, and a little more like a much-needed adventure. Maybe even Maekynzie and Emory could find their own little happy ending amidst the cheesy scares.

The drone of Mrs. Hensley’s lecture on Baroque architecture did little to combat the post-lunch slump settling over me. Tinsley was doodling in the margins of her notebook, and Emory was whispering something that had her stifling a giggle. I was contemplating how I could subtly nudge Tinsley into sharing the joke when a sharp knock on the door startled us all.

The classroom door creaked open, revealing Chandler leaning against the frame, a flicker of worry in his usually carefree eyes. “Hey, Sloane,” he murmured, his voice barely cutting through the monotonous drone of Mrs. Hensley’s lecture on Baroque architecture. “Need to steal you away for a bit, if that’s alright with you, Mrs. H?”

Mrs. Hensley, jolted from her discussion of ornate facades and gilded domes, narrowed her eyes. “Is everything okay, Mr. Pavelka?”

“Uh, yeah," Chandler stammered, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Just a... doctor’s appointment. Sloane has to leave early." He shot me a quick glance, a silent question in his eyes. Does she know? I nodded reassuringly, hoping he didn’t notice the sudden knot in my stomach. Of course I know. It’s the scan, the one we’ve been dreading.

Confused, I gathered my things, drawing curious glances from Tinsley and Emory. What’s going on? I thought Dad and Pops were taking me? Just as I was passing Chandler, Mrs. Hensley’s voice cut through the air.

“Just a moment, Sloane," Mrs. Hensley interrupted my thoughts, her voice brisk. “Remember that your Van Gogh essay is due next Wednesday. And don’t forget to begin your research on the Impressionist movement for our mini-project."

I winced slightly, the weight of homework an unwelcome distraction. “I’ll get on it tonight," I promised, my mind already racing with questions about the appointment. What’s with the sudden change of plans? Why is Chandler here?

Chandler wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we stepped into the hallway. The sterile scent of disinfectant, always lingering in the back of my nose at school, suddenly became overpowering. "Stetson's already out at the Jeep," he said, his voice tinged with a gentleness I wasn't used to. "We're taking you to your appointment."

My heart gave a sickening lurch. "Oh, right," I mumbled. "Dad and Pops are meeting us there, right?"

"Yep. No worries, Sloane," he said, squeezing my hand. "We've got this."

The walk to the parking lot felt surreal. Each step was heavier than the last. The follow-up scan. The one that will tell us if the tumor is shrinking. Hope and fear battled inside me as I climbed into Chandler’s Jeep. He settled in beside me, his hand finding mine. The warmth of his touch was a lifeline against the sudden chill of anxiety.

The hospital was a familiar maze of corridors. The air hung heavy with the antiseptic scent of disinfectant and the underlying hum of machines. Stetson and Chandler exchanged worried glances, their usual playful banter replaced by a tense silence. Dad held himself rigid, his jaw clenched tight. Pops kept patting my hand and murmuring words of encouragement.

Finally, we reached the MRI bay. The room felt small and claustrophobic, the air thick with the rhythmic thrumming of the machine. The techs bustled around me, helping me position myself on the narrow table before sliding me into the chilled metal tube. I shut my eyes tight, the rhythmic thump-thump of the machine escalating into a deafening roar. Please let it be good news. Please.

The waiting room was torture. Each tick of the clock felt like an hour. Dad stared blankly at a magazine, his brow furrowed. Pops fidgeted, unable to sit still. Stetson tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes glued to the door. Chandler sat beside me, his hand wrapped tightly in mine, his silence a source of silent strength.

Then, Dr. Giacherio, my oncologist, appeared at the doorway. We all rose to our feet, a collective breath held in the air.

His expression was grave. “Sloane," he began gently, “we have the results of your scan." My heart pounded in my chest, a drumbeat of fear. “The good news is, the tumor in your leg has shrunk slightly thanks to the chemo. However, the bad news..." he paused, his eyes flitting across our anxious faces, “the cancer has progressed to stage 3 Ewing Sarcoma. It has spread to your lymph nodes."

The room seemed to shrink, the air sucked out of it. Dad's face crumpled, a sob escaping his lips. Pops sank back into his chair, his eyes wide with shock. Stetson slammed his fist against the wall, a roar of frustration escaping him. Chandler's grip on my hand tightened, his knuckles white. I felt a coldness spread through me, a sickening dread. Stage 3. It wasn't a death sentence, not yet, but it was a much steeper climb, a much harder battle.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the world around me. But amidst the fear, a flicker of defiance sparked. I wouldn't go down without a fight. I looked at my family, their faces etched with worry, and a fierce determination bloomed in my chest. "Okay," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "So, what happens now?"

Dr. Giacherio, relieved by my resolve, explained the new treatment plan – a more aggressive combination of chemo and radiation therapy. It would be tough, he warned, but we would fight this together. As he spoke, I felt Chandler's thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, a silent promise of support. I knew this road would be long and arduous, but I wasn't alone. I had my family, my friends, and Chandler. And together, we would face this challenge head-on.

As we left the hospital, the weight of the news settled heavily on us. The sterile scent of disinfectant clung to my clothes, a grim reminder of the battle ahead. The future seemed uncertain, shrouded in a fog of doctor appointments and treatment schedules. But one thing was clear – I wasn't alone. With the love and support of my family and Chandler by my side, I was ready to face this new challenge, one step at a time.

The drive home was silent, the Jeep a suffocating bubble of tension and unspoken fears. Usually, Chandler's Jeep was filled with the thumping bass of his favorite playlist and easy banter, but today the ache of worry hung between us like a physical presence.

I stared out the window, the familiar streets and houses blurring into a meaningless wash of colors. Inside, my mind raced – a chaotic jumble of hospital smells, medical terms, and the stark reality that everything had just changed.

Chandler squeezed my hand, the gesture small but filled with unspoken support. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were clouded with concern.

"Sloane," he began, his voice rough, "You don't have to do this alone..."

I turned to him, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "But I don't want to burden anyone," I choked out. "You all have your own lives, your own problems, I can't..."

He cut me off, his grip on my hand tightening. “Hey, none of that," he said, his voice surprisingly firm. “We’re in this together – me, Stetson, your dads. It’s what we do, Sloane." He reached out and his fingers gently traced the curve of my newly bare scalp, a gesture of tenderness that brought tears to my eyes.

The knot in my chest loosened a fraction. It wasn't a solution, not a miracle cure, but the knowledge that I didn't have to shoulder this alone was a lifeline I desperately needed.

We didn't speak for a while longer, the silence heavy but strangely comforting. As we pulled into my driveway, Chandler turned to me, his gaze unwavering.

"Your strength… it amazes me every damn day, Sloane," he said, a hint of awe in his voice. "You're gonna kick this thing's ass."

A watery smile tugged at my lips. "Hope so," I whispered, the words both a prayer and a promise to myself.

Chandler lingered after he walked me to the door. He chewed on his lip, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "Look, I know today was... a lot," he began, his usual ease slightly frayed. "But, are you still up for trick-or-treating with everyone later?"

The question caught me off guard. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind – the exhaustion, the worry, the sheer unfairness that I had to face all this right on the cusp of the most fun night of the year. But another, even stronger emotion stirred in me. I wasn't going to let the news steal away every shred of normalcy I had left.

"Heck yeah," I replied, surprised at the fierceness in my own voice. "I spent way too long picking out this costume to not show it off."

Chandler's face broke into a wide grin. "That's the spirit! I'll swing by in a couple of hours, warrior princess."

As the door closed behind him, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I leaned against the cool wood, the weight of the day pressing down. But there was also a spark of determination, a refusal to let cancer define me. I would fight this, not just for myself, but for my family, for Chandler, for everyone who believed in me. And tonight, just for a few hours, I would be a warrior princess, not a cancer patient. I would embrace the joy and laughter of Halloween, and let it remind me that even in the darkest of times, there was always a flicker of light to hold onto.

A chorus of cheers and wolf-whistles greeted me when I stepped outside. Noelle bounced beside me, her unicorn onesie a fluffy rainbow whirlwind. Stetson's pirate swaggered, his missing hand replaced by a wicked-looking hook. Emory lumbered along as a ketchup-drenched zombie chef, moaning dramatically. Tinsley rocked ripped fishnets and smudged eyeliner, a picture of rebellious cool, a smirk playing on her lips as Ashton, the high school quarterback, fell into step beside her, his Superman costume straining against his muscles. And Chandler... my heart skipped a beat as he circled me, dressed as a battle-scarred gladiator, the perfect complement to my warrior princess. His grin was infectious, easing the tension that had settled on my shoulders.

As we set off, the neighborhood thrummed with costumed kids and twinkling jack-o'-lanterns. Houses transformed into spooky havens filled with shrieking witches and grinning skeletons. For a little while, my fears faded into the background. My friends' energy washed over me, carrying me along on a wave of laughter and sugar-fueled enthusiasm. Tinsley and Ashton kept disappearing then reappearing, their laughter echoing in the crisp autumn air.

But after a few blocks, my legs began to protest. The earlier events of the day seeped back in. My costume, once liberating, now felt suffocating. The weight of the diagnosis pressed down on me, threatening to crush my newfound warrior spirit. Seeing the joy on my friends' faces filled me with a pang of guilt, a selfish desire to tell them the truth, to share the burden I carried.

Maekynzie, with her usual flair for the dramatic, collapsed on a curb with a sigh. "This Cleopatra get-up is gorgeous, but these heels are killing me," she moaned, peeling off a glittering sandal.

The opening was there. "Hey guys," I started, a tremor in my voice that I couldn't disguise. "Can we..." I searched for the right words, my gaze landing on Chandler's worried eyes. "Can we maybe just sit for a bit?"

They readily agreed, settling on the lawn of a perfectly manicured house. Emory whipped out a half-eaten bag of candy corn, offering it with a goofy grin. The simple act, their unquestioning camaraderie, choked me up a little.

"You guys," I took a shaky breath. "Today... at the doctor's, we got the MRI results. My cancer... it's spread."

The words hung heavy in the air. A hush fell over the group, shattering the illusion of a carefree Halloween night. I continued, my voice catching. "It's Stage 3 now."

My friends absorbed the news with a mixture of shock, horror, and a fierce determination that brought a lump to my throat. Noelle's eyes brimmed with tears, the carefree bounce gone from her voice. Maekynzie, the picture of elegance moments ago, sat stunned, the glitter from her Cleopatra makeup catching the moonlight. Emory, usually quick with a joke, was uncharacteristically silent. Tinsley's hand flew to her mouth, and I saw the moment the news registered for them – their friend, their fighter, now facing an even bigger battle. Even Ashton's carefree demeanor faltered, his brow furrowed with concern.

"How bad?" Emory asked, his usually boisterous voice lowered in concern.

"Bad enough," I admitted, the words raspy in my throat. "More chemo, maybe radiation... it's going to be a longer fight.

The silence that followed wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was the weight of shared fear, the knowledge that from this night on, things would never be the same. But it was also painted with a fierce loyalty.

Finally, Tinsley spoke, her rockstar persona giving way to a raw vulnerability. "Sloane, what the hell? Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"I don't know," I confessed, feeling the hot sting of tears behind my eyes. "I guess I didn't want to... ruin things. I wanted tonight to be normal."

Emory, finally finding his voice, piped up, "Hey, you know we're in this with you, right? Every step of the way... even if it means helping you sneak your favorite snacks past the grumpy nurses."

And just like that, a flicker of my old life returned. They were still my ridiculous, wonderful friends. My diagnosis changed things, it was huge, but it didn't define me.

Chandler and Stetson stood on either side of me. I met their eyes, and the unwavering support in them bolstered my resolve. "Come on, warrior princess," Chandler said, a twinkle back in his eyes. "Maybe we could terrorize just a few more houses for old times' sake? We'll take it slow."

A genuine smile broke through my exhaustion. "Sounds like a plan," I said, my voice a little stronger. I was Xena, after all. And facing cancer? Well, that was going to be one hell of a battle. But I wasn't facing it alone. I had my army, and together, we'd fight like hell.