Styx & Stones Read online

  I let my eyes cross and the twinkle lights and colors above form a psychedelic swirl. My brain hurts. My body too. And despite the cooling cap I’ve been using every chemo session to save my hair from falling out, there are long strands decorating my pillow and sheets.

  “I should have a funeral for my hair,” I blurt, before I can stop myself. Chemo brain is a real thing. Who knew?

  “You’re losing it? I thought the cooling cap was supposed to prevent that.”

  “It doesn’t always work. Of course I had to be in the thirty-five percent of patients it doesn’t work for. It’s kind of stupid really ... here I am fighting for my life, and the biggest fear I have right now is going bald.” I pick up the phone and look at him.

  Styx chuckles. “I hear ya. I’ve been wearing the same beanie for weeks because I officially have zero hair left on my crown, but the back and sides are still going strong. I’m workin’ on that combover we talked about.”

  I laugh so hard I choke. My whole body spasms and cries uncle. “Oh my God, don’t make me laugh.”

  “Sorry, I can’t make any promises,” he says. My laughter dies down and Styx’s face softens. “I like hearing you laugh.”

  “You’re such a dork.” I sit up, reach for my water and sip from the straw. “You have to send me pictures.”

  He grins. “For the last time. I’m not sending you dick pics.”

  I laugh, only I still have water in my mouth, and it sprays all over my phone, my bed, and me.

  “Jesus, Stones. I never would have taken you for a spitter.” His lips twist in a crooked grin.

  “Oh my god!” I squeal and grab a tissue from the box beside me, attempting to mop up the mess. Even this hurts, so I toss the sodden wad on the floor and lie down again. “You’re so gross.”

  “Ow,” he complains, wincing and holding his stomach as he tries to contain his own laughter and fails. It quickly turns into a loud, phlegm-filled cough. I hold my breath, waiting for it to pass, praying he won’t keel over on me.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You thought I was going to croak for a minute there, didn’t you?”

  I nod. “Little bit, yeah.”

  “Nah, takes more than a little cancer to kill me.”

  “I see that.” I shake my head, wondering how this joker, this loner boy became my, well ... I don’t know what the hell he is, but right now, Styx is the only thing keeping me from spiraling into fear, grief, and a large pack of Double Stuf Oreos.

  “So, it’s homecoming tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say. “And?”

  “You wanna go?”

  “And puke on everyone? No thanks. Although it might be kind of tempting to puke all over my ex-best friends. Can you imagine their faces?”

  “I really can. You sure you want to pass that up?”

  “Well, considering I’m still having trouble standing for more than ten minutes right now, I don’t think dancing is really in the cards for me.”

  “Yeah, me either. Hey, maybe we could get wheelchairs and just bump them together every few seconds in a slow dance.”

  I laugh. “That would be something.” I yawn and run my hand through my hair. Several more strands fall away. “Hey Styx?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really glad you catfished me into being your friend.”

  His answering smile is slow, but man, does it pack a punch. My stomach dips like it’s on a Tilt-A-Whirl. “Right, that’s it. I’m coming over.”

  “What?” I frown at my screen. “No. I want to sleep.”

  “Fine, set your alarm for two hours. We’ll nap, and then we’re gonna take care of our hair.”

  “You’re sounding an awful lot like Jonathan from the Fab Five. Should we get manis and pedis too?”

  “I’m sensing judgement from you, Stones.”

  “Um ... Johnathon is my hero, and I never say no to a pedi. Promise you won’t skimp on the foot rub?”

  ***

  My heart pounds as Styx’s warm breath skates across the back of my neck. “You ready?”

  I let out a shaky exhalation, fighting back tears. “Yeah.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh my God, just get it over with.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m gonna do it.”

  The cool slide of the plastic guard grazes my scalp, and I bat his hand away and take the clippers from him. “You’re taking too long.”

  I flick the switch on the device and swipe it along the side of my head. My mouth widens in horror as my hair falls away from the clippers. The buzz in my ear is deafening. It’s too intense, too much. It’s only hair, my brain supplies. And now everyone will know I have cancer.

  “You look badass,” Styx says appreciatively eyeing my side-shave. I sob and set down the clippers, fat tears falling from my cheeks and wetting my toes. “Hey, come here.”

  He wraps me in his arms, and I sob into his chest. “I’m such an idiot. It’s just hair.”

  “It’s not just hair,” he says, the words rumbling through his ribcage as my ear is pressed tight to his chest. “It’s your hair. You’re allowed to be attached to it. Besides, we can’t all be expecting to rock our chemo cut.”

  He reaches up and takes the knit cap off his head, revealing one hell of a combover. It’s made even more ridiculous by his long locks. I burst out laughing and cover my mouth.

  “Told ya it was really something.”

  “Oh my God.” With one hand still hovering in front of my mouth to hide my laughter—albeit not successfully—I reach up and finger his strands.

  “Feel better about your new ’do?”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I hate to say it, but I really do.”

  He grins. “Wanna shave my head for me? You know, so I don’t look like an eighty-year-old, even though I may feel it.”

  “Fucking cancer.”

  Styx picks up the clippers and places them in my hand, his eyes bright with challenge. “Fuck cancer.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ALASKA

  I glance in the mirror at my new locks. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to shave off the rest of my hair, but Styx is right; I look totally badass with a side shave. I decided to have a hairdresser cut off the majority of my length, but I’ll keep it long and wispy on one side—at least until that falls out too. The stylist carefully carved out two little lines into my side shave, and I asked him to dye the whole thing blue. I could tell my mom wanted to pitch a fit, and the stylist refused to use bleach because it would melt off my remaining hair, but I still left the salon with my head high while I rocked my gorgeous navy–blue strands.

  The doorbell rings. I check my makeup one last time in the mirror before smoothing my dress, and then I head downstairs. Styx is standing at the door in a navy suit, his head and stubble freshly shaved, his tie off-kilter and a pair of bright cornflower-blue Converse on his feet.

  His gaze rolls over me from head to toe, taking in my hair, my pastel-blue skater dress, and finally resting on my pink Hello Kitty Chuck Taylors. His grip tightens on the corsage box in his hand and the plastic crinkles in protest. “You look like cotton candy.”

  “Screw you, asshole.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I’ve just never seen you in so much pastel.”

  “That’s it. I’m going upstairs to change.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him, so close his breath grazes my cheek. “You look fucking edible, Stones.”

  I blush and bite my lip. My stomach unleashes a swarm of suicidal butterflies, dipping, and whirling towards death.

  “Thanks,” I say, because I have no other words for the warmth spreading through my chest. “You don’t look like cotton candy, but you look ... good too.”

  “I got you this.” His brow furrows as he holds out the box. “Mom said it was like ... a thing.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I take it from him and remove the corsage from the plastic carton. It’s so
me kind of blush rose—a peony, maybe—with pale sage–green leaves, surrounded by tiny white flowers. “It’s really beautiful.”

  “Here, let me help you.” He takes the box and sets it on the small table in the entryway. Then he grabs my wrist and gently ties the ribbon, his fingers lingering against my flesh for a beat longer than necessary.

  My stomach flips, and my heart beats double time as his eyes meet mine. I swallow hard and walk toward the kitchen, not sure what to do now that things have taken a turn for the AWKWARD. “Popcorn, let’s do that. And soda. Soda’s good too, right?”

  “Honey, what are you doing?” Mom says, coming into the kitchen. She takes a bottle from the wine fridge and sets it on the counter. “You’re going to be late for homecoming.”

  I scowl at her. “We’re not going to the dance, Mom.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Not with these chemo bodies. We only had treatment two days ago. I can barely stand long enough to shower.”

  “I did ask her, Mrs. Stone,” Styx-and-his-big-mouth says. “She turned me down.”

  “Good thing too, because it looks like you didn’t bring the wheelchairs you promised me.”

  “Wheelchairs?” Mom frowns and then shakes her head. “Never mind. Thank God I got pictures before you ...” Mom turns her attention to the food I’m preparing. “What is it you two are going to do tonight?”

  “Junk food, and binge-watch Riverdale. Styx has never seen it.”

  “Hard to imagine, I know.” Styx leans against the counter and grins at my mother.

  “You’re watching Netflix instead of going to homecoming?”

  “This is our homecoming.” I shrug. “We’re officially coming home, or staying home ... I guess? Ooh, M&M’s.” I grab the family packet from the pantry and dump them into a bowl.

  “Are you sure you kids should be eating this junk? Why don’t you let me make you some sushi?”

  “Mom, we’ve got it covered. Uber Eats will be here in twenty.”

  “Oh, alright then. If you have everything you need, I’ll just make myself scarce.” Mom picks up her wine and gulps down the remainder. She grabs the bottle, uncorks it, and pours herself a double helping. “Well, your dad’s working late, so I’m going to go take a bath to get out of your hair.”

  “Okay.” I roll my eyes so only Styx can see. “Thank you.”

  “Just call out if you need me,” she says.

  “We will,” I singsong and pull the popcorn from the microwave. I open the bag and pour it into a bowl. Then I get the sodas and M&M’s, shooting a look at Styx that says he should get the popcorn.

  He follows me to the den and sits super close. I don’t really mind, but it is kind of weird given how huge our sectional sofa is.

  “Sitting kinda close there, huh, loner boy?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you want to move over at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ookay then.”

  His leg is pressed against mine, and his heat radiates through his pants and scorches my bare thigh. My dress rides up a little more than I’m comfortable with, but I leave it because I don’t want to add to the awkward.

  I turn on the TV and start the first episode of Riverdale. Styx sinks lower into the couch, but doesn’t move over any, and the food and soda go untouched. I take my phone off the coffee table and bring up IG. After posting a few boomerangs of Jughead Jones, I turn the camera on Styx.

  “What are you doing?” He frowns, but it’s quickly chased away by a grin when I shove my phone in his face for an extreme close up.

  “Making you Instafamous.”

  “You really think your fans want to see all this ugly?”

  “Oh please.” I roll my eyes. “You’re so damn pretty, it hurts.”

  A sly smile spreads across his face as he leans forward and grabs the popcorn. “Especially with my bald head, right?”

  “Especially.” I nod resolutely.

  “You’re right. Who wouldn’t want to see this?” He shovels the popcorn in his mouth like the Cookie Monster.

  “Oh yeah, this is gonna go viral.” I laugh and upload the video, and then I post several more of us making derp expressions.

  My notifications go crazy, so I switch to live and film.

  “What’s up, Aerosol Addicts? It’s been a few days since I checked in ... there’s been a lot going on. But, you may have noticed that I’m looking extra fancy this evening,” I say in my best impersonation of a British person. It’s truly tragic.

  Styx laughs and shakes his head. I ignore him and focus on my screen. “That’s because tonight is homecoming, but instead of dancing in a sweaty school gym, I’m kicking back on my couch with Mr. Hendricks here. Say hello, Mr. Hendricks.”

  Styx leans into the frame. “Hello, Mr. Hendricks.”

  I scoff. “You’re such a dick.”

  “You may have noticed that some of us are trying to watch this totally shit show you’ve put on.”

  “Hey,” I complain. “Riverdale is not a shit show.”

  “Come on, this Jughead guy is homeless, and yet he somehow mysteriously owns a perfectly tailored suit?” Styx leans forward and grabs the bowl of popcorn, resting it in his lap. He shoves a meaty fist into it and tosses several pieces in his mouth.

  “You leave Jughead out of this.” I turn my gaze back to the camera and say, “What do you think, guys? Tell me I’m not alone here and that you get the Jughead love. Are you a Bughead?”

  “Oh God, do I even want to know what that is?”

  “Just keep watching, loner boy. All will be revealed.” I smile at the camera. “Let me know in the comments if you’re siding with Styx or with me on this one. Heads up, though—Styx is wrong.” I end the live feed and glance at Styx. His eyes are glued to me. I frown and shove his shoulder. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he whispers, but he doesn’t take his gaze from my face.

  “What?” I grab a handful of popcorn and toss it at him. “What are you staring at?”

  “I’m staring at my fucking future, Stones.”

  And just like that, he goes back to looking at the TV while I melt into a puddle.

  ***

  The couch beneath me shifts as Styx gets up, and I moan my disapproval. His fingers trace the racing stripes shaved into my hair and I smile. I’m sure I look like a goddamn goober, but I can’t help it. I’m sleep drunk, and for once, my body isn’t weighed down with pain and screaming at me. It’s floating.

  “I can’t thank you enough for being there for her,” Mom says. I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so tired.

  “You don’t need to thank me; she’s helping me just as much. Maybe more.”

  “True dat,” I mumble, unable to open my heavy lids. Mom and Styx both laugh quietly.

  “Babe, I gotta go. My mom’s here.”

  “No. Don’t leave.” I pout. “We still have more episodes of season one to watch.”

  “No, they finished an hour ago.”

  “Pfft. As if. What the hell were you doing then?”

  “Watching you sleep.”

  I crack a lid and glare at him. “Like a creeper?”

  He chuckles and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Thanks for a great date.”

  I suck up the drool trying to escape my mouth. “Wasn’t a date.”

  “Yeah, it was,” he says and opens the front door. “Bye, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Bye Styx. Tell your mother I said she’s welcome to drop by for a drink any time.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Styx chews his bottom lip and says, “Stones?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Best date I ever had.”

  “Whatever, loner boy. It was the only date you’ve ever had.”

  “Alaska,” Mom chides.

  “But it won’t be the last.” He winks. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I shall wait with bated breath.” I wave my arm as if I’m some tragic thespian.

  “Cute, Stones. Real cute.”

&nb
sp; “Go home, dork.”

  “Good night.” Mom waves him off and closes the door with a dramatic sigh. “You two are adorable.” She frowns at me as I shake my head. “I’m serious. He likes you. A lot.”

  “We’re just friends, Mom.” I stare at the now crushed corsage on my wrist and wonder if that’s entirely true. I was pretty sure how he felt about me, and if I hadn’t known before tonight, I definitely know now.

  In a truly tragic turn of events, I think I might be falling for loner boy.

  Wonderful.

  Let’s see if we can stave off the Grim Reaper long enough to get to first base.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  STYX

  Three days after homecoming and Stones is blowing me off. I’ve tried Facetiming a billion times, tried calling two billion times, and I’m finally at the last straw: showing up on her doorstep. I set my skateboard against the wall and knock.

  Mrs. Stone answers and moves aside to let me in. “Styx, hi. Alaska didn’t tell me you were popping by.”

  “She’s been avoiding my calls.”

  “Oh,” she says, sipping her wine. It’s just after eleven on a weekday. “Well, yesterday and the previous one were hard on her. She had a migraine and a mild seizure.”

  “Holy shit, is she okay?” I head for the stairs and take them two at a time as Alaska’s mom tries to keep up.

  “Yes, she’s fine. We took her to the hospital, and they monitored her overnight. They released her early this morning.”

  I yank open her bedroom door, not bothering to knock, and then I feel bad when she lifts her head from the pillow and glares at me with her sleepy eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yes, darling,” Mrs. Stone says. “How are you?”

  “Styx?” Stones sits up, glances between us, and rubs her temples. “What are you doing here?”

  “You were dodging my calls.”

  “Do you need anything, Alaska?” her mom asks, sipping from her glass. I kind of wish she’d stop hovering and let me talk to her daughter.

  “I’m fine, Mom.” Alaska runs her hands through her hair. Several deep blue strands come away. “I wasn’t ghosting you. I had a seizure, dumbass.”