Fighting For Normal

Emergency Sleepover

Steam still lingered on the bathroom mirror as I pulled the oversized navy shirt over my damp shoulders. I paired it with slate running shorts, the waistband low on my hips. My legs were still sore from crouching with the shelter pups all afternoon.

I walked quietly through the upstairs family room, barefoot. The cool hardwood sent small shivers through my feet, and the faint creak of the stairs gave me away. My heart beat a little faster, a nervous flutter deep inside. This was it.

Downstairs, the TV light flickered across the great room, casting shifting shadows on the plush rug. Dad and Pops sat side by side on the sofa, legs stretched out, a nearly empty popcorn bowl between them and two soda cans on coasters.

I paused in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over the loose shirt, steadying myself. “Hey,” I whispered.

Pops looked up and smiled warmly. “Hey, sunshine,” he said. “Come sit,” patting the cushion next to him.

I stepped in and sat on the edge of the loveseat, tucking one knee under me. “Can I ask something?”

Dad muted the movie, alert and focused. “Of course,” he said calmly, though I heard concern beneath his voice.

Quietly, I asked, “Can I have a sleepover tonight?”

Pops raised an eyebrow. “On a school night?” he teased lightly.

Dad studied me, his expression unreadable. “Why?” he asked evenly.

I looked down, rubbing a loose thread on my shirt. “I want to tell my friends... about the diagnosis.”

A careful silence followed, like we were all holding our breath.

Pops softened. “Of course you can,” he said. “We’ll go to the store after the movie to get snacks and drinks. Want anything special?”

I blinked, relief washing over me. “Peach soda,” I said, voice still shaky.

“Done,” Pops said with a big grin.

Dad exhaled and came over, placing a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I know how hard it is to say out loud. I’m proud of you, Sloane.”

I said nothing, just leaned into the warmth of his touch.

Pops asked, “Pizza around seven sound good?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I’m going to tell the group,” I said softly, getting up from the sofa.

Dad squeezed my shoulder before letting go, his touch comforting. Pops gave me a thumbs up and smiled warmly.

Upstairs, I closed my bedroom door, the soft click breaking the silence. I climbed onto my bed and sat cross-legged, my phone resting in my hand.

I stared at the screen, the bright light reflecting in my eyes. The group chat: The Inner Circle. The cursor blinked at me, like a tiny, daring pulse.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, fingers trembling slightly. Just do it.

Before I could back out, I typed:

hey can y’all come over around 7? emergency sleepover. snacks, soda, and pizza on me.

I hit send and immediately wished I’d added more - or less - detail. My stomach twisted, doubt flooding me.

Delivered. Read. Dot-dot-dot...

Silence. My breath caught, waiting for the first reply, heart pounding.

I bit my cheek hard, anxiety rising like a metallic taste.

Then -

Chandler: I’m coming.

Noelle: Of course. You okay? We’ve got you.

Maekynzie: Wait - are you okay?? I’m on my way anyway. Just... yeah. I’m here.

Emory: Got the message. No questions. I’m in.

Tinsley: You don’t need to explain. I’m already walking out the door.

Ashton: i’m coming. whatever this is, you’re not doing it alone.

I blinked at the screen, tears blurring the words. A weak smile tugged at my lips, a shaky breath of relief. Warmth spread through my chest like a hug.

I didn’t reply right away. I let their steady support wash over me. Then I typed:

love y’all. thanks.

The microwave clock showed 6:57. I barely put the peach soda in the fridge when the doorbell rang, signaling Noelle’s arrival. I heard her cheerful voice before she entered, a tote bag over her shoulder and neon scrunchies on her wrist.

“I brought sour gummies and emotional support!” she said with a big smile.

“You didn’t have to -” I started.

“I wanted to,” Noelle cut in, slipping off her sneakers. “Is the vibe dramatic enough?”

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang again. My heart skipped a beat. Chandler walked in, brownies in one hand and a sleepy grin on his face. The smell of warm chocolate came with him.

“S’up,” he mumbled, bumping my shoulder lightly as he headed to the kitchen. “Brownies go… wherever brownies go.” I watched him, feeling a warm, silly flush.

One by one, the others arrived. Maekynzie came in, surrounded by perfume. “I wasn’t sure what kind of emotional crisis this was, so I brought options,” she said, dropping two duffel bags by the stairs. Here we go.

Emory showed up next, holding popcorn bags labeled with strange inside jokes. “Group therapy snacks,” he joked, handing me mine. It said: “Overthinker’s Fuel.”

Tinsley barely knocked before letting herself in. She tossed her denim jacket over the banister and slid across the floor. “What’s up!” she shouted, already heading to the kitchen. “I brought three energy drinks and zero plans to sleep.”

Ashton was last, carrying a bunch of pillows. “Mom said I had to bring something comforting, so - behold. Fuzzy things.” He smiled shyly, ducking his head as if unsure about hugging.

They started heading upstairs, their excited voices overlapping. I just hoped tonight wouldn’t turn into total chaos too fast.

The overhead light was dimmed, leaving only the LED strips behind the TV to glow - cool blues and soft purples spreading over the charcoal-gray sectional where eight people lounged, tangled in limbs and laughter. Music from an old playlist buzzed faintly through a Bluetooth speaker until someone paused it mid-song. Now, only quiet conversation and the occasional rustle of chip bags filled the air.

I sat cross-legged at the end of the sectional, my back against an electric blue pillow. Stetson lounged sideways with his legs draped over Noelle’s lap, earning at least three groans from her. Chandler sat on the floor in front of me, knees bent and arms wrapped loosely around them. Tinsley and Ashton were shoulder to shoulder near the rug, legs tangled, trading teasing jabs disguised as insults. Maekynzie rested her head in Emory’s lap, dramatically narrating the end of a chip bag like it was a Shakespearean tragedy. Emory played along with smirks and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger.

I watched them all, taking it in. Chandler, who’d been my friend since birth - he was born the same day as Stetson and me, two hours earlier, and never let me forget it. He called himself the “eldest” like it was a title. Noelle, my best friend since kindergarten, loud and loyal, still wearing glittery nail polish and crying at Pixar movies. Maekynzie, who joined us in fourth grade, always dramatic but always there. Emory, who came in seventh grade, sharp and quick-witted. Tinsley, the rebellious spark who slipped into our group last year like she belonged. And Ashton, the newest, still finding his place but kind - and clearly smitten with Tinsley, even if he couldn’t say it yet.

I cleared my throat, fingers tightening on the hem of my shirt. I knew what was coming. And Stetson did too.

Chandler broke the silence. “Are you gonna tell us what’s going on, Sloane?” he asked gently, turning to face me.

My heart pounded hard in my chest. I wanted to disappear into the couch cushions, blend into the neon chartreuse like camouflage. But I breathed in, the air cool and sharp.

“I…” my voice wobbled, barely a whisper. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Noelle reached over and squeezed my hand without hesitation. “Just tell us, Sloane,” she urged firmly.

I closed my eyes, gathering every bit of courage. Then I opened them. “Okay,” I whispered.

“I lied,” I said, my voice steady now. “Those appointments the past few weeks… they weren’t for the dentist.”

Emory sat up straighter, his smirk gone and replaced by seriousness. Maekynzie paused mid-chip, hand frozen near her mouth. Ashton leaned forward, tense. Even Tinsley looked unusually still, her restless energy gone.

“Three weeks ago,” I went on, words flowing, “I was rushed to the ER. My left thigh had been hurting, and it got worse fast.” I paused, the memory aching. Chandler watched me closely, steady and silent. “They found a mass. After that, it was a blur - scans, biopsies, meeting with an oncologist.”

I looked down, twisting my thumbs for comfort.

“I was diagnosed three days ago,” I said quietly. “Ewing Sarcoma.”

Silence fell, heavy and still, swallowing all other sounds.

Noelle’s eyes filled with tears. Emory’s mouth opened, searching for words. Maekynzie’s hand flew to her chest, but for once, she said nothing. Ashton clenched his jaw, stunned.

Tinsley leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the rug with a serious look. Then she said, “Okay. So. What do we do?”

Chandler, still kneeling in front of me, reached up and gently took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. His cheeks were flushed, emotions clear on his face.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he said softly, his voice firm with promise.

Maekynzie cleared her throat and sat up straight, her eyes still shiny with unshed tears. “Okay,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “So... what’s the plan? What happens now?”

I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked down at my lap. “My first chemo session is Wednesday,” I said quietly, the words feeling strange. “They want to start aggressive treatment ASAP.” My voice shook on the last word. I wasn’t used to hearing terms like oncologist, treatment, tumors, stages.

Tinsley muttered, “I hate this.” Her honest tone was very different from her usual guarded self.

Ashton nodded, determined. “We’ll come with you,” he said.

“You can’t all come,” I said, laughing and crying at the same time. “It’s not a road trip - it’s a hospital.”

“Cool,” Chandler said, smiling. “Then we’ll take shifts.”

“I call Wednesday,” Noelle said right away, hugging a pillow like a shield.

That eased the tension a bit. Emory jumped in, “You guys are so dramatic. That means I get Thursday. Dibs.”

Stetson stretched and groaned. “Okay, hear me out: we need ice cream. Like, now. Midnight raid vibes.”

Ashton smiled faintly. “There’s half a pint of mint chip downstairs.”

“There’s half a pint of three flavors,” Tinsley corrected, already standing, her earlier stillness gone.

In seconds, the group was moving, limbs tangled, laughter bouncing off the walls. Pillows fell, chip bags flew like confetti. Someone declared war over the last gummy bears. Noelle paused to kiss my head before joining in, her silent gesture deeply comforting.

I stood slowly, smoothing my shirt, and reached down for the phone charger tangled at my feet.

“Wait,” Chandler said softly, stopping me.

I turned. He stood hesitating, searching my eyes. “Can I ask something?”

I crossed my arms, feeling cold, bracing myself. “Yeah.”

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding… us?” he asked, the unspoken “label thing” hanging between us.

My throat tightened. “Chandler…”

He nodded gently. “It’s okay. I just need to know.”

I looked down, blinking back tears. “You deserve someone who isn’t sick,” I whispered bitterly. “Someone without hospital visits, hair loss, and all this.”

“That’s bull,” he said softly, stepping closer. “I’ve loved you since you ate that chocolate-dipped flaming hot Cheeto in first grade.”

I laughed, surprised and watery.

“You cried for twenty minutes,” he smiled fondly. “I held your hand the whole time. Remember?”

“I remember you dared me,” I said, still smiling.

He grinned crookedly, eyes shining. “And you did. Because you’re stubborn, brave, and ridiculous. That’s who I love.”

My lip trembled. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to,” he said firmly, no room to argue. “You’re not a burden. You’re mine.”

My eyes shone in the soft blue TV light as he stepped closer, brushing my wrist with a light, electric touch.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sloane,” he promised. “Not now. Not when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

My breath caught, but I nodded once, silently accepting his promise.

From downstairs, someone yelled, “SLOANE, THEY’RE EATING THE GOOD SPRINKLES!”

I wiped my cheeks, a small genuine smile blooming. Chandler offered his hand, warm and strong. I took it.

Together, we headed downstairs - where ice cream and my people waited.

Downstairs, someone - probably Noelle - had started a playlist that switched between soft indie ballads and dance beats you could almost trip over. The under-cabinet lights cast a warm glow on the floor, revealing stray sprinkles and forgotten chip crumbs.

Chandler and I stepped in as if nothing had changed, our hands still linked.

Noelle stood at the counter, slowly swirling caramel into the last pint of ice cream. She glanced at us, then at our joined hands, raising an eyebrow in silent question. I nodded slightly, a quiet acknowledgment between us.

Ashton paused mid-scoop, his eyes moving between our faces. He noticed the shift and smiled slowly. Tinsley, sitting cross-legged on the floor amid whipped cream messes, tilted her head, sensing the unspoken message. No words were said - just knowing looks exchanged in the calm kitchen.

“We’re together,” Chandler said softly but clearly, cutting through the background music.

I looked up at him, a thrill running through me, then straightened my spine. “Yeah. We are.”

The announcement felt simple and sacred. No fuss, no awkward silence - just everyone adjusting naturally, their energy shifting.

Ashton exhaled, smiling wide. “About damn time.”

“I had five bucks on this not happening until Halloween,” Tinsley muttered, making Noelle laugh so hard she almost dropped the ice cream.

“You’re all annoying,” I said with a big smile - the first real one in days.

Stetson came over with two mugs of mint chip, holding them out like a peace offering or a toast. “To the couple. May your love be as steady as Tinsley’s snack stash.”

“I’m right here,” Tinsley said dryly, brandishing a can of whipped cream like a warning, making everyone laugh.

I leaned into Chandler’s shoulder, his hand steady and warm on my waist. For the first time in weeks - maybe longer - I didn’t feel like bracing for what was next. I just let myself be there, surrounded by laughter, freezer fog, and a love that didn’t shy away - a love that promised to keep me steady no matter what came.