Stay A Little Longer: A Short Story

~Nine~

I couldn't focus at all the rest of the day. My interactions with Andy were short, I didn't ask any questions during class, my mind was elsewhere.

Finally, at the end of the day, I waited for Andy by the gym doors, rubbing my face from sleep deprivation and sadness.

"Hey, Greyson," Andy showed up. I couldn't look at him.

"Are you alright?"

"No, Andrew, I'm not alright," I grumble, my voice raspy from holding back gallons of tears. He jumps back at the tone of my voice, and the fact I said "Andrew". He knows he's done something wrong.

"Do you need anythi-?" he starts to ask but I cut him off sharply.

"I need you to tell me the truth."

He hesitates. "I've been completely honest with you this whole time."

"We both know that's a lie, Andrew."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why? Does it make you feel guilty? How could you hide something like that from me? Something like this?"

I show him the papers I printed off last night. The papers that told me about cancer.

"What about it?" He asks, trying to sound like it has no effect on him.

"I know you have cancer, Andy, stop acting like you don't and everything is fine. You shouldn't have hidden this from me."

He gasps, then starts to cry and stutter.

"I-I'm sorry Greyson! I j-just didn't know how to t-t-tell you!"

"So you hid it from me so I could find out later? Or were you going to tell me eventually?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't find out until... u-until..."

"Until what?" I demand. I see him start to cry more and realization sets in.

"Until your funeral. You're dying, Andy?"

He bursts out into heartbreaking sobs that send shivers throughout his body. I can't stand to see him like this so I take him into my arms and slide onto the ground so he's sitting on my lap and his head is buried in my chest.

Stroking his hair, I tell him many times over and over that I'm not angry at him and I love him. In a little more than five minutes, he's stopped crying enough that I could walk him over to my car and drive him home.

"Andy is that you?" Mrs. Lavigne shouted from the kitchen. It's where she spends most of her time, baking cakes and cookies and the like as a pass time.

"It's Greyson, too," Andy shouts back, a little hiccup telling his mom that he'd been crying escapes, too.

Of course, thanks to motherly instinct, she came running, flour from her apron flying around her.

"Andy, sweetie, did someone hurt you? Do we need to go back to the hospital?" she grabs all over his face looking for any sign of violence.

"No, I'm fine," Andy pushed her hand away and showed that he was, in fact, in working condition.

"But you've been crying?"

"Yeah, Greyson... found out."

Then, all of her motherly attention was on me, hugging me, asking if I was alright, if I needed anything.

"I'm fine," I responded. It actually was the truth. I really had no time to think of how I felt when I had to think about Andy more than ever, now.