Yeah, it's another one. I still don't own High School Musical

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival." C. S. Lewis


Four months ago I didn't know how to spell the word. I didn't know that it meant cancer. I didn't know that my best friend had it.

But today isn't four months ago.

I quit basketball, but dad understood. It wasn't the end of the world anymore. I still had singing. But that wasn't the reason why I quit. The reason was that Chad wasn't there. I couldn't get back into the rythem and my head couldn't get back in the game.

Today is January 8th. The day of the championchip basketball game. And I'm sitting on the sidelines between Gabriella and Chad. This picture is so wrong.

Chad looks so different from four months ago. He already went through his first round of chemo, and his hair was gone. That was one thing I couldn't get over. Chad had such wierd looking hair, almost like a bush. It was all gone now, and in its place was a bandana that said "Go Wildcats."

He was also thinner. We were both wearing our uniforms and Chad's, which used to fit just right and show all his muscles, was now hanging loose and baggy.

Taylor had an arm around his waist, and if she could help him just by holding on. It'd been tough on all of us to see Chad go through this. Tough to see the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky spirit sucked out of him as days and weeks of chemotherepy passed.

But his eyes were the same. They still had hope. His eyes would always be the same.

The game doesn't mean much anymore. Funny, right? How a year ago this was my entire life. I was a different person then. Younger, naive, and so happy to be that way. I'd give anything to go back.

Zeke made the first basket eight seconds into the game. He became captain, reluctantly, after both of us stopped. He took over the team with more sence of responsibility than Chad would have and a cooler head than mine. He was a good leader. Chad looked at me and I could see in his eyes how much he missed the game. He had loved it so much, and it was taken away from him.

There was something else in his eyes. Something that, until four months ago, I had rarely seen.


He was hurting. Physically, something was hurting my best friend. My hands were in fists at my sides. If it had been a person, something tangible, I would have hit it without giving anything a second thought. But I couldn't even see my advisary. He was invisible.

Leukemia. He was our invisible enemy, and I don't know if we're going to win this one.

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