All I dreamed of at 14 was that my bestie Miley and I would spend our senior year in unforgettable fun, preparing for prom. Well, in one way I was right—it would be impossible to forget.
That day, Miley didn’t come to school. I texted and called her—no response. So, I went to her house after classes. Her mom opened the door. Usually cheerful, Mrs. Jenkins stood there as pale as a wall. Her eyes were filled with despair, yet, I hesitated to ask what had happened.
Out of habit, I burst into my friend’s room.
“Hey, Miles, where have you… Jesus, what’s wrong?!” I ran to her. My friend was sobbing uncontrollably. She hugged her knees with trembling hands, shaking with hysteria. I was very scared. “Tell me, is it Mr. Fisher? Is that why you weren’t at school? Or your neighbor is bothering you again? Tell me, and I’ll…”
“I have cancer, Lisa,” she interrupted. “I might die.”
My breath stopped; the ground just vanished from under my feet. At that moment, I knew. I would face the most important choice of my life.
The weeks that followed felt surreal. Our days, once filled with laughter and plans for the future, were now dominated by hospital visits, chemotherapy sessions, and a lingering sense of uncertainty. Miley’s condition was aggressive, and the treatments were taking a heavy toll on her physically and emotionally.
I made a decision. I would stand by her side, no matter what. School, prom, all our teenage dreams—they all faded into the background. Miley needed me, and nothing else mattered.
Miley’s room, once a sanctuary of posters, nail polish, and endless snacks, now resembled a hospital room with medicine bottles, a bedpan, and a faint antiseptic smell. Her once-lustrous hair had started to thin and fall out, and her vibrant spirit was overshadowed by pain and fatigue.
“Hey, Miles,” I said softly one evening as I sat by her bed, holding her frail hand. “Remember our prom dresses? I say we still get them.”
Miley looked at me, her eyes filled with tears and a hint of a smile. “Lisa, you’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” I replied, “but I’m not giving up on our dream.”
Over the next few weeks, despite the grueling treatments, we talked about our dream prom dresses. It became our escape, our little piece of normalcy amid the chaos. We sketched designs, flipped through fashion magazines, and even had Mrs. Jenkins bring in a seamstress to bring our ideas to life.
The day the dresses arrived, Miley was too weak to get out of bed. I carefully unwrapped the dress, a beautiful shade of blue that matched her eyes. I helped her into it, and for a moment, she looked like the Miley I remembered—strong, beautiful, and full of life.
“We’re going to prom, Lisa,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No matter what.”
Prom night came, and while our classmates were at the school gym, Miley and I had our own celebration in her room. We danced to our favorite songs, laughed at our silly jokes, and for a few precious hours, we forgot about the cancer.
As the night drew to a close, Miley looked at me, her eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and contentment. “Thank you, Lisa. For everything.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced a smile. “We’re best friends, Miles. Always.”
Miley passed away a few weeks later. Her funeral was filled with people who loved her, and I wore the blue dress we had designed together. Standing by her grave, I made a silent promise to her. I would live my life to the fullest, for both of us.
Our senior year was indeed unforgettable, but not in the way we had imagined. It was a year of learning the true meaning of friendship, of facing fears, and of finding strength in the most unexpected places.
Miley taught me that life is fragile, but love and friendship are unbreakable. And though she was gone, her spirit lived on in my heart, guiding me through every choice and every challenge. She was my best friend, my sister in spirit, and I would carry her memory with me, always.
