Free Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger

We ate junk food and gossiped about guys. The more we giggled over silly things, the more our newfound friendship grew, and I began to realize that I was just as lucky as she was to have this opportunity because I had made this incredible frienda friend who was a brave, courageous and extraordinary person. I knew that my time with Nicole would affect me forever.
I will never forget the day I spent with Nicole at Universal Studios. We continued to be good friends after Nicole returned home to Canada, and spoke frequently on the phone. About two months ago, I received word from Nicole's father that she had passed away.
The devastation and sadness I feel about Nicole's death are soothed by my strong belief that Nicole is now my Guardian Angel. I know that no matter where she is, or where I go, she will be with me in spirit. And when I think about that first day we met, I can't help but see the irony in it. What began as one person's wish being fulfilled ended as an experience shared and loved by two people that words can never fully describe. Nicole will always remain in my life, as my inspiration, and as my friend.
Jennifer Love Hewitt
     

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Speechless
True friendship multiplies the good in life and divides its evils. Strive to have friends, for life without friends is like life on a desert island. . . . to find one real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing.
Baltasar Gracian
I glance in my cousin Hope's direction as we sit on the hill.
We sit outside on the same exact spot every day; it's become our tradition. She eats her turkey on white while I nibble at a Sun Chip. It's her senior year and all I can think is, Who am I going to find to sit out on the hill with me next year? I like it this way, not having to say anything. She hands me half her sandwich, knowing I'll want it.
''Did you call your mom yet?" she asks, cutting through the silence. "Do they know what it is?" She bites her lip, not looking at me. I don't know what to say. Her mom had just gone into the hospital where my mom is an R.N. My mom hears everything. The second the doctors know it, so does she, and in this case, so did I. Do I tell her the truth? Yes, they said that your mom has a malignant tumor. They said she's
     

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dying . It echoes in my mind; my mouth feels numb.
"Well," I find the courage to say, "they did find something. It's a tumor on her ovaries. They think its . . .  malignant."
"Oh," she mumbles, wiping the backs of her legs as she stands waiting for the bell. She pulls me to my feet and acts like what I've just said doesn't bother her. But she can't hide it. We both can feel it there like a shadow looming between us.
"I called her before third hour," I offer. She glances around me, waiting for the bell. I can see her hand moving toward the lighter in her pocket.
"Ovarian cancer, huh?" she says, looking at me. "That might not be too bad." She stares me straight in the eyes, waiting for my reassurance. But we both know what "ovarian cancer" means: It means death. We know the factsthat most women die as it spreads to vital organs. And yet she stands there, waiting for me to answer her, to tell her that it's not so bad.
"I don't know. Just because it can spread, doesn't mean it will. She's strong; she'll make it through this." I can't look at her. The bell rings, sending us into a crowd of people, pulling in all directions.
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We head toward Chicago and the hospital. Her mom went into surgery today to remove the tumor. They're going to tell us how bad it is.
The car feels heavy. An invisible barrier pushes against our chests. No one says anything while the radio plays stupid, happy songs. "YMCA" comes on the oldies station and she savagely pushes the preset buttons on the radio. "Why can't they play anything good?"she mutters, as she leaves it on the jazz station. The car is still weighted as we pull into the parking lot.
Aunt Catherine's room is nice, not drab like