I yank my hand out of my mouth, but I don’t look over at Pops. No doubt he can already tell that something’s wrong. I haven’t looked at him since we got in the car to go to St. Mary’s Hospital. If I do, he might guess what I’m thinking. Sure, Pops wouldn’t care about me having a crush on a boy, but the note? He and Dad would rip my school apart.
Maybe they should get involved. Whoever wrote that letter, they’ve definitely been watching me. How else would they know where my locker is? The question is, how long has it been going on? Since I started going to Sacred Heart a couple of months ago? Since Miles started working on the play? Since I kissed him yesterday?
And what if everyone finds out? No way. I can’t deal with all of that again.
But if my parents go to the principal, she won’t be the only one who finds out I’m positive. I’m sure another faculty member will overhear—the secretary, a security officer, maybe even a teacher. And sometimes kids work in the office for extra credit. One of them could hear, and then they could tell a bunch of people. By talking to the principal, my parents could out me to everyone.
And what if this is all a weird joke, something I’m blowing out of proportion? No, I can’t tell my parents about this. I’ll have to figure it out on my own.
I don’t even know how I’m feeling about this whole thing. I figured I’d be angry or upset, but I’m just numb. Like what happened at Our Lady of Lourdes is going to happen all over again and I can’t do anything to stop it. But I have to do something. If everyone finds out that I have HIV, I’ll feel worse things than numbness.
“Something on your mind?” Pops makes a turn. “Excited to see your friends again?”
“They aren’t my friends.” I snort.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he says, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Your dad and I think it’s important that you have other kids to talk to.”
“Other kids like me.”
“Well, yes.” He glances over. “You’re not any different, baby, and you know that. But there are things that Claudia and Lydia don’t understand, that your dad and I don’t understand. You know what I mean.”
“I don’t really think about those things,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. “And no one actually talks. We sit around and give one-word answers until it’s over.”
Pops makes a sound, deep in his throat, as he pulls into a parking space. The hospital isn’t very far from our house, making it easy for Dad to commute every morning. At least I have the comfort of knowing that no one from my old school will be here; it’s too far to be convenient. Doctor’s appointments were a pain when I still went to boarding school, but at least I got out of going to Group.
I’ve never thought about seeing kids from my new school here, but I probably should. It would explain how someone figured out that I’m positive. I just wish I didn’t have to entertain the thought. Between Dad’s job, Pops’s volunteering, and my Group meetings, St. Mary’s feels like our place. A creepy stalker shouldn’t get to touch it.
“You seem cranky today.” Pops glances at me. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”
“I’m sure,” I say. Instead of looking at his face, I stare at his shirt. Prince stares back at me in all his purple glory. “I just hate coming here.”
“Aw, Mone.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “It can’t be that bad.”
It actually is that bad. Every Wednesday, the support group is held in one of the conference rooms toward the back of the hospital building. I guess it’s where doctors discuss things they can’t talk about in the halls. Even though we’re separated from the rest of the hospital, the antiseptic smell still seeps in. There are about ten of us, sitting in plastic chairs, arranged in a circle.
Julie, a recent college graduate who runs the meetings, pulls a rolling chair toward us. She’s not positive, which makes her messages even more annoying since she can’t exactly relate. But today she has donuts, so I might be more tolerant than usual.
“Hi, guys,” she says, passing the box to the kid next to her. “How are you doing?”
Everyone responds at the same time, but it sounds like a half-baked mumble. I know that Julie tries—I’m pretty sure she bought those chocolate donuts with her own money—but I’ve never poured out my feelings before and I’m not about to start now.
Julie claps her hands together. “Right. Well, I brought a friend with me today.”
She gestures toward the girl sitting in the chair next to her. She’s black, with short, neat twists in her hair and a face that makes her look like she’s always smiling. There’s something familiar about her, but I could be confusing her with someone else.
“You might remember Alicia if you’ve been coming to meetings for a little while,” she says, patting Alicia’s hand. “She came here until she was too old.”
The people next to me laugh half-heartedly, so I do the same. I think Alicia turned eighteen when I was thirteen or maybe fourteen, but I never thought I’d see her again. I figure most people graduate and decide to do something cool, not keep coming back to Group.
“Hi,” Alicia says, waving. Now that I really look at her, she does seem older. There are bags under her eyes, lines where there weren’t always. Somehow, she still looks happy. “I can’t believe there are so many familiar faces here—and so many new ones!”
I’m pretty sure she’s talking about Jack and Brie. They’re the ones I see most around here, probably forced to come every week like me. It’s hard to be negative around Jack, who flashes dimples and pearly white teeth when he smiles, so I tend not to look at him. Brie, on the other hand, always slumps in her chair. I think her bangs are so long because she uses them to hide. I know random facts about them—Brie is on some sort of dance team and Jack golfs like an old man—but we’re not friends.
“I guess I’ll just tell you guys a little bit about myself,” Alicia says, tucking a twist of hair behind her ear. “Uh, I’m in my early twenties. My husband and I welcomed our son last year, and he’s the cutest baby in the world. I’m also in the process of getting my master’s degree in education.”
There’s some lukewarm applause from the group, but my hands sting from how loudly I clap. Maybe it sounds horrible, but I don’t expect much from the kids who come to this support group. I’ve never seen any of them after they leave, so I don’t know if they live or die or do anything else. But I know that Alicia has been living. What’s even more interesting is the fact that she has a husband—and a baby.
My parents haven’t actually sat down and told me that those things will never happen for me. It’s just something I’ve figured out on my own. I wonder if I could ask Alicia what it’s like, to know that someone wants to be with her enough that they don’t care about the virus. It seems creepy to ask, but I still wonder.
I don’t know who would want to date me after they found out. I guess it would be easier to date someone else who’s positive, but it’s not like I’m going to find one of them here.
The only cute guy in the group is Ralph, but I went on one date with him and realized he’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met. He felt the need to explain everything to me—how Wi-Fi works, how commercials work, how the library works—like I wasn’t an actual person with the ability to access Google. If that wasn’t bad enough, he kissed like a slobbering dog. Today, he’s sitting across from Alicia, arms crossed sullenly. What, does he think he’s here to judge Alicia’s performance? Ugh, I can’t stand him.
“I asked Alicia to come back here because I wanted to show you guys how bright your lives can be,” Julie says, leaning forward in that earnest way of hers. “I know that I tell you guys this every week, but HIV isn’t a death sentence. You just—”
“Have to take your meds,” we say, almost in unison.
“I don’t want to sound like a mom,” Alicia says, laughter in her voice. “But it’
s really important. I almost don’t even think about it. You just take them at the same time every day, like with any other medication, you know?”
All I can think about is the birth control pills Lydia just started taking.
“I used to have a friend I met in support group,” she says, her face falling a bit. “We hit eighteen, and he decided he wasn’t going to take his pills anymore. He said he was feeling fine and didn’t need them.”
The room is silent. We all know what that leads to.
“He got pneumonia, and couldn’t breathe without a tube in his mouth,” she says, staring at the floor in front of her. “Something happened with his eyes after he stopped getting enough oxygen. He was surrounded by people he loved, but he wasn’t able to tell. It took eight months for him to die.”
I hate hearing about this. I know it’s a real concern, but I’m not skipping my pills. Is it really necessary to suffer through the punishment of hearing this over and over?
“Sometimes horrible things happen,” Alicia says. “But amazing, exciting things happen all the time. I do what I love every day and live with two people I love. I have my husband and my son and a job I love. I guess I’m saying that it isn’t all doom and gloom. I’m here to prove that—you guys can ask me anything you want.”
My hand shoots up before I can remember not to look desperate. Julie nods at me.
“So, like,” I say. “This might be a little weird.”
“That’s fine.” Alicia smiles. “I don’t mind weird.”
“Okay,” I say. “Um, was it hard to, like…uh, conceive your son?”
The only person looking at me like I’m weird is Ralph. I count that as a win.
“Oh no,” Alicia says, sitting back in her chair. “You know U equals U, right?”
I nod. I’m pretty sure everyone here knows it. If only the “undetectable” part of the equation still applied to me.
“So we actually got pregnant the natural way,” she says. “My viral load was—has been—undetectable, and my husband was just more comfortable doing things that way.”
“Wait,” I say. “Seriously? No, like, fertility treatments or anything?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “It was pretty easy.”
Wow. My back slumps against my chair. I always assumed I’d have to have someone’s help if I wanted kids. I didn’t realize U=U applied to that, too. My mind is officially blown.
“Well,” Julie says, “I’m sure you all have other questions, but we can get to those in a little bit. I think Simone’s question is a great way to shift to our topic of the day: relationships.”
More silence. I can’t read Brie’s expression with her eyes hidden behind her bangs. Jack stares down at his lap. Ralph is cracking his knuckles. A few of the thirteen-year-olds stare at Alicia with wide eyes, but I can’t tell what anyone is thinking. Do they have the same worries as me?
“I want you to know that relationships are completely possible,” Julie continues. “There just may be some challenges. Maybe some of you have already experienced this.”
“Oh, totally,” Brie announces, tossing her hair back. The sight of her bright hazel eyes almost makes me jump. “Whether it’s a kiss or sex, you’re screwed. If you tell someone before anything happens, they might just leave you and start telling other people.”
I flinch. She’s right, but still.
“And if they leave you, the process starts all over again with another person,” she continues, counting each step on her fingers. “So if I wanna have sex with five guys and tell all of them that I have HIV, that’s five extra people knowing who didn’t know before, and I don’t even get laid.”
I haven’t ever gotten laid, and a random creep just left me a threatening note in my locker.
“Tell me about it.” Jack’s voice startles me. He isn’t yelling, exactly, but it’s the loudest I’ve ever heard him speak. “And if you wait until after to tell them, they’d sic an angry mob on you.”
Brie laughs, ducking her face like she’s embarrassed. Jack’s cheeks are tinted pink. Ralph rolls his eyes.
“Well, people are entitled to their reactions and feelings,” Julie offers. “It’s important to make sure that they’re aware of your status before anything sexual happens, even if it’s difficult to talk about. It’s normal for them to be confused. The news could come as a shock.”
“It shouldn’t,” I mumble, staring at my lap. My donut is still in my hand, uneaten. “It’s not a big deal. They aren’t living with it. There’s such a small chance that they’d get it.”
“But the chance of exposure is still there,” Julie says. “It’s not so simple.”
“What chance?” I say, leaning forward. “If it’s undetectable, it’s untransmittable. Didn’t we literally talk about this last week?”
“Simone—”
“Like, if I go into a situation where there might be sex, I’ll have five condoms if it’ll make the other person feel better,” I continue. “And I’ll have an undetectable viral load. If that’s not enough, they can take those extra pills.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Ralph says, cracking his knuckles and looking bored. “If someone doesn’t want to have sex with you, there’s no need for you to try to convince them. It just comes across as pathetic.”
“That’s not anything close to what I said.” I’m pretty sure my eye is twitching. “I’m just saying that I’ll be prepared if I want to have sex. That doesn’t mean I’m going to beg for it.”
Ralph narrows his eyes at me. I wish I could say he’s just acting like this because he’s having a bad day, but being a jerk is his most consistent character trait.
“She’s right,” Brie says, snapping me out of our little staring match. “We’re prepared because we have to be.”
Alicia laughs, startling me.
“I love it here,” she says. “You guys are great. So smart. I wish I had been like this.”
Julie clears her throat. Her face is red, but I don’t feel bad like I normally would. Nothing I said was wrong. I take a bite of my donut.
“Okay,” she says, voice steady. “We’re going to talk about safe sex now. Okay?”
I lean back in my chair, arms folded. This is probably the best group meeting I’ve been to, and it’s because Julie hasn’t dominated the conversation. I’m glad she tries, but she just doesn’t know what it’s like. The other kids do. Even if they aren’t my friends, they get it. Maybe Pops is right—I’ll just never admit it.
By the end of the meeting, most kids are lingering around on phones, waiting for parents to pick them up. Only a few lucky souls are able to drive themselves home.
“So. Are you still into musicals?”
I cringe at Ralph’s voice before slowly turning. His arms are folded and there’s something stiff about his posture, like he’s a teacher ready to call me out for violating the dress code.
“Yeah.” I shove my hands in my pockets. Hopefully, one-word answers will discourage him.
“We should hang out sometime.”
“No.”
“Why not?” His mouth twists. “We’ve had fun together before.”
“Having pneumonia was more fun than listening to you talk through Mad Max.” I take out my phone. My parents need to come now. “It’s not happening, Ralph.”
“Why do you have to be such a bitch about it?” He steps closer, almost cornering me against the wall. “It was just a question. Maybe you wouldn’t have so much trouble finding someone to have sex with you if you learned how to be nicer.”
“What does that even mean?” I snap. If Julie were still here, she’d be trying to mediate, but it’s just us and a few wide-eyed kids. “I’m only a bitch to you because you ask for it.”
My phone beeps. I don’t even read the message. As soon as I see Dad’s name, I turn on my heel and wal
k toward the door.
CHAPTER 7
There are a few secrets I won’t share with just anyone. One is the fact that I have HIV, obviously. But there’s also the fact that I didn’t know how to masturbate until one of my old friends taught me. She took me into her room, with Sarah trailing behind. We locked the door—against the rules at Our Lady of Lourdes—and she pulled up pictures of the guys from The Vampire Diaries on Tumblr. Then I lay down on her bed, with a blanket over me, and she talked me through it.
It’s embarrassing as hell, but hey, it was eighth grade. Can you blame me?
It’s a little different now, mostly because of the viewing material. Claudia laughed when I told her, but I like to look at pictures of old white guys from their prime years. Say whatever you want about me, but Bruce Willis, Harrison Ford, and Richard Gere weren’t bad-looking at all. Sometimes Cate Blanchett is thrown into the mix, but Claudia says it doesn’t count.
“She’s Cate Blanchett,” Claudia had said emphatically. And that was the last time I talked to her about possibly liking girls.
When I’m done this time, I stare up at my ceiling. Our house isn’t wide, but it’s tall and narrow, and my room is at the very top. Being so far away means that my parents can’t hear me. At least, I think they can’t. If they can, I’m grateful they’ve never mentioned it. After I finish, my brain is normally clear. It’s like the moment right before I drift off to sleep, no worries at all. Right now, though, I can’t stop thinking. It might be horrible, but I’m jealous of my friends.
Claudia’s asexual, and I know she doesn’t spend her mornings thinking about sex the way I do. On the other hand, Lydia fools around with her boyfriend when her parents aren’t home. I have neither situation.
Last week, my health teacher made this long speech about how girls should spend their formative years discovering themselves and making close friends. Friendships, she said, are just as fulfilling as relationships. And I guess she’s right. I’m so grateful to have found Lydia and Claudia. I love them tons, but not in a romantic way. Not having that makes me lonely in a way that’s hard to describe.
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