“Okay, so your CD4 count is at almost 1,000,” she says, glancing over at my parents. “We remember that the CD4 is a measure of the immune system’s health, yes?”
“That’s really good,” I say, actually surprising myself.
“It is,” she says. “That’s totally normal even for someone without HIV, so I’m thrilled with that number. And your viral load is undetectable.”
It’s the first time it’s been undetectable on this combination of drugs. Pops claps his hands together like I’ve scored a goal. Dr. Khan smiles.
“But it’s important that you keep taking your medication. Your count will go down if you don’t.”
“I know.”
“I know this all seems simple to you, but I’ve lost patients because they stopped taking their medication,” Dr. Khan says, fixing me with a hard stare. “There are so many reasons why—denial, depression, sometimes plain rebellion. If you’re able to keep those things in check, you’ll have a normal life expectancy. Your life doesn’t have to be any different from that of someone with a chronic disease like asthma or diabetes.”
Maybe I don’t mind this part so much. I like to be reminded that I’m not so different. Everyone talks about HIV like it’s the plague, but I’m pretty sure that measles outbreak at Disneyland was worse than anything I’ve experienced.
But I’m undetectable now. That means I have to ask—even if it’ll make things extremely awkward. I shift on the table, trying to get comfortable.
“So,” I say, swallowing. “Um, I have an undetectable viral load, which means, hypothetically, I could have sex without transmitting HIV. Right?”
I can feel my parents staring a hole through my back. I bite my lip.
“Right, although we recommend waiting six months,” Dr. Khan says. “Speaking of which, did you see Dr. Walker, like I recommended? How did you feel? Did she answer all your questions?”
“Sort of,” I say. “She mentioned that there’s, like, this medication negative people can take when they’re exposed to HIV.”
“We call it PrEP,” Dr. Khan says, voice gentle. “It’s a pill the HIV-negative partner would take every day, that lowers the chances of them contracting the virus.”
It doesn’t feel fair to ask Miles to start taking pills before we have sex. Lydia started taking birth control because she’s dating Ian, but it doesn’t seem like the same thing. Ian never asked her to do it. And even if she hadn’t, they could probably go on and have sex. What would Miles be comfortable with? I have no idea.
“That sounds cool,” I say, licking my lips. “But what if someone doesn’t want to take medication, like, a month before having sex? What if it’s more spontaneous than that?”
“That won’t be happening,” Pops says. Dad makes a noise of agreement.
I sigh. It would probably be better if they weren’t here, but we’ve always done this together. It’s just grown to be more painful.
“I understand your concern, Mr. Hampton, Dr. Garcia,” Dr. Khan says, ever the diplomat. “But, with all due respect, Simone’s questions are natural. And it’ll be quite beneficial to both her and her future partners if she’s prepared before entering a situation where sex could be involved.”
“And that doesn’t need to happen at her age,” Pops says. I turn and stare down at his shoes. He’s wearing a pair of Jordans that look like they’re from the eighties. I would’ve stolen them this morning, if I had known where they were, and shoved newspapers in them so they’d fit me. It’s not fair that he has a cooler wardrobe than me. “She’s way too young.”
“But hypothetically,” I butt in, “what if we didn’t have the PrEP stuff?”
“Well, first of all, it’s less likely for a cis woman to transmit HIV to a cis man.” Dr. Khan turns back to me. “But even then, there was a study where researchers found no evidence that partners without HIV became infected after having condom-less sex with an HIV-positive partner when their viral load was undetectable. And this was over the course of sixteen months with 900 couples—a total of 60,000 sexual acts.”
My chest feels a little lighter. It was just one study, okay, but if these couples had sex 60,000 times without anything happening to any of them, that has to mean something. If Dr. Khan was confident enough to say it out loud, it means that she believes it.
“There’s still a small risk,” Dad says, like he’s reading my thoughts. “You have to keep that in mind when you’re about to have sex with someone.”
“But there’s always a risk if you’re having sex with someone,” I fire back. He raises a brow, and I almost regret snapping at him. Almost. “I could get herpes or crabs or the clap or something, even if I trust the other person.”
“And, quite honestly, there shouldn’t be a problem if your viral load is undetectable,” Dr. Khan adds. “Which it is.”
I feel like there’s some sort of unspoken girl code going on here, just like when she convinced my dad to take me to a gynecologist.
“But you should still disclose,” Dad says. “And be honest with your partner.”
Right. After getting to undetectable status, that’s the other part that makes the sex thing so hard. I bite my lip.
“Simone,” Dr. Khan says, placing a hand over mine. “You know I’m always available to talk. You can call whenever you want.”
“I know,” I say, giving her a small smile. “Thank you.”
Even though I didn’t want to bring it up, at least I got what I needed—an undetectable viral load—and it wasn’t so bad. It looks like Dr. Khan’s got my back.
CHAPTER 14
Since Lydia and Claudia refuse to step foot in the cafeteria anymore, due to the Miranda Cross and “slut” incident, we usually eat lunch in the old science building. Ms. Ingall was the last teacher to have a classroom down here, but ever since she went on maternity leave at the beginning of the year, it’s been the unofficial meeting place for the GSA.
“I don’t know why you’re still doing this,” I say, pulling my bag over my shoulder. Lydia is beside me, Claudia leading both of us along. “You guys don’t even have an advisor anymore. What if you get in trouble?”
Claudia rolls her eyes at me over her shoulder. The lights are still on in this part of the school, and she pushes her way into an empty classroom. I should probably know where I’m going by now, but compared to Claudia, I’m clueless. She walks around like she owns the place.
“Ms. Ingall was the advisor,” Lydia says, leaning against me. “But the sub they got to cover her classes hasn’t continued with the Gay-Straight Alliance, like, at all.”
“We don’t need her, anyway,” Claudia says, throwing her bag on a lab table. “The GSA was such a mess. All we did was sit around and stare at each other.”
“At least Ms. Ingall tried,” Lydia argues. “Her sub doesn’t even care.”
There aren’t any chairs, but we settle down on the lab tables around the room. Slowly, kids begin to trail in, and it gets louder. One kid sits next to Claudia, bumping shoulders, while another gives Lydia a hug.
Of course Claudia and Lydia have other friends, but it always makes me feel like an outsider when I come to GSA. My parents might be queer, but I’m not. Or at least I’m not sure.
Anyway, I think they’d laugh if I called myself queer after my assortment of celebrity crushes and the one real-life crush on a girl. But it’s not all about me. I like that Claudia has a place where she’s not different. I like that she and Lydia have friends they can talk to about things I don’t understand. It’s just that I wish I did, too. I wish I felt queer or straight and not like I’m floating somewhere far away from both.
“Hey, I didn’t know you came to GSA.”
I glance up to see Jesse standing in front of me.
“Sometimes,” I say. It’s weird to see my world—Drama Club—intersecting with Claudia and Lydia’s
domain. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen you around, though.”
“Yeah, I’m here pretty often,” he says, gesturing toward a group of kids behind him. “I need someone to complain about boys with.”
I snort. “I’m sure you could do that at rehearsal.”
“True,” he says. “But it definitely wouldn’t be as fun as doing it here.”
“We have tons of fun here,” Claudia says, appearing beside me. “Jesse has been telling us all the ways you embarrass yourself in front of your boy toy.”
“Ugh,” I groan, tossing my head back. “No. Jesse, I thought I could trust you!”
“I’m sorry!” he says, holding up his hands. “I promise it’s nothing bad.”
“All of it’s bad,” Claudia deadpans. “Come on, Simone. We tease Lydia about Ian all the time.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But Miles isn’t Ian. He’s actually attractive.”
“Okay.” Claudia smirks.
I try to glare at her, but I can’t take myself seriously. It feels a little like a rite of passage to be made fun of for having a crush. Maybe it doesn’t hurt because it’s coming from one of my best friends—and because Miles likes me back.
“I’m shocked and appalled, Jesse,” I say, turning to him. “I thought we were a team. A Drama Club team.”
“We are,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Sadly, my loyalty is to the gay part of the Gay-Straight Alliance.”
Claudia laughs along with him, but now I can’t bring myself to muster up more than a weak chuckle. Which part do I feel loyal to?
“Hey,” Lydia says, bumping my shoulder as she passes by. “Do you want to share my sandwich with me? My mom made brownies and I saved you some.”
I can’t tell if she knows how I feel or not. Lydia has this gift for reading people, which is one of the reasons why the club is so popular. Claudia may not mean to be harsh, but sometimes she just is. Lydia always balances her out.
“Of course I’m going to eat your brownies,” I say. “Do you even have to ask?”
CHAPTER 15
Tuesday morning sucks. I wake up late, so I miss my ride with Claudia and Lydia. My pants rip just as I’m walking out the door, and I have to go back inside to change. When I finally get to school, I walk into the wrong classroom for homeroom. And during AP US History, Mr. Thompson gives us a pop quiz on the Marshall Court, of all things.
It doesn’t help that I feel Miles’s gaze on me during class. I’m not sure how to act after this weekend. Do I wave? Kiss him in the hall? The worst part is that I can barely focus on anything when I know he’s looking at me. As soon as the bell rings, I dart out of the classroom, but his footsteps are heavy behind me.
“Hey, Simone.” He’s next to me, fingers brushing against mine. My hand tingles like it’s fallen asleep. “What’s up?”
My eyes are glued to our fingers, resting against each other. I can’t believe he’s acting like this isn’t a big deal. All this time, I’ve been trying not to imagine too much about him. I used to think tons of people were pretty in middle school—celebrities in magazines, the older girls. I never thought about anything happening. High school has made it so much worse because things happen here. People kiss in the hallways and hold hands. People are dating, having sex, at least pretending to love each other. I never thought I’d have that, at least not until I graduated.
But here I am, standing in the hall with Miles, who holds his hand out like an invitation. It’s one thing to hold hands, but Miles doesn’t have an air of cool indifference when he does it. He breaks all the unspoken rules, the ones everyone is supposed to know about. Maybe he just doesn’t care. I wish I didn’t. I want to enjoy this, to grab his hand like it’s no big deal, but the person who wrote the notes could be anywhere. I glance up, around us, before grabbing his hand as discreetly as I can. He smiles at me. Hopefully, the note’s writer isn’t around. I focus on untwisting the nervous knots in my stomach.
“So there’s a lacrosse game today,” he says, swallowing. I tug him behind me as I dodge kids chilling by lockers and another trying to skateboard down the middle of the hall. “It’s home, at four. And rehearsal ends early today.”
“Yes,” I say, raising a brow. Lacrosse is a welcome distraction from everything I’m stressing about. “It does.”
Usually, I try to hang out with Claudia and Lydia after rehearsal. It’s not a set appointment every day, but it’s been three days since we went to the sex shop, and we haven’t been talking much since then. I know it’s because of me. Neither of them has said anything, but that doesn’t stop the ball of guilt forming in the pit of my stomach. Lydia and Claudia both date and still figure out ways to hang out. Miles and I aren’t even dating, not really, and I already feel like I’m slipping away from them.
I glance down at our hands.
“So I wanted to go watch my guys play. And it would be cool if you came with me.”
“Oh.” I blink. “I mean, I might stay after rehearsal a little bit, so I can talk to Palumbo. We’re getting closer to opening night.”
It’s already November, and the musical opens at the start of December. I can’t believe how quickly time is flying by. The thought makes me nauseous. I feel like time goes even faster when you’re in charge of stuff.
“That’s cool.” He nudges my shoulder. “As long as you get there in time to see us win, I’m good.”
“You’re so cocky,” I say, shaking my head. “What if the Spartans lose?”
“We always win.”
I roll my eyes, shoving him lightly, but there’s no weight behind it.
“Where’s your faith?” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I thought you believed in me.”
As we walk down the hall, my cheeks are flaming. If Claudia were here, she’d undoubtedly make fun of us. The thought makes my heart pang. After the game today, I’ll call her, and try to talk about anything but Miles. I don’t want to be that girl.
And if the note-leaver were here…I swallow the thought down, but it just makes my stomach hurt.
“Well, you aren’t going to be on the field,” I remind him. “And I still don’t understand the game. So I’ll go watch, but they could suck and I wouldn’t even know.”
“Come on, that’s not fair.” He leans down so his voice is close to my ear. “I don’t understand musicals, but I still know you’re good.”
“That’s different,” I say, trying to hide my smile. “It’s not just me. Mr. Palumbo does a lot of work to make sure everything looks good.”
“And the Spartans have a coach.” He smirks at me. “I know everything I do looks completely effortless, but—”
“Oh please.” I bump his side. “A musical is totally different from lacrosse. Music is different. You could watch an Italian musical and still understand it because music is so universal. It transcends languages.”
“Lacrosse doesn’t have a language,” he says. We’re quickly approaching my physics class, but if he notices, he doesn’t show it. “I think that means I win by default.”
“Whatever.” I reluctantly untangle myself from his arms. “I have to go now.”
He glances at the classroom, then back at me. “The bell didn’t ring yet.”
“Miles, I gotta go.” I cross my arms, but my entire body tingles, right down to my toes.
He smiles, bending down to kiss me.
I’ve thought about kissing him again more times than I can count. It’s like all the time I’ve spent with him is separated into before that first kiss at rehearsal, and after. Before, I thought about kissing him sparingly, like my thoughts needed to be hidden away. I’d think about it late at night, right before I was about to slip off to sleep.
But this is real. I get to kiss Miles in the hallway and in the prop closet during rehearsal, and see him after school. I know it’s true, but the awe is still
there, in my fingers, in my cheeks, in my lips. Girls like me can have this.
I suck in a breath as his fingertips slip under my shirt. They press against the skin near my jeans. My hands jerk to his wrists as I pull away. Miles stares back at me, but I can’t read his expression. My head rests against the wall.
“That,” I say, voice quiet, “isn’t something you do in school.”
“Right.” He swallows, eyes fixed to a spot on my neck. My hands are trembling, and he can probably feel it. “You’re right. Sorry.”
If we were literally anywhere else right now, I’d probably take off my pants. I’m not even kidding. But there’s no way I’m letting Miles feel me up in a hallway.
“Hey.” I swipe a thumb under his chin. His eyes snap up, and I freeze until a smile appears on his lips. “It doesn’t mean never. Just not here, where everyone can see. You know what I mean?”
“Right,” he repeats. His hand wraps around mine, pulling it away from his chin. “Wouldn’t want you to get embarrassed.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, snatching my hand away. “In your dreams.”
Instead of saying anything, he just stands there with that stupid smile on his face. I probably look the same way. It’s like we’re sharing a secret.
I should say something else, tell him goodbye, but then I notice someone standing behind him. Most people are either rushing to their classes or chilling by the lockers, but Eric and Jesse are just standing here.
“Uh, hi,” I say. “I didn’t see you guys there.”
Miles turns around like we weren’t just making out in a hallway. Eric rolls his eyes, flouncing off. I glare after him.
“What’s his problem?”
“Ignore him,” Jesse advises. “You know he can be a little dramatic.”
“A little?”
“It’s probably no big deal,” Miles says, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t know you two had lunch this period, Jesse. You’re lucky. We were just stuck in APUSH.”
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