Miles kisses my cheek, and I jump a little bit.
“That’s not sex,” he says. “No bodily fluids, right? So, we can still do that.”
I don’t even know what to say. He’s too good.
“You’re right,” I say, giving him a small smile. “And anyway, it can’t be contracted through saliva. But you should think about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” I say, heaving a sigh. “Like, I’m still a virgin.”
He blinks at me. “And?”
“It’s for a reason,” I say, putting force behind my words. “There’s only a small chance, but there’s still a chance, so you should think about it.”
He blinks a few more times. I’m glad he hasn’t called me a whore or run away or anything, but part of me feels like he isn’t taking this seriously.
“We don’t have to have sex right now,” he says, almost like a petulant child. “Not everyone has sex all the time, Simone.”
I scoff, “You’ll want to wait.”
“You don’t know what I want. Even if I do want it, I can wait.”
“Well, what if you decide you don’t want to wait?”
He shakes his head, sliding away from me. It’s a little colder without him near me, so I wrap my sweatshirt around my shoulders.
“Do you seriously think I can’t go without sex for six months?”
“I don’t know,” I snap. I shut my eyes, willing myself not to lose it again. “It’s just…I don’t know. I don’t want…I don’t think anything bad is going to happen, but in the alternate universe where it does, I don’t want you to hate me forever.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“If you got HIV because of me?” My eyes pop open. “Miles, once you got on the meds, you’d probably have side effects like throwing up and getting headaches and rashes. Plus, some people would avoid you like you have the plague—maybe even your own family. Most people don’t even know anything about it; they’re just scared. I think you’d care, even just a little bit.”
He’s quiet.
“I’m not saying it’s going to happen,” I continue, lowering my voice. “I’m pretty sure it won’t. But I’m still scared that—”
“I don’t think any differently about you.”
I glance at him. “What?”
“You’re acting like I’m going to stop talking to you or something,” he says, shaking his head again. “But I’m not going to. I mean, where else am I gonna find someone who can memorize all the lyrics to the original Broadway production of The Phantom of the Opera?”
I sort of want to cry.
“You’re so stupid,” I say, even though I’m smiling. “I know I’m awesome—”
“You are.” He puts his hand on top of mine, and I don’t pull away. “You’re really awesome.”
“Okay, but people would stay away from you, if they found out,” I say, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “You know that, right? People would be afraid of you. I mean, we both know what it’s like to be black. And people hate black guys.”
He snorts. “I know.”
“Well, they hate HIV even more,” I say. “Put all of those things together, and they’d try to, like, quarantine us on Mars. In the meantime, they’d make our lives miserable.”
“Simone, racism’s not going to go away if I stop talking to you,” he says. “It’s not like we can control prejudice or anything.”
“I know.” I stare down at our hands. “I just want you to know that things could be bad.”
“Are you trying to convince me to stop talking to you?”
Yes. No. Maybe a little bit. Maybe it’d be easier to stop things now instead of getting hurt later on.
“I’m just surprised,” I say. That I liked him first, and he likes me back. That he’s still here, even after I told him, and he’s holding my hand—not for the first time. “I didn’t think this would happen.”
“Well, I like you.”
I flush. “I figured, but like—”
“I hang around you because you’re smart and pretty and funny,” he says. He doesn’t rush his words out the way I do. Like saying this doesn’t embarrass him. “If I didn’t want to kiss you, I think I’d be jealous of you.”
“You’re…God, Miles, you’re so weird,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. You already said a lot.”
“Well.” I turn toward him. “There are a bunch of things I could say. Like, you’re my favorite person. One of my favorite people, anyway.”
I think of Claudia and Lydia. Miles is somewhere on the same level as them.
“I could also say I love you, but it would be, like, ironically.”
“What?”
“Because I tell my best friends that I love them all the time,” I say, moving my hands as I speak. “They’re my favorite people, you know? So, if you’re one of the favorites now, I pretty much love you. But not in the super-dramatic way. I love pizza and brownies and Aida and—”
“And Webber.”
“And Sondheim,” I say. “I love a lot of things, and you’ve been added to the list.”
“I’m honored, I think.” He laughs. “Where am I on the list—before or after pizza?”
I can’t take my eyes off his smile. I didn’t realize I could like someone this much. I didn’t think I could like them so much and they’d like me back.
“I like kissing you better than I actually like you,” I tease. “So, first Claudia and Lydia; then musicals; then kisses, which come before pizza; and then you.”
“Okay, I’ll try to remember,” he says, leaning forward. “But I like you better than all of the above. I think I should get a prize.”
I don’t think there’s anything I could give him that would be good enough. He’s acting like this isn’t a big deal, which is how the reactions should be, but they never have been before. It feels like my body is filled with the sun. I don’t know how to make him feel the same way, but he deserves it. I want to give him the sun.
“You get a secret.” I slide my arms around his neck. “I like you better than everything.”
CHAPTER 20
When the sixth-period bell rings on Friday, I head down to the old science wing. As much as I want to see Miles, it’s been four days since I last ate lunch with my best friends, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed. Last night, Claudia sent a text in the group chat: SIMONE! come to lunch tomorrow with the GSA pls and thx, followed by Lydia’s text: You totally should because we miss you!
Now I’m here. I push myself into the room, but neither of my friends is here to greet me. There are more kids here than last time. I can’t spot Claudia or Lydia right away. Geez, why’d they want me to come to this meeting? I thought we’d just be hanging out.
The only person I recognize is Jesse, but even he’s distracted, laughing in the corner with a group of friends. I shift my weight between my feet. This is so not what I was expecting.
My phone chirps, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Proposition: I’ll buy you pizza if I get to move up a spot on the list.
It takes me a second to realize what Miles is talking about—my list of favorite things, the one I told him about in the park.
You’re already at the top, tho
He texts back right away: A guy’s gotta maintain his status, Simone!!!
I grin before I can stop it. He’s so corny and I love it. I also wouldn’t mind eating pizza instead of my sandwich.
I glance up. Claudia and Lydia are standing around with some kids, totally engrossed in their discussion. I catch only snippets.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure non-binary people can identify as lesbians,” Claudia says. “But I don’t really know, since
I’m not non-binary.”
“We can probably look it up,” Lydia suggests. “Or you can talk to Alex when they get here, maybe? They’re non-binary, too.”
I doubt they’d notice if I left. Most of these meetings consist of them talking while I sit in the corner and nod, anyway, and it looks like today’s meeting will be more of the same. We’re better off hanging out after school instead of here.
The door is still open. I pull my bag over my shoulder. If they notice I’m gone, I’ll make it up to them. I hold my breath and run out the door before either of them can call after me.
CHAPTER 21
Rehearsal is mostly normal on Saturday, even if I keep glancing at Eric every few minutes. If he knows that I met up with Miles yesterday, he doesn’t show it.
“Okay, so, notes,” I say, fisting a hand in my hair and trying not to sigh. “Eric, like I said, you’re gonna want to drop that accent. Everyone in the ensemble: You’re doing great, but some of you are reacting a little too much and it’s kinda melodramatic. Try to tone it down a little bit, especially if you’re in the front. Okay, let’s try it again.”
Everyone heads back to their spots except for the cast members in the front. Eric rolls his eyes. Claire inches closer to him, whispering something in his ear. His laugh is obnoxiously loud. She glances back at me with raised eyebrows, almost like she’s daring me to say something.
What if Claire knows about the notes? What can I say? I know you left me some creepy notes and I want you to stop? They’d just deny it. Confronting either one about it would make me look even more like I don’t know what I’m doing.
Once rehearsal is over, I toss my bag over my shoulder. Miles gave me his hoodie to wear, like we’re in a rom-com from the eighties—not that I’m complaining. It’s white and blue, our school colors, and too big for me. I like that it smells like him, that it’s warm, the way he is.
I told him to meet me outside, mostly so that Eric and Claire wouldn’t see us. I think back to that look Claire gave me, and remember how Sarah texted five different girls about my status right after I told her. Sarah ruined our relationship when she told my secret. But Claire and I barely speak, so she has nothing to lose by terrorizing me.
Miles appears next to me, grabbing my hand.
“Hey,” he says, sweat running down his brow. We ran sets today, and it looks like he did the bulk of the heavy lifting. “I guess you’re ready to meet the guys?”
Oh yeah. That.
Normally, I don’t worry about making a good first impression. I figure it just happens or it doesn’t. The first time I met Sarah was as normal as possible. She was the upperclassman who took me on a tour of my old school before I started. I didn’t expect her to be completely horrible, but hey, it just goes to show.
But these are Miles’s friends. I like Miles. I want his friends to like me or, at the very least, tolerate me.
“You look so freaked out,” Miles says at my silence, shaking his head. “Don’t be. It’s not a big deal.”
“Maybe not to you,” I mumble, shrugging out of his hoodie. He’s not the one meeting anyone new. If his teammates hate me, will he look at me differently? It should only take five minutes to meet them; all I have to do is smile and wave. I press my lips together and shove my hands into my pockets.
Outside, there are already players on the field. My eyes are drawn to number twenty-four. There’s something graceful about the way he plays, running in between other players and cradling the ball. Then he crashes into another guy and the spell is broken.
I open my mouth to say something else, but shut it as a boy jogs over. He pulls the sweatshirt from Miles, staring at him with a stupid grin.
“Ooooh, is this the lucky hoodie? I bet it still smells like her,” he teases, glancing over at me. “Is that why you let her borrow it?”
“Shut up,” Miles says, shoving him. “The last time I tell you anything, I swear to God.”
The guy grins at me, and I snort. It’s nice to know that guys aren’t so different from my friends and me. Miles grabs the hoodie, turning back around.
“Here.” He holds the sweatshirt toward me. “It’s lucky.”
“Because it smells like me?” I bat my eyelashes. “What do I smell like, Miles?”
He rubs the back of his neck, like he’s embarrassed. When he steps ahead of me, I hold the fabric up to my nose. His scent is still there—deodorant and sweat and something warm, like wood.
“Hey, guys,” Miles says. Luck must be on my side, since the coach isn’t here. I’m sure he’d make this even more awkward. “This is Simone.”
There are about ten guys, all in their pads and jerseys. Some of them have on helmets, but take them off, I guess to see better. It’s weird to think that they’re looking at me. I barely even glance at them when I see them walk around in the halls, with their jerseys and massive lacrosse sticks taking up all the space.
“Hi.” I give a wave. “I’m Simone.”
They murmur at the same time, words like “Hi” and “Nice to meet you” blending into each other.
“That’s Ryan.” Miles points to a white boy at the end of the group, and continues down the line: “Beast, Greg, Kevin, Squid, Tom, Dylan, Will, and Chad.”
Tom, a Japanese kid I talk to in math class, is the only person of color. Everyone else is white. I don’t know how Tom and Miles deal with it. The rest of the school is pretty diverse, and I’m normally not in a room full of white people by myself, a definite step up from my old school, where I was often the only black girl. Being in mostly white groups makes me twitch. It’s like I’m more vulnerable. On the bright side, these are Miles’s friends, not mine. He doesn’t hang out with Claudia and Lydia, and I won’t be hanging out with these guys. I force a smile, forcing myself not to say anything about the kids called Beast and Squid.
“Aw, Austin has a little girlfriend,” one of them says. I can’t remember his name, mostly because it’s hard to keep track. He pulls his helmet back on, matting his hair. “Look at you, making friends in Drama Club. It’s so cute.”
“Shut up, Greg,” another guy says, jogging backward. “It’s nice to meet you, Simone.”
“I like your hair,” a kid with freckles says. “It’s pretty.”
“Oh.” I tuck a strand behind my ear, but it doesn’t stay put. “Thanks.”
“I’ve always wanted to date a black girl,” he continues. “I’m pretty sure it would be more fun.”
“What?” I blink, cocking my head to the side. It’s barely been a full minute, and the bullshit is already starting. “What does that mean?”
“Chad, what the fuck?” Miles snaps. He takes a step forward, like he’s trying to block me or something.
I push him to the side with my shoulder, but he barely budges.
“What?” Chad says, holding up his hands. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just saying. Black girls are different. Feistier, you know?”
“No,” Miles says, voice short. “I don’t.”
“I’m not a cultural experience for some random white boy,” I say, folding my arms. “And, before you go looking for one, I don’t know any black girl who’d want the position.”
The rest of the team is silent. I can’t tell what it means. Maybe they don’t know what to say. Maybe they think the same thing, and don’t want to get caught up in a fight. Whatever the reason, it reminds me why I don’t like all-white spaces. I always have to be on the defensive, ready for someone to say or do something stupid, no matter how “safe” the space appears to be.
“Look, it’s no big deal if you don’t get it, Austin,” Chad goes on, shrugging. “But I can definitely tell the difference.”
“Oh my God,” I say. “Fuck you.”
I turn on my heel. There’s no way I’m listening anymore. I know where it’s headed: He’ll keep acting like what he said isn’t a big
deal. And since we’re surrounded by white people, he’ll have a pretty easy time of it.
Miles calls my name, but I don’t stop. I’m pissed at him, too. So what if it’s not his fault? These are his teammates. I’m sure they’ve made tons of comments about how fun black girls are to mess around with. Has Miles called them out before? Or did he just stand there and laugh?
I push back into the school, but Miles’s heavy footsteps catch up to me.
“I’m sorry, Simone,” he says. I don’t turn to face him. “He’s an ass.”
I lean against the wall, still not facing him. “He probably isn’t the only one.”
“Hey.” He steps in front of me, forcing me to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Miles,” I say, leaning away from him. “Don’t act like he’s the only one who has ‘always wanted to date a black girl.’ They’ve said stuff like that before, haven’t they?”
“How would you know?” he asks. The words come out too fast. I know I’ve struck a chord. “You don’t hang out with them. This is the first time you’ve met them.”
“I just do.” I try to push past him, but he steps to the side, blocking me with his frame. “It’s—Miles, it’s not just me. They must say stupid shit to you all the time and you just brush it off. I don’t get why you’re so in love with lacrosse when it’s reserved for white guys.”
His eyes darken.
“I like lacrosse,” he says. His hands tighten into fists and flex out again. “And last time I checked, I’m black, so it isn’t ‘reserved for white guys.’ And there are, what, five black kids at Drama rehearsals? I notice that shit, too, but I never say anything about it because I know you like Drama.”
“Don’t turn it around on me,” I snap. “This isn’t my problem.”
“What are you talking about?” He shakes his head, bewildered. “You’re the only one here with a problem, Simone.”
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