“Simone,” Eric starts. “You don’t have to—”
“Just…” My voice stops. I don’t know what to say to any of them. I don’t know how I’m supposed to talk to them when I’m not even sure what to think myself. “I need to be alone for a little while.”
I walk out the door. It’s only a few seconds before I hear footsteps, so I speed up. There are the deliberate footsteps of Lydia and the stomps of Claudia. I shouldn’t have expected them to give me more than a few minutes alone.
I settle inside one of the bathrooms. It smells like perfume and hairspray and deodorant but it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone around. Even so, I lock myself in a stall. It’s easier to cry in here. That’s something every high school has in common.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so stupid before. My legs bunch against my chin as I crouch on top of the toilet, trying to avoid the water.
Seriously, how did people handle this during the initial AIDS outbreak? When people were actually dying and everyone else ignored it? I scrunch my eyes shut. Ryan White was basically the country’s poster child for HIV and AIDS, and he was diagnosed way back in the eighties. He had to fight to go to school because of the stigma. His mom had to tell people that she wasn’t afraid to touch her child. There wasn’t even an option of hiding it, because there weren’t meds that kept it under control the way there are now. Being so upset almost feels stupid, because none of this stuff is impacting me like that.
“Simone? Are you in here?”
Miles. I hold a hand over my eyes. It feels like forever since I last saw him.
“What are you doing in here?” I say, coughing to keep the quiver out of my voice. “This is the girls’ room. Someone is going to give you a hard time if they see you.”
“Your friends said you’d be in here,” he says, voice quiet. “I told them I’d try to talk to you.”
Of course.
“I—I didn’t think you’d show up to school today. You weren’t in AP US History.”
“I was supposed to be picking stuff up.”
“In the bathroom?”
With a huff, I sit up and kick the door open. His face looks bleak, probably because the lighting sucks in here. Only a little bit of sunlight streams in through the window and the ceiling lights are flickering.
“I don’t think it was a good idea,” I say, my voice quiet. “But I don’t want to go back outside. I have to wait for that meeting. Are you going?”
“I’m supposed to.” His hands are in his pockets. “My parents say the principal thinks I started it.”
“No.” My eyes snap up. “I’ll tell them you didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.” He presses his lips together. “Simone, I’m so sorry about this whole thing. It wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t hanging out with me.”
“That’s not true,” I say, running a hand through my hair. I don’t want to hear him apologize for things that aren’t his fault. “It probably would’ve happened no matter what. The guy who told everyone—he hates me.”
Maybe not me, exactly, but the idea of Miles and me together.
“You know who it is?” He steps closer. “Who?”
I don’t want to say his name. He and Jesse have worked together since the beginning of the year, and if I tell him, I’ll have to deal with all the emotions he might have—anger or sadness or shock. Hell, I’m too exhausted to deal with my own emotions.
Still, now that he’s here, I don’t want him to go. Like with Claudia and Lydia, I didn’t realize how much I missed him.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I shrug. “I’ll just have to find a way to deal.”
“How?”
“Probably changing schools again,” I say, staring at the floor. He’s wearing cleats. My eyes snap up in shock. “You were playing lacrosse?”
“Just messing around.” He shakes his head. “What do you mean, change schools?”
“Something like this happened at my last school,” I say, still focused on his shoes. I can’t help but wonder what he looks like when he plays, even if this is a weird time to think about it. “That’s why I came here. But junior year is almost over, so maybe I’ll just apply to college earlier.”
“So that’s it? You’re just gonna run away?”
If I go to a bigger school, there will be different types of people, maybe even other positive people. Somehow, positive people exist out in the real world. They deal with high school and go on to have jobs and families.
It’s like the guy who played Hamilton, the one Jesse hates so much—Javier Muñoz. I don’t understand how he could go around telling everyone he’s positive without spontaneously combusting. People still went to the show, still lined up for miles to meet him—to shake his hand, to touch him—because they knew he was so talented. I blink back tears.
The people who went see Javier Muñoz on Broadway aren’t like Jesse or the other kids here. I hope this is just something that happens in high school, in buildings full of kids who haven’t experienced much outside of themselves. I hope it gets better. But I don’t know.
Maybe I can go to New York and shed all of this like a dirty coat. I could be like Pops—he left North Carolina, where all his friends and family were pissed about him being gay, and moved to a place where no one would bat an eye if he kissed his boyfriend on the sidewalk. I wouldn’t tell everyone about being positive, but maybe I wouldn’t have to hide. That’s different. It’s not running away.
“You don’t get it,” I say, stepping away from him. “You don’t know what it’s like at all.
“Come on,” he says, shaking his head. “All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t give up just because some people are being horrible.”
“Of course it’s that simple for you.” I roll my eyes, walking toward the door.
“Hey, wait,” he says, pulling at my arm. “Come on, talk to me.”
“It’s not giving up,” I say, glaring at him. “I’m trying to protect myself. Did you see my locker? They don’t want me in their school, and I’m not staying in a place where I’m not wanted. I’m not going to stay here and have people stare at me every time I walk into a room like I’m a pariah. I’m not—”
My voice catches in my throat, and I shut my eyes.
“You weren’t there,” I say. I’ve spent so much time trying to stuff the memories back into my gut. Now they’re all rising back up. “After—after everyone found out at my old school, I hid in the bathroom the whole day. These parents started a petition to put me in separate classes. No one would talk to me. I didn’t have anyone.”
I’m not Ryan White, or Javier Muñoz. I’m just me. I just want to be normal.
“I—I don’t even know what to say,” he says, hands coming up like he’s going to touch me. He settles on my shoulders. “I’ll kick their asses.”
“Everyone?”
“All of them,” he says, nodding. “Every single one. I’ll—I don’t know. I’ll take care of them. I don’t want you to worry. I’ll make it go away.”
“You can’t,” I say, giving him a small smile. “You can’t just change the way everyone thinks.”
“Maybe I can’t, but you can.” His eyes roam over my face. “I don’t think anyone could hate you if they knew you.”
Oh, man. I’m definitely going to cry. “Miles—”
“Can I hug you?”
I place my head on his chest before he finishes. He smells like sweat and laundry detergent. His arms slip around my back, and I let him pull me closer.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish I knew what to do.”
“Me too.”
I’m not sure how long we stay like that, my heart slowing down and my breathing evening out, until it’s ruined.
“Simone Garcia-Hampton, please report to the principal’s office. Please report to the principal’s o
ffice.”
I tense. Why would they announce that?
“Don’t worry. We’re gonna go together,” he says, squeezing me closer to his chest. “And I’ll get the sweatshirt from my locker for good luck. It won’t be that bad. I promise.”
I try to force myself to believe it.
CHAPTER 31
Miles and I walk into the principal’s office together, my arms swimming in his lucky sweatshirt. Instead of leaving us in the lobby, a secretary ushers us into a conference room. This is probably where the teachers meet to talk about the problem kids, or plan the drug assemblies. Now I’m a school-wide problem. Just me.
There’s an oval-shaped wooden table filling most of the room. My eyes land on my parents first, holding hands and sitting closest to the door. On the other side of the table sit Miles’s parents, who are here for some reason, and it makes me want to throw up. They look like him—I guess he looks like them—but they also look kind of like each other, with the same brown hair and dark eyes. They sit straight, his mom’s fingers folded together, his dad’s face resting in a frown.
“Hey, sweetie,” Dad says, patting the chair next to him. “Come sit down.”
Principal Decker sits at the head of the table. She has a light blue shirt on, and glasses perched atop her nose.
“As you know, it is the goal of the faculty here at Sacred Heart to provide a rich learning environment for all students,” she begins. “I called you here today because an unacceptable incident has occurred, threatening the chance for students like Ms. Garcia-Hampton to reach their full potential.” She folds her hands together, placing them on the table. “Now, I’m not sure if you’re aware of what’s at play here, Mr. and Mrs. Austin, but we’re afraid that your son might be implicated in these events.”
It’s so messed up that she brought in Miles, of all people. We should be talking about Jesse’s punishment.
“Wait,” I say, voice hoarse. His mother’s head swivels around as she meets my eyes for the first time, but his father won’t even look my way. “How many people know? And why are they here?”
This isn’t at all how I imagined meeting Miles’s parents. Then again, I guess none of it really matters if I’m just going to leave.
“Simone.” Dad’s voice is soft. “Principal Decker says that screenshots of the tweets were also posted in a Facebook group for parents of students. She believes Miles might have had something to do with it.”
“He definitely didn’t—” I say firmly.
“I can assure you that my son would never do something like this,” Mr. Austin says, cutting me off. He sounds like an announcer on ESPN. “He isn’t nearly so—”
“Vile,” Mrs. Austin finishes. “I don’t know who would make up a lie like this.”
Pops bites his lip. He and Dad share a glance.
“It’s not a lie,” I say. I’m already leaving, so I might as well go out with a bang. “I actually do have HIV. And Miles didn’t tell anyone. I know who did.”
Mrs. Austin blinks at me multiple times. Miles stares at her, almost as if he’s willing her to look at him, but I don’t think he knows what to say. She looks like I’ve told her I’m a baby snatcher. At least she doesn’t know what we did in her kitchen. I can picture her tying Miles up in his bedroom to keep him away, like Penny’s mom in Hairspray.
“Simone,” Principal Decker says. “You’re saying you know who posted this message?”
“I mean, I have an idea.” I rub my hands together. “There’s this guy that knew about my HIV, and he kept threatening to tell unless I—unless Miles and I stopped hanging out. He said I wasn’t safe.”
“Wait,” Mr. Austin says, holding up a hand. “You’re HIV positive, and you’ve been seeing my son? Miles, how irresponsible could you be?”
He could’ve smacked me and it would have hurt less.
“Excuse me?” Dad shoots to his feet, the fury in his voice barely contained. “Listen, pal. Why don’t you go and—”
“Dr. Garcia, Mr. Austin,” Principal Decker snaps. “I will not tolerate this type of behavior in my office. But to calm your mind, Mr. Austin, I’ll have you know that there isn’t any way for Simone to transfer the virus to students—”
“What if she bleeds?” Mrs. Austin interrupts. “And kids fall. They hurt themselves. She could give it to anyone.”
“I don’t run around smearing my blood on anyone,” I say, trying to keep my voice firm. “And if I have a cut, I’m the one who takes care of it. In case you didn’t know, soap inactivates the virus.”
“What about sex?” Mr. Austin says, looking over at Dad. “They’re teenagers after all.”
“We’re not here to discuss our daughter’s sex life,” Pops snaps. “We’re here to see if your son is the one who spread this extremely personal information on the internet.”
“Pops, he didn’t—”
“Why would I do that?” Miles asks. It’s weird to hear how much he sounds like his dad, especially as his voice gets louder. “I don’t—I care about her.”
I bite my lip. I can’t let Miles get yelled at for something he didn’t do, especially since I’m the only one here who knows the full story.
“It wasn’t him,” I say again, hoping my voice is loud enough. “It was this kid from drama, Jesse Harris. He told me that he saw me at the hospital, and he’s been leaving threatening notes in my locker for weeks now.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dad asks. “Simone, why—”
“Because I didn’t think he’d do this,” I say. “He told me I should stay away from Miles so I figured Jesse would tell him, but I didn’t think he’d be this heartless.”
The room is silent. This is why I could never be an actress; I can’t stand people looking at me.
“Jesse?” Miles finally repeats. “Like, Jesse-who-lives-next-door-to-me Jesse?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s the one.”
Principal Decker furiously scribbles on her clipboard.
“Jesse Harris?” Mrs. Austin shakes her head. “He couldn’t have done this. He’s a good boy.”
“Simone wouldn’t lie,” Pops says. “If she says he threatened her, he did it.”
“But she didn’t tell anyone about it until now,” Mr. Austin points out. “Why not? Who’s to say she’s not lying about other things? Now, it’s Miles’s fault that he didn’t tell us about this situation—”
“Situation?” I repeat. My eyes dart toward Miles, but he won’t look at me.
“Come on, Miles,” his mother says, lowering her voice. She leans over toward him, like they’re the only two people here. “You know how hard we’ve worked to get to where we are. You know better than this.”
I’m not expecting Miles to jump up on the table and make a speech in my defense. I’m not expecting him to yell at his parents. But his silence takes me by surprise—the way he just sits there between his mom and dad, letting them say these horrible things. I swallow, but it feels like marbles are stuck in my throat.
“Better than what?” Dad barks. I jump. That’s probably the fourth time I’ve heard him yell in my life. “The medication and treatment for HIV have come so far, but the public opinion hasn’t moved at all. Do you know why? Because of blind ignorance. Because of people like you.”
“Dad, please just stop. I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want this to happen,” I say. “I didn’t want people to know, and I didn’t want people to fight.”
“So you decided to lie?” Mrs. Austin turns her iron gaze on me. “You decided to put my son at risk?”
“This isn’t even about him,” I say. My voice is quieter than hers, but it cuts through the room. The principal lets me speak, even though this probably isn’t what she had in mind. “I care about Miles a lot, and I wouldn’t want to hurt him. That’s why I told him about my HIV. But this is about me. Me and Jesse.�
�
The silence in the room is suffocating. I glance over at Miles, just for a second. He gives me a small smile. I look away. His parents turn their gazes onto him, and it’s somehow more intense than when they were shouting.
“I can assure you that our staff is committed to Simone’s health and safety,” Principal Decker says. “We are going to find Jesse Harris and get to the bottom of this. Mr. and Mrs. Austin, thank you for coming in.”
His parents are already getting up, but Miles lingers behind. Part of me wishes he would stay. The other part wants to scream at him. I stood up for him. I made sure everyone in this room knew he didn’t write the notes. But he didn’t stand up for me, not in the end. I stare at the edge of the table, watching as his jeans shuffle out the door.
“So,” Principal Decker says, pad and pen before her. “Simone, why don’t you tell me the whole story? From the beginning?”
I take a deep breath.
CHAPTER 32
When I get home, all I can think about is how my room hasn’t changed since I started talking to Miles. It’s been maybe two months and I still haven’t cleaned it. If we weren’t dealing with so much shit, Pops would’ve come in here and lectured me about it a long time ago.
Honestly, I’m surprised I’m not grounded. Keeping something this big from my parents usually leads to some sort of punishment. But I started crying when we got in the car, and I’m sure that helped. That and the fact that the whole family is still in town.
Dave and Dad seem to be talking again, and Abuela is frying plátanos with Tía Camila. I can hear them laughing tipsily all the way up here. I’ll miss them when they leave after the show. Still, I can’t bring myself to join them downstairs. The mood will shift, everyone will get quiet, unsure of how to act around me.
Staying up in my room feels like the best option.
I scroll through the group chat with the girls. They offered to come over, but it wouldn’t be fair for them to miss their after-school clubs because of me.
I send a text: Are you guys still coming to the show on Friday?
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