My eyes snap up. He smiles, soft.
He can’t just do that. He can’t just spring that on me now.
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Part of me wants to tell him that he doesn’t love anyone, that he’s seventeen and doesn’t even know what love is. But I know that’s not fair, because I’m also seventeen and I love lots of people and lots of things. The other part of me is a bundle of nerves. “I’m in love with you” is one of the scariest sentences in the English language. It’s like holding out your heart to someone and asking them not to trample on it.
But Miles did it first. He’s holding his heart out to me.
“Oh Miles,” I croak.
He smiles. He’s so close; I’d barely have to move to kiss him. But he seems to read my mind and pulls backs.
“The show starts pretty soon,” he says. “Are you going?”
For a second, I wish I had the lucky sweatshirt. But I have Miles here instead, pressed against me, willing to come outside with me. And to think I was afraid that this would make him want to run.
I lean my head back, staring at the hallway through the crack under the door. It’s wide enough that I can see some of the people standing outside, still hear them speaking over each other. It’s almost like they’re in a different world. But this is my world, and I’m going to decide what happens in it.
“Okay.” I grab his hand, squeezing it. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 34
It takes a moment for everyone to realize I’m outside.
“But don’t you think this will be an authentic portrayal of life with AIDS?” The man looks like a professor who just got out of class, with round glasses and a brown corduroy jacket over a blue shirt. “Surely, a student director with HIV could enlighten us and all the students by sharing her experiences.”
“Not a chance,” a white, middle-aged woman cuts in, speaking over him. “I’ve been saying the same thing since Mikey came home from school talking about this show. It’s supposed to be a school musical, but you’d never be able to tell with all the filth in it. I objected before I knew about that girl.”
So this is Mike Davidson’s mom. She’s like a comments section in human form. I didn’t realize people actually talked that way.
I take a step closer. The noise from the crowd fades as recognition sets in.
Mrs. Davidson’s mouth drops open. I wonder if she’s ever read about HIV, or if she’s just angry because that’s her natural state. I can’t see all the people out here, but I have a feeling that they’ll be able to fill the auditorium nicely—that is, if they still want to come inside.
“You know,” Mr. Palumbo starts, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. We can go back inside. This isn’t your responsibility.”
My dads are probably out here with Tía Camila, though I can’t see them. I’m sure Abuelo and Abuela are here, ready to tackle someone, like Claudia and Lydia said they would. Maybe even Dave decided to come. I force myself to take a breath, squeezing Miles’s hand. I’m not alone.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, raising my voice. It’s just like making a speech in class. “I wanted to come outside and talk to you, because I know you’re upset.”
The noise doesn’t pick back up like I expected. Some of the people in the front won’t look at me, instead choosing to focus on the ground or behind my head. Of course, they won’t talk about me once I’m actually here. Even the professor guy won’t meet my eye.
“And I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what you’re upset about,” I say. Miles squeezes my hand. “So I’m going to tell you a few things I think you need to hear. Number one, I’m adopted. My parents weren’t afraid to adopt me, because they knew so many gay men who died from AIDS in their community. You might remember that period of history.”
More silence. Light from the cars coming into the parking lot is getting in my eyes, but I focus on Mrs. Davidson, in front of me. She keeps avoiding my gaze. I keep my eyes on her anyway.
“For those of you who don’t know, HIV is a virus that infects my blood,” I say, lifting up my chin. “You can’t see it on my skin or in my eyes or hair. I look just as normal as anyone else.”
More people are staring at me, some of them with serious expressions. They don’t look like people ready to pick a fight, at least not now. I take another breath.
“My medication is what keeps me alive,” I say. “It keeps me healthy enough to direct this play, and it kept me healthy for most of my life. It lowers the amount of virus in my blood until my doctor isn’t able to detect it.”
Miles squeezes my hand again, but I don’t allow myself to look at him. I’ll get too distracted.
“Even though my viral count is really low, I still have HIV. I just can’t transmit the virus to anyone else.”
It’s absolutely silent now. No leaves moving, no birds chirping. Mr. Palumbo hasn’t stepped in to say anything, so I guess he’s listening, too.
“Now, none of this is actually your business,” I say, trying—and failing—to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “And you probably could’ve found any of this out if you did some research. My HIV isn’t a threat to you, but your ignorance is a threat to me. I’ve been bullied, harassed, and told that I’m unwanted at this school. Do you know why HIV-positive people don’t disclose? Because it’s dangerous. People have been injured and even murdered for disclosing. It should be my choice, but you’ve taken it away from me. But I’m not losing the show, too. I deserve to be here.”
I pause, glancing at Palumbo. He smiles.
“The other kids in the cast and crew, plus the advisors and staff, have put so much work into this production,” I say, my voice even firmer. “I’m incredibly proud of all that we’ve achieved.”
I pause. I don’t know what else to say without snapping at them. They’re staring at me now like I’m giving a TED Talk. Bringing up how angry I am probably isn’t going to help; maybe another time.
“If you really care about your kids being exposed to good influences, you’ll start with yourself and your own behavior,” I continue. “Don’t let ignorance ruin your chance to enjoy this show we worked so hard on. When it comes down to it, everyone who worked on this musical is part of a team—one you should be rooting for.”
The silence is unnerving. I usually don’t like silence, and it’s even worse now. I’m not sure if I should tell them to come inside, or just lead by example. I don’t really think that there’s anything else I can say. After all, I’m not going to apologize.
“That was good,” Miles says, leaning close to my ear. His voice is soft, like we’re sharing a secret. “Like, really good.”
I could wait for one of them to start apologizing, but something tells me that it’s not going to happen. Instead, I kiss him. It’s soft and quick, but it lasts long enough for a collective low gasp.
He’s the one who got me to come out here, and now I don’t feel so scared. I don’t care if other people know. I want them to know that Miles and I kiss. Not just to prove a point, but because he’s Miles. I want to kiss him everywhere, in front of everyone.
No one has anything to say. I’m guessing they’re quiet because they’re embarrassed, because they know they treated me like shit. I want them to be upset with themselves. All of them were jerks together, but it’s like none of them want to admit to it, choosing to share uncomfortable glances with each other instead.
Mr. Palumbo clears his throat. I pull away, winking at Miles. His grin makes me want to kiss him again. How am I supposed to look at him and not want sex? There are so many feelings exploding inside my chest. It’s so much more than what I expected.
“The doors will be opening now,” Mr. Palumbo announces. “You can go to the crew members wearing all black to take your seats. If you decide not to come, however, we can’t offer a refund for your ticket.”
<
br /> Those tickets are fifteen dollars apiece. I want to hug him so hard that I crush his bones.
A girl steps forward, pushing through the back of the group and dragging someone behind her. I don’t know why people aren’t moving aside for her, since they seem like they don’t want to get inside, anyway. I recognize the hazel eyes as soon as I see them. Brie.
“Oh my God.” I’m five seconds away from squealing. “You guys came?”
Jack is behind her—they’re actually holding hands like complete nerds, but whatever—and he has flowers. I have to force myself to blink back tears.
“Of course we did.” I’ve never been so happy to see Jack’s dimples. “Hope it isn’t too late to buy tickets. We sort of brought friends.”
He gestures behind him. Ralph’s actually here, wearing a button-down shirt like this is the opera, and Julie is talking to some kids I don’t recognize. Alicia stands next to them, bouncing a little kid in her arms. She catches my eye and winks.
“Well,” I say. My voice is all choked up. “Thank you for—for all of this. You really didn’t have to. Really.”
“Thank you.” Brie grabs my arm. “You don’t owe anyone anything, but you still came out here. You’re so badass.”
Shit, I’m crying now. She and Jack head toward the door, the rest of the group trailing behind them. Julie and Alicia pull me into hugs, promising to catch me after the show, and Mr. Palumbo opens the door for them. They’re loud, laughing and talking like they’re excited to be here. I can see the crew kids rushing toward them with pamphlets, racing to be the first to give one out.
“Well said,” a gruff voice comes from behind me.
I turn to see Mr. Austin, standing way too close. I take a step back, glancing up at him. He’s tall, even taller than Miles. It’s weird to see him without dress clothes on; he’s just wearing a school jersey. He and Miles look like they’re matching. It’s some Twilight Zone shit.
“Thanks,” I say, scrunching my mouth to the side. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
He glances at Miles, not even bothering to hide it.
“Oh,” I say, blinking a few times. “That makes sense.”
He walks into the building without saying anything else. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. It makes me wonder how many more people Miles asked to come. At least his dad would do that much for him.
“I didn’t think he’d act like that,” Miles says apologetically as he glances back. “I just told him to show up.”
I would say something else, but there are more people walking toward the entrance. Even Auntie Jackie appears, pulling me in for a long hug. Not everyone in the crowd is coming inside—I can see some people walking back to their cars—but I don’t even care. They could throw tomatoes at me and I wouldn’t care now.
More and more people file in, either awkwardly acknowledging me or just pretending I’m not standing here. I’m not sure how much of this is because of what I said and how much is because they already spent money on tickets.
“Are they just going to pretend they weren’t, like, demanding my expulsion?” I ask, turning toward Mr. Palumbo. “That happened, right? And they’re just ignoring it.”
“People don’t like to admit their mistakes.” He presses his lips together. “When that seemed like the general goal, more people supported it. Now this seems like the right thing to do.”
“Because you basically told them that they were being stupid assholes,” Miles steps in. “And they could’ve yelled at you about it, but they would’ve looked even worse. So they went with it.”
“Do you think any of them actually heard what I said, though?” I ask, resisting the urge to claw my hands through my hair. “Because I really thought that out.”
“If even one person learned something, you succeeded,” Mr. Palumbo says. “And I learned a lot. Now we’ll see the show through different eyes.”
“Same,” Miles says. “I mean, I already knew a lot of that stuff, because you told me. And because I know how to use Google.”
“Shut up.” I shove him. “You don’t count.”
“Oh my goodness, Simone.” I don’t get the chance to respond before I’m wrapped up in Pops’s arms. “I was looking for you earlier. Where did you go?”
“I sort of hid in the closet,” I say into his chest. “Something you’re familiar with, right?”
I’m expecting him to lecture me, at least to save face in front of other people, but he just laughs. My feet aren’t touching the ground, and for a second, I think of his bad back. He’s probably going to crack it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder,” Dad says, appearing behind him. “It’s really important that you know that, Mony.”
“I do,” I say, blinking back tears. Pops puts me down, and I gesture behind me. “Guys, this is Mr. Palumbo. He’s the reason I’m doing this tonight.”
They shake hands, and Miles nudges me again.
“Do I get to sit with you backstage?”
If he sits with me, we’re not going to be watching, and he knows that. I roll my eyes.
“Come on,” I say, pulling at my parents’ hands. “I want you to see the show.”
“As long as we can find seats.” Pops grins.
* * *
It’s pretty hard not to cry. Part of it is because of how beautiful the sets look—like this could actually be a Broadway stage. Maybe I’m biased, but so what? Laila completely knocks her solo out of the park and Rocco dazzles the audience, as predicted. But my favorite part is when everyone is out onstage at the end for bows. I stand backstage, screaming until my throat is sore as members of the crew, pit orchestra, and ensemble run onstage. Members of the cast go out one by one, but Eric surprises me with a crooked smile before his turn. Maybe the thrill of opening night has unlocked a secret pool of empathy in his heart or something.
“And last,” Palumbo’s voice calls out, “but certainly not least, is our wonderful student director, Simone Garcia-Hampton!”
I freeze. Directors don’t go onstage for bows. I never went onstage when we rehearsed. I glance behind me, but there’s no one left backstage to urge me on. Slowly, I shuffle onstage. The lights are blinding. I can barely see anyone in the crowd, but I do make out Claudia’s new haircut, which means Lydia must be here, too. Everyone’s smiling and clapping, probably because they’re onstage, but it definitely doesn’t make me feel bad. Palumbo waves me forward, Ms. Klein standing on the other side of him.
And up there, standing center stage with everyone clapping and cheering all around me? That’s the best part of the entire night.
CHAPTER 35
The High School Theater Awards don’t quite live up to opening night.
“Do you think taking too many pictures is just a dad thing?”
“Probably,” Lydia says. “My dad does the same thing, but I thought it was just because he’s always unbearable.”
“Come on, girls,” Dad says, looking up from behind his camera. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Is it really that bad that I want pictures of your special night? Just a few more.”
I don’t even hide my groan. I’ve been wearing heels for about thirty minutes, and my feet already hurt. Tía Camila’s gonna get an earful later since it was her idea for me to wear them.
“I’m sort of glad my father ignores me,” Claudia mumbles, shuffling toward me. “Because I never have to deal with any of this.”
“Smile!”
I blink on purpose.
“If you keep taking pictures, you’ll run out of memory,” Lydia says, ever the supportive friend. She looks better than I do, as always, with a red dress and her hair in a bun that makes her look like a princess. “You won’t be able to take pictures at the actual ceremony if you waste them all here, Dr. Garcia.”
“Don’t encour
age him,” I grumble, smoothing my hands over my dress. I haven’t worn a dress since eighth grade, so this feels unnatural. “I was trying to get him to leave it here.”
“No way,” Pops calls from the other room. “You’re going to win all the awards, and we’re going to capture every minute of it.”
“Make sure you clear the camera after today,” I say, walking down the stairs and toward Dad. “Knowing you, you’ll forget and we’ll meet Lin-Manuel Miranda and you’ll miss it because your camera is full.”
It’ll be the first summer we spend in New York in the longest time. The idea is that we’re “spending time with family,” but I’m pretty sure I can get Dave to take me wherever I want. I’m looking forward to dragging him to Broadway.
“Don’t joke like that,” Dad says, frowning. “I can use my phone.”
“But will your phone capture the moment in high definition?”
“Simone,” Claudia says. She’s wearing a tuxedo-looking top and a pair of pants. I almost wish I’d followed her lead. “Your dad deals with all your foolishness, give him a break.”
“Thank you, Claudia,” Dad says, pausing. “I think.”
The doorbell rings, echoing throughout the house. Dad moves to answer it, but I grab his arm, smiling up at him.
“I can get it, Dad,” I say. “You should take more pictures of Claudia and Lydia.”
“Nice,” Claudia calls. “Already abandoning us.”
“I’m not,” I argue, pulling open the door. Miles is there, wearing his lacrosse jersey again. “Dude, if you were going to wear that, I wouldn’t have worn this.”
“I was gonna change, actually,” he says, giving me his stupid grin. He tugs at the strap on his shoulder, and I glance down at the gigantic bag hanging off his side. “Is that okay, Madam Director?”
“Yeah, whatever.” I roll my eyes, but when Dad’s head is turned, I kiss his cheek. “You can change in my room. I have something for you, anyway.”
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