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?”