That’s the solution? Don’t think about it? Maybe I am getting ahead of myself. Maybe nothing is going to happen after that kiss, even though I still feel wisps of it on my lips. A big part of me hopes there’s more after this—even if it means I’ll have to tell him the truth and risk the consequences.

“God, look at her,” Claudia says, bringing me back to Earth. “She actually thinks they’re getting married.”

“I don’t!”

“Simone,” Lydia says. “You’re kinda acting like it.”

“I can’t tell if you really like him or if you’re just really horny,” Claudia says. “Either way, you could use a good vibrator. We should all hit up a sex shop. I need to buy one for Emma, anyway.”

“Don’t you need ID?” Lydia asks. “We aren’t old enough.”

“We’ll fake them.” Claudia shrugs. “So, Saturday?”

“Guys,” I moan. “You’re not helping.”

“Trust me,” Claudia says, grinning. “A vibrator will do wonders.”

I sigh, turning back to my locker. It’s still a mess of papers that looks dangerously close to toppling to the ground. On my first day, it felt like everyone had something to give me: schedules, supply lists, rules, class syllabi. It’s a mountain of white that makes me look like I just toss shit in here without a second glance. I scan the small space, keeping my eyes open for a blue folder. With this mess, I doubt there’s a chance of me finding anything I need. A few stray papers float to the floor, and I bend to pick them up.

“Come on, Simone.” Claudia squats down, grabbing some papers. “We’re trying to help. I don’t mean to sound bitchy. It’s just—well, we know you don’t have a lot of experience with this.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, grabbing the remaining papers.

“See you later,” Lydia says, touching my arm. “All right?”

“Yeah,” I say. A folded piece of yellow paper sticks out of the stack. That’s weird.

Lydia and Claudia walk down the hallway. I grab my welcome folder with one hand and unfold the note with the other.

It takes a few seconds to read. I go back and read it again. The words swirl in my head once, twice, three times, but they still don’t register. I just hold the note in my shaking hands, blinking at the scribbled writing:

I know you have HIV. You have until Thanksgiving to stop hanging out with Miles. Or everyone else will know, too.

CHAPTER 6

“Simone, you’ll get an infection if you keep biting your nails like that. I thought we talked about this, baby.”