I yank my hand out of my mouth, but I don’t look over at Pops. No doubt he can already tell that something’s wrong. I haven’t looked at him since we got in the car to go to St. Mary’s Hospital. If I do, he might guess what I’m thinking. Sure, Pops wouldn’t care about me having a crush on a boy, but the note? He and Dad would rip my school apart.

Maybe they should get involved. Whoever wrote that letter, they’ve definitely been watching me. How else would they know where my locker is? The question is, how long has it been going on? Since I started going to Sacred Heart a couple of months ago? Since Miles started working on the play? Since I kissed him yesterday?

And what if everyone finds out? No way. I can’t deal with all of that again.

But if my parents go to the principal, she won’t be the only one who finds out I’m positive. I’m sure another faculty member will overhear—the secretary, a security officer, maybe even a teacher. And sometimes kids work in the office for extra credit. One of them could hear, and then they could tell a bunch of people. By talking to the principal, my parents could out me to everyone.

And what if this is all a weird joke, something I’m blowing out of proportion? No, I can’t tell my parents about this. I’ll have to figure it out on my own.

I don’t even know how I’m feeling about this whole thing. I figured I’d be angry or upset, but I’m just numb. Like what happened at Our Lady of Lourdes is going to happen all over again and I can’t do anything to stop it. But I have to do something. If everyone finds out that I have HIV, I’ll feel worse things than numbness.

“Something on your mind?” Pops makes a turn. “Excited to see your friends again?”

“They aren’t my friends.” I snort.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he says, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Your dad and I think it’s important that you have other kids to talk to.”

“Other kids like me.”

“Well, yes.” He glances over. “You’re not any different, baby, and you know that. But there are things that Claudia and Lydia don’t understand, that your dad and I don’t understand. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t really think about those things,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. “And no one actually talks. We sit around and give one-word answers until it’s over.”