Pops makes a sound, deep in his throat, as he pulls into a parking space. The hospital isn’t very far from our house, making it easy for Dad to commute every morning. At least I have the comfort of knowing that no one from my old school will be here; it’s too far to be convenient. Doctor’s appointments were a pain when I still went to boarding school, but at least I got out of going to Group.

I’ve never thought about seeing kids from my new school here, but I probably should. It would explain how someone figured out that I’m positive. I just wish I didn’t have to entertain the thought. Between Dad’s job, Pops’s volunteering, and my Group meetings, St. Mary’s feels like our place. A creepy stalker shouldn’t get to touch it.

“You seem cranky today.” Pops glances at me. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

“I’m sure,” I say. Instead of looking at his face, I stare at his shirt. Prince stares back at me in all his purple glory. “I just hate coming here.”

“Aw, Mone.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “It can’t be that bad.”

It actually is that bad. Every Wednesday, the support group is held in one of the conference rooms toward the back of the hospital building. I guess it’s where doctors discuss things they can’t talk about in the halls. Even though we’re separated from the rest of the hospital, the antiseptic smell still seeps in. There are about ten of us, sitting in plastic chairs, arranged in a circle.

Julie, a recent college graduate who runs the meetings, pulls a rolling chair toward us. She’s not positive, which makes her messages even more annoying since she can’t exactly relate. But today she has donuts, so I might be more tolerant than usual.

“Hi, guys,” she says, passing the box to the kid next to her. “How are you doing?”

Everyone responds at the same time, but it sounds like a half-baked mumble. I know that Julie tries—I’m pretty sure she bought those chocolate donuts with her own money—but I’ve never poured out my feelings before and I’m not about to start now.

Julie claps her hands together. “Right. Well, I brought a friend with me today.”

She gestures toward the girl sitting in the chair next to her. She’s black, with short, neat twists in her hair and a face that makes her look like she’s always smiling. There’s something familiar about her, but I could be confusing her with someone else.

“You might remember Alicia if you’ve been coming to meetings for a little while,” she says, patting Alicia’s hand. “She came here until she was too old.”