“I know,” I say, drumming my fingers against the table. “But it doesn’t really matter. I don’t—I haven’t told him yet. We haven’t—he doesn’t need to know right now. And once I tell him, I doubt he’ll stick around for a conversation about abstinence.”

“Well, things can’t move forward if you don’t tell him,” Pops says. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” I say, sighing. “I’m just saying that nothing is going to happen if I tell him—which I have to. Basically, there’s no reason for either of you to worry, because we’re not going to get close enough for that to happen. The only reason we got this far is because he doesn’t know.”

I stare down at the table, surprised to find myself blinking back tears. HIV is usually at the back of my mind. Taking my pill each morning is automatic, and so are the doctor’s appointments. Before I started thinking about boys and sex and other stupid things, the only time I really thought about it was at Group.

“Cariño,” Dad says, shocked. “You’re smart and funny and dedicated to everything you do. You’re an amazing friend and daughter. Anyone would be lucky to date you. Your blood doesn’t change that.”

“I know.” I blink a little bit faster. I’m not going to cry. “But other people don’t know that.”

“So you find the smart people who do,” Pops says. “I’m sure Claudia and Lydia do.”

I glance up. Pops’s face is soft. I don’t know how he figured out I’d told them. Technically, I broke one of our big rules by telling. The last time I broke it, I had to move to a different school. Maybe that’s why they haven’t chewed me out: they figure I’ve learned my lesson.

“You know,” Pops starts. “I was nervous about adopting an HIV-positive baby.”

“Pops—”

“I’m serious. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold you or kiss you. Not because I thought I’d get sick. I thought I would have to watch you suffer all alone.”

It feels like there’s something stuck in my throat. I’ve heard this story before, millions of times. It’s comforting, like a song you can recognize just from the opening notes.

“I think there’s something symbolic about the fact that you were positive, being adopted by us,” Pops says, his voice quiet. “We lost so many people we loved from AIDS. I know I keep telling you, but the first person I came out to—my best friend—I watched him die. And I didn’t think I could watch my child go through that.”

“Fear is powerful,” Dad says, nodding his head. “And I think that’s the reason why so many people are ignorant. They’re worried about something horrible happening.”