“But that doesn’t mean they should project that onto me,” I say, shutting my eyes. It’s hard not to think about the stupid notes. I don’t even know who wrote them, but whoever it is thinks they know me. “I’m not—I’m not trying to kill anyone. And it’s not my fault. I’m not any different, you know?”

Pops squeezes my shoulder. “Of course we know.”

“We wanted you before we knew you, but after I found out how strong you were, I wanted you even more,” Dad says. “You were such a fierce little thing. And you’ve always been resilient. Every time we take you into that hospital, we see kids like you living their lives and thriving. We knew you could have a life.”

“But—”

“I know why you’re upset, Mone,” Pops says. “But you can’t control ignorant people. There are so many factors at play. Some people don’t understand, and some are just plain hateful. Some people hate HIV because of who they picture having the virus. People like us.”

“I wish they didn’t exist.”

“We can’t live by them,” Dad says, his voice firm. “We continue living our lives and fighting the fight. You can’t just let people control you with their hate. You keep living, Simone.”

I hold both of their hands in mine. With my parents, I don’t have to worry about disclosure or people being afraid of me or getting angry. Here, I’m just part of our family, and there’s nothing but love.

CHAPTER 13

Look, I don’t hate going to St. Mary’s every three months. I’ve been going to Dr. Khan for my checkups ever since I was little, and she’s basically my third parent.

I like spending time with my parents, and the hospital isn’t a bad place to be and it gets me out of morning classes for the day. But today, I’d rather jump out of the car than listen to Dad sing along—horribly—to Bowie’s “Changes.” Part of it is because it’s a Monday, and I hate Mondays. But there’s another part, too: I want to talk to Dr. Khan about sex, no matter how awkward it is.

As if to twist the knife, Dad hits a particularly high note. I wince.

“Pops, if I were you, I’d leave Daddy,” I say, a hand pressed against my chin. “He can hardly carry a tune. You need someone with flare.”

Pops glances up at me in the rearview mirror and grins.

“Naw, I’d never leave your daddy,” Pops says, casting a playful glance in Dad’s direction. “Not for anyone. Well, maybe Idris Elba, if he showed up.”

Dad gives him a shocked look. I snicker into my hand.