I normally don’t mind silence, but I hate it right now. Maybe because I know it’s my fault. I’m the one who hasn’t been talking to him lately. I’m the one who’s been ignoring him in the hallways. I’m the one who’s about to share something unexpected. God, I feel sick.

At least we’re in the park. There’s so much noise, between the dogs and the little kids and the strangers wrapped up in their own lives, that even awkward silences aren’t completely quiet. It’s not foggy, for once, so I should be enjoying the evening. I would be on any other day.

“Are you okay?” Miles asks. He isn’t sitting as close as he was last time. If he wanted to touch my shoulder, he’d have to lean over. “Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

I swallow, fiddling with the note cards in my hands. I haven’t used these since we had to give presentations on our science projects all the way back in middle school. They’re numbered and everything, in case I forget where I’m going. It’s important that I don’t forget.

“Okay,” I say, putting my note cards on my lap in front of me. It feels weird to do this in a park, but at least no one here really knows me. This is one of my safe places. “I want to tell you some stuff.”

“Okay.”

“So, um, I’m adopted. But I feel like you could’ve guessed that already.”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “Kinda.”

“My biological mom had HIV,” I say, hurrying to get the words out so there isn’t an awkward silence. “And I guess she didn’t know or there wasn’t medication for her or, if there was, she just couldn’t get it. I don’t know.”

I switch to the next note card, not allowing myself to make eye contact with him. My hands are shaking. No matter how much I tell myself that I shouldn’t be scared, that this is all on him and how he decides to react, it’s still scary. I don’t want Miles to think HIV makes me dirty.

“When I was born, I was really sick. They tested me, and I have HIV, too. It’s not like I just found out—I’ve always known, since I was little. I’ve been on medication forever, and now I’m healthy and everything.”

I allow myself to look up, just briefly. He swallows slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s looking right at me, no way to pretend that he isn’t. I look away.