“Cryptosporidium? Sure. Everyone in the city got it. I threw up for three days.”

“Well, because my mom was already sick, it made her even sicker. I didn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t go to the hospital. She hated doctors. I thought that I could take care of her myself, make her better. But I couldn’t, you know? Turns out she had AIDS.”

Ann gasped.

“See why I don’t tell anyone? I say cancer and people are sorry for me. I say she had AIDS and they do what you just did. I don’t have it. I’m not sick. Don’t worry.”

Ann put her hand on his arm to demonstrate her concern. “I’m not worried, Michael.” She said his name out loud with particular care and kindness. She reached for his hand and held it.

They fell asleep like that, at three in the morning, with hotel towels covering them instead of blankets. The shimmering, hazy light from the pool reflected on the glassy dome, the atmosphere safe, womblike. That night, he’d had Ann all to himself. It was perfect.

The next day, he ran his fastest 200 meters. She was right there at the finish line, cheering him on. After that, she started bringing sandwiches and snacks to him at school. Soon her parents invited him for dinner. The next thing he knew, he was sleeping on their couch. One day, Ed told him that he’d converted the office upstairs into a bedroom, and he gave him an extra key to their house. Ann became his constant companion. They walked to and from school together, and they ran along the lakeshore in the late afternoons. He wasn’t part of Ann’s social circle, but at home they were inseparable. They watched old movies, folded laundry together, and sat at the kitchen table doing homework until they lost focus and shot rubber bands at each other. Even though Michael didn’t have the best grades, he was a whiz at math, and he helped Poppy with her geometry homework. Connie took Michael to the dentist and bought him some new clothes at Kohl’s. He and Ed played pickup games at Riverside Park, and Ed asked him to join his bowling league at the Polish Falcons.

Michael had been so thrilled by this new arrangement that he hadn’t thought of how strange it must have seemed to other people—that is, until one afternoon when he’d stopped by Ed’s classroom and overheard Mr. Frederickson, the chemistry teacher, warning Ed about him. “He’s staying with you? Kid had a tough ride, I get it. Shit happens to all our students. You take on one Oliver Twist and pretty soon you could have half the high school living in your house. Michael doesn’t have to be your problem.”

“He’s not a problem.”