My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,31

to wait until tomorrow to get my good news.

School was closed too, but we still had rehearsal. My face felt peculiar as I got ready to go. And then I realized—I was smiling for the first time in ages. I gave my dads each a peck on the cheek before I left the house. They were stunned by my sudden transformation. They must have thought their library books really did the trick.

As I drove to the school, a little fire ignited in my belly. Today was going to be a good day.

Right away, I apologized to Andre. “I know it’s no excuse, but I’ve been going through a lot lately. I’m really sorry that it’s affected our rehearsals, but it’s all better now. You don’t have to worry anymore, okay?”

I don’t know if it was my words themselves or the positive energy surrounding them, but Andre threw his arms around me. “Thank Jesus!” he said. “This show wouldn’t have been the same without you—you’re our little star, missy!”

I laughed. “Thanks, Andre.”

Rehearsal went brilliantly. I actually had fun. Andre had nothing but positive feedback for me, the groans of exasperation from my castmates vanished, and Elyse’s face looked like she’d bit into a lemon—that’s how I really knew I was back.

The only thing that didn’t go smoothly was the swordfight. Evan was still skittish around me. He didn’t realize that everything had changed, that tomorrow I would get my official results and I’d be able to tell him that I didn’t have HIV after all and that everything would finally go back to normal.

• • •

Tuesday morning, at nine a.m. exactly, I told my pre-calc teacher I had to go to the bathroom, and I slipped out of the school and into my car. I called the clinic number again, and this time a real live person answered.

“I’m calling for my test results,” I said, every word filled with optimism.

“Patient number?” she asked, sounding bored out of her skull.

I gave her the number and waited.

“Chlamydia, negative. Gonorrhea, negative. Syphilis, negative. Hepatitis C, negative.”

I waited for her to give me the HIV results, but she didn’t say anything else.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the lady asked after a moment.

“Um, yes, I need my HIV test results.”

“Didn’t they give those results to you while you were here in the clinic?”

“Yeah, but they needed to do a confirmatory test.”

There was a slight pause. “If your rapid test was reactive, the social worker should have told you what to do to get your confirmatory results.”

Oh. I obviously didn’t stick around long enough to get that information from Diane. “I…don’t…uh…remember what she said.”

The lady sighed loudly. “Take down this number. You’ll need to speak with a social worker directly. Do you have a pen?”

I scrambled around in my backpack for a pen and notebook, and then took down the number. “But wait,” I said. “Do you have my results in front of you right now?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Well then, can’t you just tell me them? Why do I have to call someone else?”

“I’m not authorized to do that.”

I was beginning to get upset. “What do you mean? You’re authorized to give me my other test results. Why not this one?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t answer that. Have a nice day.” She hung up.

What the hell?

I dialed the social worker’s number, my pulse racing.

“Diane Sullivan,” she answered on the first ring.

I cleared my throat. “Um, hi, this is Lucy Moore.” I realized too late that I wasn’t supposed to use my last name. “I was in there back in October—”

“Lucy! Yes, I remember,” Diane said. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’m just calling for my confirmatory results.”

“Well, we usually ask our clients to come in person to receive their results. Would you like to schedule an appointment now? I have several openings this week.”

“No, I want to know now.”

“Lucy, it really is better if we speak in person.”

I hesitated. “Why?”

“It’s standard procedure—”

My grip tightened around the phone. “It’s because I’m positive, isn’t it?”

There was a tension-filled pause. “We ask everyone to come in, regardless of their results.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not legally allowed to withhold my results from me.” Having a lawyer for a father came in handy sometimes.

Diane gave a tiny, yielding sigh. “Do you have your client number available? For confidentiality reasons, I can’t give you any results without it.”

I read it to her, the paper and my voice shaking. I heard Diane’s fingers typing the number into a computer.

“Lucy,