Full Disclosure Read online

  THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Camryn Garrett

  Cover photograph copyright © 2019 by Theodore Samuels

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! GetUnderlined.com

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 9781984829955 (trade) — ISBN 9781984829962 (lib. bdg.) — ebook ISBN 9781984829979

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For anyone touched by the AIDS crisis.

  And for Mom, always.

  CHAPTER 1

  As much as I’ve tried to convince him otherwise, my father still thinks he needs to accompany me to my first gynecologist appointment. To him, it’s an important rite of passage.

  “I’m sure Tía Camila would’ve taken me,” I say, glancing out the car window. It’s bad enough that we’re going to this appointment together, but it’s also uncomfortably close to the hospital where he works, which means we’re going to run into at least three of his patients. “She likes doing this sort of stuff, and we could’ve worked it around her business trips.”

  “Well, you’re my daughter,” he says, pulling into a parking spot. “And this is the sort of thing parents live for.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Dad has patches of gray sneaking into his black hair, and there’s an indent in the tan skin of his nose where his glasses rest. When he isn’t wearing a lab coat, he dresses in old-man clothes like sweater vests and khakis. I wish his lack of fashion sense were the most embarrassing thing about him, but it isn’t.

  Inside, he actually pulls out a clipboard with questions to ask the doctor. I might just die. The waiting room feels too small and smells like cheap air freshener.

  He tucks the clipboard by his side, looking down at a questionnaire from the secretary.

  “When was your last menstrual cycle?”

  “Dad.”

  “These are normal questions.”

  “Just…” I take the questionnaire from him. “I’ll figure this stuff out.”

  “I ask my patients these sorts of questions all the time, you know. It doesn’t have to be awkward.”

  “But I’m your kid. That makes it weirder.”

  I fly through the questions, and I’m mostly honest. He’s already filled out the parts that take the most time—my medical background, especially—so I bring the form back up to the lady at the desk. When I return, Dad’s pulled out the clipboard he brought from home, reviewing his questions.

  “There’s really no reason for you to be nervous, Simone,” he says, patting my leg. His glasses keep sliding down his nose. If he were my doctor, I wouldn’t be able to take him seriously. “A lot of the women I see are nervous for their first appointments.”

  “I’m not a woman.” My legs bounce up and down. “I’m, like, twelve.”

  “You’re seventeen. Most girls have their first appointment when they’re fifteen, but it’s more of a formality. You aren’t even—”

  “Sexually active. I know. But we both know I’m not having sex.”

  A woman with a gigantic pregnant belly glares at me. I don’t know why she seems irritated. She’ll be lucky if her kid ends up anything like me. I’ve made it to seventeen without dying, first of all, which I’m not sure my parents even expected.

  “So,” he says. “Why were you so adamant about making this appointment now?”

  I bite my lip. Technically, I don’t need to see a gynecologist. I’m not dating anyone. My chances of losing my virginity haven’t magically increased recently. But Dr. Khan, my HIV doctor, recommended that I see a gynecologist if I have questions, and, well, I do.

  I can’t exactly tell my dad the other part of the truth—that I want to know more about sex because of a hot guy at school. There’s nothing going on between us, but still. I can hope, can’t I?

  “It’s not bad that you wanted to come,” he says, tugging me out of my thoughts. “I just want to know what struck your interest.”

  “Um. I’m just—you know,” I say. “Curious and a little nervous. I want to ask questions, like I told you. I feel like I don’t know anything, and Dr. Khan said this would be a good idea.”

  “You’ll have the chance to ask questions,” he says. “I promise. I’ve spoken to Dr. Walker tons of times. She’s very good at what she does, and I figured seeing a woman would make you more comfortable.”

  “Simone Garcia-Hampton?”

  The nurse seems nice enough, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t make any chitchat with my dad right away. I get up, walking stiffly through the door. Dad presses a hand against my back, guiding me behind the nurse.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Dr. Garcia,” she says, flashing my father a smile as we enter the examination room. Since she doesn’t say anything to me, I just hop up on the table without a word. “How have things been over at St. Mary’s?”

  “Excellent,” Dad says, smiling back. “And how is little Jason?”

  I guess I wasn’t spared the chitchat after all. It seems like everyone working in the medical field has seen Dad at the hospital or at a doctor’s appointment—or he has delivered one of their children.

  “Getting bigger every day,” she says, flipping through my file. “Okay, Simone. Dr. Walker is going to come in and do a breast exam and check a bunch of other things. We aren’t going to do a vaginal exam today, though.”

  I breathe a sigh
of relief. “Thank Go—”

  “Goodness,” Dad says, giving me a pointed look. “You’re thanking goodness, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I say, tucking a short strand of hair behind my ear. Dad is supposed to be a lapsed Catholic, but he’s more religious than he wants to admit. “I was going to say goodness. Gosh, don’t you know me at all?”

  The nurse smiles as she does all the normal things, like taking my blood pressure and checking my heartbeat. She asks me about my period and sexual activity, and I try to ignore Dad, standing at my side.

  “It’s nice to see such a close relationship between father and daughter,” she says, holding her clipboard to her chest. “My daughter is attached to my hip. I wish I could leave her alone with her father.”

  “Well, I don’t have a mom,” I say, shrugging. “So I don’t have much of a choice.”

  Dad gives me another one of his glances, but seeing this lady’s face is worth it. It gets all red and blotchy, like she’s just kicked a puppy by mistake, and she backs toward the door with big, slow steps.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Here—change into this gown and make sure to take off your bra. Dr. Walker will be in to see you soon.”

  “Simone, that was rude,” Dad says as soon as the door shuts. “It’s not her fault she doesn’t know our family history.”

  He makes it sound so formal. People get confused about our family situation, and I guess I can see why. For one, I don’t look like his kid. Even though his skin is the color of darkened sand, it’s clear that I’m black, several shades darker than him. I’m sure people assume I take after my mother, especially when they see the ring on Dad’s left hand. Dad isn’t really out. I don’t think he tells anyone about Pops, not unless he has to. On the other hand, Pops flaunts his ring to everyone within a ten-mile radius. They’re different that way. I just wish the world didn’t spend so much time making Dad feel like he has to hide.

  “But she shouldn’t just make assumptions,” I say, stepping behind a curtain and stripping off my clothes. “You know what Pops says: when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”

  “I know. It gets worse each time I hear it.” He sighs. “Do you have some questions in mind for the doctor?”

  “I’m gonna ask her if I can have sex.” I pull the gown over my head, shielding myself from the awkwardness that’s probably all over his face right now. “And about tearing my hymen. Also about pregnancy.”

  “Oddly enough, I don’t find this funny.”

  “That’s because it isn’t.” I pull at the edges of the gown before drawing back the curtain and wagging a finger at him. “Sex is never funny, especially when you’re me.”

  His face softens. “Simone—”

  “Ah, the famous Simone!” A tall white lady with bright red hair and a lab coat swings into the room. “I’ve heard so much about you from your father. The last time I saw you, you were barely big enough to stand!”

  Dr. Walker knows me, but I don’t remember her at all. I give a tight smile. Somehow, I doubt she’s the great family friend she presents herself to be. I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m looking to be her best friend. I just need her to answer my questions.

  “So, Simone,” she says, folding her hands. “The reason why Dr. Khan referred you is because I’ve had other patients with your condition, and I have experience in this field. I want you to know that you can ask me any questions you might have, and I’ll try my hardest to answer.”

  Damn. She gets straight to the point.

  “Let’s say I want to have sex.” I try to mirror her stance on the exam table, placing one leg over the other. My paper gown crinkles as it moves. “Are condoms enough? Do I have to use them if I’m having sex with a girl?”

  “Well, there are internal condoms and dental dams if you have sex with someone with a vagina,” she says, leaning back on the stool. I have to give her credit; she doesn’t seem fazed at all. “But you have to keep in mind that the virus is acquired through an exchange of certain bodily fluids, like blood or semen.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dad says. “Simone, you know that the best way to stay safe is by remaining abstinent. We’ve spoken about this, honey.”

  My cheeks heat up. It’s another reason why I didn’t want him here—I should be able to ask my questions and get answers without a filter. The worst part is that I know he’s right: abstinence is the only way to be absolutely sure of preventing HIV acquisition. I’ve had that pounded into my brain ever since I turned thirteen. By now, it’s like a reflex.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t want sex. Lately, it keeps creeping into the back of my mind. I’m not sitting around, looking for people to have sex with, but I want it. I want to look at someone and love them the way other people are able to.

  I’d like to know more.

  “I know,” I say, playing with the wrinkled edges of my gown. “But I won’t be a virgin forever. And I’d like to have some idea of how protection works for me, since my partner probably won’t.”

  Dad shakes his head, groaning. I turn back to Dr. Walker.

  “I’ve tried to google this stuff,” I say. “But I get different answers each time.”

  I know a lot about HIV—including the U=U rule. If someone’s viral load, the level of HIV in the blood, is undetectable, the virus is untransmittable. In other words, they can’t transmit HIV to someone else. Undetectable = Untransmittable. It doesn’t do much to help me now, though.

  “That makes a lot of sense, Simone,” Dr. Walker says, placing her hands on her knees. “And I want you to know that sex is a real possibility for you when you’re ready, all right? You can speak to your other doctors if you want a second opinion.”

  I nod. I can’t really see myself asking Dr. Khan about sex, though—she’s been seeing me since I was a baby, so she’s practically family at this point.

  “The best time to have sex would be when your viral load has been undetectable for at least six months,” she says, glancing down at my file. “I’m not sure if that’s the case for you. Either way, it’s important that you continue to take your medication every day, at the right times.”

  I press my lips together. Dr. Khan had to switch me to a new medication because I’d developed resistance to the old one. The last time I saw her, the virus was still detectable in my blood.

  “It’s also important to take note of the types of sex and the risks that come along with them. Anal sex has the highest rate of transmitting HIV, while oral sex has the lowest rate.”

  A glance to the side reveals Dad’s face, redder than I’ve ever seen it. He coughs into his elbow, like there’s something caught in his throat. I would tease him, but I don’t want him to think I’m being immature. I want him to know that I’ve already researched this. I never skip my pills and always cover open wounds with Band-Aids. I’m responsible about my illness.

  “Like you said, you’d use condoms, but it’s important to make sure they’re made of latex or polyurethane,” she says, tapping against her folder. “I suppose it could be easier if you’re having relations with an HIV-positive partner, but you should take precautions regardless.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that.” I scratch the back of my head. There’s one person I keep thinking about, someone with dark skin and a nice smile. “But what if my partner doesn’t have HIV? And my viral load is detectable?”

  “Simone—” Dad starts.

  “What?” I ask, raising a brow. “You don’t want me to know? I’ll be eighteen next year, Dad. Like you said, I’m not twelve anymore.”

  HIV medication is weird. Sometimes there are side effects. If you skip it too often, the virus can develop a resistance over time. Maybe this won’t be the last time I have to switch medications and start over. Maybe I’ll have a partner who doesn’t have HIV. Am I banned from having sex with them until
my viral load is undetectable again? Or is there another way?

  Dr. Walker clears her throat, and I turn back to her. She has this gentle look on her face, like she’s speaking to little petting-zoo animals. I’m sure that other patients show up with overprotective dads all the time. She’s probably had a version of this conversation before, just less intense.

  “That would be a sero-diverse relationship,” she says. “There are medications that an HIV-negative person could take in order to prevent transmission; that’s something you should discuss more with an HIV specialist. While I’m glad we’re talking about this, I really want to stress how important it is to disclose your status before anything sexual happens.”

  “I know.” I stare down at my hands. “I’ve heard about that, too.”

  In the state of California, there used to be a law saying I could get thrown in jail for having condomless sex without disclosing. It’s different now; if I’m undetectable and get the other person to wear a condom, I have a defense. It’s just that the law makes things more real. It reminds me that I’m different from everyone else.

  Pops and I make fun of all the weird ways people think the virus can be acquired—kissing cheeks, touching hands, sharing sodas. But having sex with someone is real. Everyone knows that sex puts you at risk for STDs, but I doubt anyone I go to school with is expecting to deal with HIV. Whenever I imagine what it would be like to tell someone I like, the scene ends with them walking out the door.

  “Simone?”

  I blink up at Dr. Walker. She’s giving me a sad smile, like she can tell what I’m thinking. Part of me wants to hug her.