Fade to Black by Alex Flinn Read Free Book Online Page A

blood products.” She replaces the second barrette.
    “In case I started spontaneously bleeding at school or something?”
    “I think it was more in case you got hurt.” She gazes at my face, and I think with a twinge that I have, in fact, gotten hurt. That under the bandages are all the contaminated blood products everyone’s so worried about. “They didn’t do it to be mean.”
    “I know. No one does anything to be mean.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I think some people are mean, just not everyone.”
    My parents wanted to sue the school for having that assembly, but I told them no. I told them I wouldn’t go to school if they sued. Everyone knew already. It’s not like they could make the school un -tell people by suing. I’m already the kid with HIV. If I sued, I’d be the kid with HIV who’s suing everyone. I wish I could just be Alex.
    “I used to play baseball,” I say.
    “What?”
    “In Miami. I used to play baseball. I was a great hitter. I wanted to be the next Sammy Sosa. Do you know who that is?”
    “The guy who was trying for the home run record a while back, right? The guy who got in trouble for the corked bat.”
    “Right.” I ignore the corked bat comment, which is still a sore point with me. “He got so screwed when you think of it. Roger Maris had that record—sixty-one homers—for thirty-seven years. Sosa got sixty-six that season. He’s an excellent hitter. If he’d done it the season before, he’d have made the record books, at least for the year. Everyone would know about his record. He’d have been immortal.” I stop, thinking about the word. Immortal . “But Mark McGuire had to come along the same season and do just a little better. Seventy runs.”
    “I remember,” Jennifer says. “Chicago, right? I remember thinking that wasn’t fair.”
    “Depends how you look at it. Sosa’s great. McGuire’s just better. Anyway, Sosa was my hero. I wanted to grow up and be like him, and like I said, I was a good player. And when I got diagnosed, the doctor said it was fine if I kept playing as long as I felt okay. Baseball’s not a contact sport, so there was really no risk to anyone. And there’s no reason to think I couldn’t do anything I want.”
    “That’s great.”
    “Yeah. Except people found out. Then a bunch of players quit the team. No explanation given. They found other players, but then a couple of teams forfeited games against us because they didn’t have enough players show up. We were having a winning season, but we’d only played about half the games. I didn’t want to ruin it for everyone else, so I quit.”
    “You copped out.”
    “Were you listening to the same story I just told?”
    “Yeah. I’d have stayed on the team.”
    I laugh. “Yeah, right. You think you would have.”
    “No, really. I don’t think anyone should keep you from doing what you want.”
    “Yeah. Everyone thinks they’d do something different. But after a while, you get tired of being a test case.” I want to slap myself for the way I’m sounding. “Never mind. I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand. You were nice to come visit. Tell me about you. Tell me about your plans for med school.”
    “That’s really condescending.”
    “What is?”
    “Being all sanctimonious—assuming I couldn’t possibly understand. Actually, I think I do understand.”
    “You HIV-positive?”
    “No. But while you were in Miami, ditching the baseball team, I was in Crystal Springs, getting drummed out of the ballet recital because everyone in town knew that my father was screwing his law partner.”
    “Ouch. What happened?” She looks pained, and I add, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
    “No. Since it’s you.”
    “Yeah, since it’s me.”
    Which she ignores. “My father was a commissioner in the little town where I grew up. He planned to run for state senate. He and Mom were never, like, a perfect couple. But I thought they were okay, you know?” She walks to the