April sat on the couch, stared at the floor, all but ignoring Maureen as she hurried about the loft searching for her one lost shoe so that she could leave for the night. At last, Maureen located the shoe and flopped down on the couch beside April to put it on.

"Do you want to come with me?" Maureen asked. The boys were all out tonight, doing something or other– sometimes it was best not to ask– and of course Maureen found it impossible to stay in the house. And April knew she hated to go anywhere alone, but...

"No," she said softly. "I– I think I'd better stay home tonight." She turned her hands palm up, arms extended on her lap, and stared at the blue veins underneath her skin, scarred in places with track marks. How could the doctors be right? She didn't feel sick, she'd always been careful with her needles, so what...?

Maureen sighed, and April glanced up. Maureen had that disapproving look, the helpless one that meant she thought April was considering a hit. "What's wrong?"

Answers rose to April's lips, explanations about the blood test and the results of it and the word she was afraid to say even to herself: AIDS. Her best friend, her roommate since before the two of them had moved into the loft, Maureen should know this. Instead, April shook her head and looked at the floor again. "Nothing," she whispered, hating the lie.