Comes the Night by Norah Wilson, Heather Doherty Page B

telling my mother.”
    “What?” He squawked. “HP what?”
    “HPV. Human Papillomavirus. Did you know that condoms don’t necessarily prevent transmission? I mean, if condoms worked, I wouldn’t have it, right?” She spread her hands and gave a what’s-a-girl-gonna-do shrug.
    “You lying bitch!” Seth roared. “I don’t have HP... whatever you said.”
    The girl beside him shrank away. She didn’t exactly shrug out from under his arm, but close enough.
    He snatched his arm away and fisted his hands. “Melissa, I swear she’s lying. I don’t have anything.”
    “Oh, you wouldn’t necessarily know,” Brooke said, the soul of understanding. “It doesn’t always manifest with nasty warts or anything. I mean, you could be a carrier and not even know it. I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for that pap test the other day. You should get checked, too.”
    He leapt off the picnic table. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”
    “Okay. Suit yourself. But I think you should know that certain strains of HPV can cause cancer.”
    A pause. “Cancer?”
    “Yeah. You know,” she said in a stage whisper as she pointed south, “down there . Cervical cancer in women, penile cancer in men.”
    Seth made a strangled sound.
    “Hey, don’t sweat it. Chances are your immune system will clear it in a few months. Or years. Of course, if it is the cancer-causing kind, I wouldn’t recommend the wait-and-see approach.” She turned to the others apologetically. “Sorry you had to witness this.” She turned back to Seth. “See you around.”
    With that, she walked away.
    Anger and betrayal still churned in her gut, but at least she had the satisfaction of hearing a tearful Melissa going off on Seth about trying to get her in bed while he had an HPV infection. With the sweet music of hysterical accusations and gruff denials echoing in her ears, Brooke was practically smiling when she hit the sidewalk.
    Well, her teeth were bared, anyway.
    She had a sudden vision—a half bottle of Tanqueray tucked down one of her high leather boots in the wardrobe back at Harvell. She’d stolen it from her mother’s bar, though Lord knew why. She hated gin. It tasted like a freaking pine tree. But it would do. She picked up the pace.
    She was practically jogging when she heard the disturbance. She was tempted to ignore it and keep going, except it occurred to her it might be Seth coming after her. She didn’t imagine he’d have anything good to say, but she’d be damned if she’d run from him. But when she stopped and wheeled, she knew instantly the sounds were coming from the wrong direction. She also recognized one of the voices—Maryanne Hemlock’s. And Maryanne wasn’t in a good way. From the sounds of things, she was about to take a roughing up from some of the locals.
    Brooke stood there, weighing her choices. Stay or go?
    Back at Harvell, a half quart of gin waited. Though she didn’t have anything suitable to mix it with... And on the other side of those bushes, stood the chance to vent some of this fury that was eating at her insides.
    Of course, if she did that, Maryanne would read more into it. Like, for instance, that Brooke gave a crap about her. Not that she dis liked Maryanne. But she didn’t especially like her, either. Hell, she barely knew her. Of course, she didn’t like very many people she did know, and trusted even fewer.
    “Oww! Stop it! That hurt!” That from Maryanne.
    Hoots of laughter. “It was meant to hurt, loser.”
    “Yeah, loser,” another female voice chimed in. “Outcast. Freak! Reject !”
    “Even your own family doesn’t want you,” the first voice said. “That’s why they sent you here.”
    “Shut up about my family!”
    Brooke had heard enough. With those words resonating in her head— outcast, freak, reject —she rounded the tall hedge that separated the sidewalk from the convenience store parking lot. Maryanne stood there surrounded by three girls. She clutched her