You Should See Me in a Crown(62)

I nod into his shoulder. He keeps telling the story anyway.

“You leapt into action so quick—sent Abriona McEntire to get Dr. Lamont, told Junior to get the first aid kit, and scooped me up like I weighed nothing, all in one breath.” He leans his head against mine. I can hear his smile, even if I can’t see it. “And you used to do that for everybody. Got Carlisse Fenton to stop bullying Rodrick for his lisp, practically gave Jamel stitches that one time he fell out of the swing … You always took care of everybody.”

I suddenly feel like crying. I swallow down the lump that’s formed in my throat and shake my head. I look at Ro and realize for the first time that he’s still in his pajamas.

“Wait,” I start. “What’s going on? Are you not going to school today?”

“I’m sorry, sis. I have to tune into the livestream.” He shrugs but forces a smile.

I put both my hands on his shoulders and examine him, even though I know what’s going on is completely internal. Sickle cell, more often than not, isn’t something that you can see by looking at someone. “Robbie, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? Why aren’t you in bed? How long has this been going on?”

I don’t know how I didn’t recognize the glassy tint to his eyes. I can tell the moment he notices me noticing, but he stops me before I can comment on it.

“Chill, chill.” He holds his hands out in front of me in the universal “take it easy” position. “I’m fine. On a scale of one to ten, I’m barely even a six. I just don’t want it to get any worse, all right? So I’m— What is that thing Stone says? I’m trusting my body.”

“Trusting your body or not, you should have told me.” I cross my arms and look him up and down. “Have you taken your medicine today? Are you drinking as much water as you’re supposed to? Make sure Gran has Dr. Fredrickson on standby just in case, because even though you don’t think it’s bad, it could always get worse. And— Never mind. You know what? I’ll just stay home today, how about that? We can watch The Price Is Right reruns and—”

“Liz. This is exactly what I was saying. You need to focus on you today.” Robbie closes his eyes and takes a quick breath. “You’ve got a lot to worry about right now, and I shouldn’t be one of those things. I’m just a little under the weather.”

Under the weather. An inherited blood disease like sickle cell is always more than just being “under the weather.” It’s not like Robbie is dealing with a common cold because he forgot to wear a scarf. His body is turning against him. And the difference between those two things is always as serious as life and death to me.

“Robert James.” I put my hands on my hips.

“Elizabeth Audre.” He stares me down, eyebrows raised in challenge.

I break first. “Okay, fine. But please get back in bed. And call me if there’s a problem.”

“Did you know stress can give you heart disease? Do you want to have heart disease before your eighteenth birthday?” He puts his hands on his hips, mirroring me, and urges me toward the front door.

Robbie’s right. I have to do this.

I pull open the door and look back at him one last time. He has that exasperated expression he used to get when he was a kid and I was babying him, but underneath it I can see there’s also an unending tenderness. I know because I recognize that same sensation within myself every time I look at him.

“I love you, Nugget.” I throw my arms around his neck quickly before backing out the door.

He smiles, a little wobbly.

“I love you too, big sis. Knock ’em dead today.”



I show up outside the gym at the last possible second, wearing the requisite Campbell red and white. The rest of the group has already gathered, but I don’t even take the time to look around. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to say anything to anybody. I just want to get all this over with.

“Lighty!” Jordan rushes up to me when he sees me. I glance over his shoulder and see a worried-looking Quinn flashing a sympathetic look in my direction. I feel like a wounded animal. “I was worried about you, man. You haven’t been picking up your phone.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Everyone, everyone! Prenez vos places!” Madame Simoné claps her hands together to quiet the group. We’re supposed to go after the girls’ show choir, which is currently performing a rousing jazz square–laden performance of some pop song that I don’t know the words to.

“We can talk about it later.” Jordan puts his arm around my shoulders quickly in a half hug. “Or not. Whatever you want.”

I’m grateful for him giving me the option of distance, because right now the second-to-last thing I want to do is talk about being outed in front of the whole school. Second only to going out in front of a gym full of people who don’t know whether to hate me or feel sorry for me and dancing to some song no one has listened to since the Middle Ages. I honestly just wish I was back home with Robbie.

“Il est temps, les étudiants! Break a leg!”

She looks so proud as we jog through the doors and get in formation, but that does nothing to quell my fear of performing in front of a large audience of my peers. It’s not like band, where I can blend, my one instrument becoming a part of something bigger and beautiful. This is a different beast. I’m in the front row, next to Jordan Jennings, wearing my school colors, and I feel like every eye in the huge space is trained directly on me.