“You okay?” I ask.

“Just processing,” he says.

“Can I… give you a hug or something?” I move forward on the bed, and I can see his face more clearly in the muted light flooding in from the window.

“I don’t think I want that right now,” he says, the light touching his bare shoulders. His back hunches, and a hint of sadness touches his eyes.

“Oh.” My stomach sinks.

“I’m sorry, too, though,” he says. “I guess I never considered what it would feel like to grow up as a Jackson. Night, Julian.”

He lies down with his back to me.

“Night,” I say, leaving his room.

I lie awake, blinking in the dark for hours. Things will get better, I tell myself. You apologized. He apologized. His feelings are hurt just like yours are, but it’s going to be okay. Give him time. That was a big blow you hit him with. It’s going to be okay.

Now if I can only get myself to actually believe that.

I must have eventually drifted off to sleep because my alarm jolts me awake just as the sun is coming up. I smell breakfast cooking in the kitchen, and I wander out of my room to see Elijah and Birdie having cups of coffee while just-baked muffins cool on the counter.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Birdie says when she sees me.

Even Elijah turns and offers me a real smile. “Morning,” he says.

The knots in my gut ease, and I smile back. “Hey. I thought I smelled something delicious,” I say, helping myself to a corn muffin and sitting down next to Elijah.

The three of us sit and have breakfast together, Birdie sharing some of Pastor Ernie’s plans for the Main Street Community Center with us. “There will be a childcare center with a huge playground in the empty lot next to the building,” she says. “That’s the eventual plan, anyway. It might take Pastor a little while to raise enough funds for that. Oh, it’s just going to be the jewel of the town when it’s done,” she says.

“I’m so happy for you, Birdie. I’m glad you still get to be a part of it all,” I tell her before going to get ready for school. And I almost mean it.

“Your father would have loved this,” she whispers when she hugs me.

Elijah and I walk to school alone this morning. The Guardettes have started their early morning practices today in preparation for the big homecoming halftime show in three weeks. He still doesn’t talk much, but I don’t feel the same anger radiating off him that I did yesterday.

“Were you listening yesterday when Bucky was telling that story about his pigs?” I laugh, remembering it as Crenshaw comes into view in the morning sun.