I knew Nonny would love her baby more than life itself no matter what, because that was Nonny. And I knew that technically this baby wasn’t any more likely to have Turner syndrome just because I had it. But things could still go wrong. Things could still be hard. I didn’t want something making things harder for baby Cecilia or Nonny. I wanted things to be perfect.

“This baby is this baby,” Nonny said. “Whoever she is. And I’m her mother. That’s all there is to it.”

“And I’m her aunt,” I said.

Nonny smiled and the Mom-furrow relaxed. “Yes. Yes, you are.” Then she made another sick face for a split second, and I remembered.

“Oh wait,” I said. “I’m supposed to be making you feel better this time.”

I ran to Nonny’s bed and carried out her big quilt that smelled like her—like her lavender shampoo—and laid it across her lap.

“I have an idea,” she said. “I was too tired to read to Cecilia today, but how about you read to us?”

I bounced once on the couch. “Oh, I can read you the book we’re reading for school!”

“Which one’s that?”

“Charlotte’s Web.”

“Well, you are some girl,” Nonny said.

So I ran to my room and got my book from my backpack and came back to my seat by Nonny.

When I finished reading the chapter Nonny’s eyes were closed and her chest was rising and falling slowly. In sleep she looked less pained. Whatever it took, I would make sure she stayed that way. Her and baby Cecilia. Safe and happy and perfect. I stuck my feet under her quilt, laid my head on the other side of the couch, and closed my eyes, too.

Master Plan

Here is what else I did in the three days between my appointment with Dr. Prasad and the day Mr. Trent Hickman came to Boulder.

I had Ms. Trepky read over my Cecilia Payne Letter of Awesome one last time. I had the first two sections written and ready to go. Now I just needed to complete the project part and write that part of the letter. Then I’d be set for the grand prize.

I went over my master plan. Some things were easy, like what I wanted to say to Mr. Trent Hickman and studying the map of campus and the building where he would be. I was still scared, but I knew what to do. I had my supplies ready. Some other things weren’t so easy. Campus was only about a fifteen- or twenty-minute bike ride away, which I could manage okay if I was careful and had a big coat, but Mr. Trent Hickman was coming on a Friday—a school day—and right smack dab in the middle of school. I didn’t know how to work my way around that one.

I felt baby Cecilia kick four more times.

I helped my mom make a wedding cake for a client. By helped I mostly mean watched. Mom had all sorts of tricks for doing these fancy designs using only her right hand. It was like watching a painter.