I feel my stomach tighten and twist.

Gramps shrugs. “First I’ve heard of it, Katie.”

“Well, it’s not the first time I’ve told you, but all right,” she mutters, getting frustrated with him. “It’s to help with her focus and attention issues.”

“Mom,” I groan. It bothers me how my moms just freely talk about this whole LD thing like I’m not even here.

“What?” she says. “It’s not a secret, and there’s nothing to feel embarrassed about. Everybody learns differently—tons of students have IEPs, Sadie.”

“I know, but—” But I don’t want to be different. Except I don’t say that. Instead, I change the subject. “Wait, Gramps. What’s the Mondays?”

“You don’t know about the Mondays? Well,” Gramps begins, a smirk suddenly tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The Mondays is a mysterious illness of stomachaches and headaches and coughs and imaginary fevers and bad dreams, and all kinds of other symptoms that your mother used to get when she was around your age. It would come on just when the school week was about to start,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Like clockwork.”

“Okay, Dad,” Mom sighs, sitting down at the table. Then to me, “Sadie, off to bed now. And make sure you brush your teeth again now that you’ve had your midnight snack.”

I slink out of the chair and I say my goodnights, leaving Mom and Gramps in the kitchen.

The next morning when my alarm goes off, I don’t hit snooze, even though I really want to. But that would mean Mom was right about me not getting enough sleep. So I get out of bed and go downstairs in my frog slippers.

Moms are already sitting at the kitchen table, each with their morning cup of coffee. A selection of cereal boxes is on the table, with bowls and milk and toast and orange slices.

“Look who’s up already,” Mama says, and then gives me a wink only I can see.

“Nice surprise,” Mom adds, and she seems much more like herself today. “We were just about to flip a coin to see which one of us was going to try to wake you up.”

I walk over to the door and see that the trail of animal crackers is gone.

“Hey, did you see that dog I was telling you about?” I ask.

“No,” Mama says, looking out the window. “But don’t worry; I’m sure someone will find her.”

“I don’t think anyone’s looking, though,” I say.

“You don’t know that,” Mom says.

“But she didn’t have a collar,” I tell them again. “Besides, I just have a feeling that we’re supposed to be looking for her.”