“He wasn’t sleepwalking. He couldn’t remember which apartment was his. Mom says he can’t live alone anymore.” He pulls down the boxes of cereal from the pantry, and I sit at the table. “I think he might have to go to a—” But he stops talking.

“To a what?” I ask when he doesn’t finish. “Where does he have to go?”

“Never mind. Just don’t tell Moms I told you about Gramps, okay?” he says, a little bit nicer—more like the way he used to talk to me—even if there is something he’s not telling me. “They want to explain it all to you later.”

Noah takes his bowl of cereal into the living room and turns on the TV.

Suddenly, the air in the kitchen feels strange and sticky and weird. Not at all like what a Sunday is supposed to feel like. I spoon my lumpy, soggy cereal to my mouth, but I’m not hungry anymore.

Chapter 2

BIFFLES AND PUZZLES

I go to my room and open my laptop to send Jude a message.

ME: jude, r u around? can u video chat w/me?

ME: it’s a v strange day. just found out there might be something wrong with gramps. noah wouldn’t tell me much. but moms left early this morning (before french toast even) to see gramps. im kinda freaking out . . .

I wait for a response.

ME: i need a distraction. how was ur week? how’d ur science fair volcano turn out? please send picture and/or video unless it blew up the camera

Nothing.

ME: i hope the kids at ur school are getting nicer.

ME: the ones here r not.

ME: oh, and give me an update on CODE NAME: WINTER BREAK? any progress??

Ever since Jude and I became friends in second grade, we’ve always had some sort of new mission we’re working on. Usually they are secret missions that only the two of us know about, and they all start with “Code Name.” Our current mission is to get our parents to let Jude come stay with me for a whole week over winter break.

ME: i really wish you were here right now. i need my biffle ☺

Biffle means “BFFL,” which means “best friend for life,” which is exactly what Jude and I are. We like spelling it out because it’s a silly word, like sniffle or whiffle.

Jude must be busy. Maybe her family is starting their own Sunday-morning tradition. I lean back in my chair and look out my bedroom window, trying to ignore the cannonball of disappointment settling in my stomach. I really need Jude right now.