Cover

Dedication

To my mom, for always seeing me

1. Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory (HSAM for Short)

Turning thirteen and becoming an official teenager in two months is weird enough without having my brain go haywire. But I, Lulu Rose Carter, have a memory that won’t shut up.

There are some people who remember everything—or almost everything—about their pasts. It’s called highly superior autobiographical memory, or HSAM. It’s really rare, like fewer than a hundred people in the world have it. It’s not the same as eidetic or photographic memory. A person with HSAM has memories specific to their past. They might forget little things like where they put their phone five minutes ago, but they can remember nearly every day of their past in vibrant detail.

Not everyone develops HSAM the same way. Some develop it slowly with age. Others might have part of it and then all of a sudden—BAM—the full power of it flips on. Anything can act as the trigger—maybe a stressful event, or maybe something happy like falling in love for the first time. It might even be something like getting lost in a mall parking lot.

Only one person in the whole world knows the secret of my memory. I’m just not sure how much longer she’ll remember it. And if she forgets my secret—if she forgets who I am—then who else will know the real me?

My world implodes the week school lets out for the summer. It figures it would happen at the mall. My best friend, Olivia, says anything significant in life usually starts at the mall. She probably didn’t mean the parking lot, though.

Gram, Clay, and I have wandered around for the past hour. The summer heat turns the mall lot into a wasteland of melting asphalt. Sticky globs of tar stretch and snap with each step, and they cling to the soles of my shoes like a giant web. It’s what I get for texting while Gram parked. I wasn’t paying attention, and now we’re lost.

“Lulu, take the baby’s hand.” Gram thrusts Clay’s hand in mine.

“No baby,” Clay shouts.

“I swore it was here,” Gram repeats for the thousandth time. Her hands push against her eyes like if she presses hard enough, she’ll remember. “I parked right here. I know I did.”

The sweat on Clay’s palms makes them as slippery as butter. I tighten my grip and squint at the sea of cars. We may as well be on a different planet.

I pat Gram’s arm softly. “Gram, I think we should go back inside and get something to drink. Clay doesn’t look so good.”