Max finishes typing, and we all pile back in the car. Max asks the driver to stop at the guard gate. He hops out and stuffs a five-dollar bill in the box. His mouth isn’t twisted in its usual smirk, and he meets my eyes only for a second before he looks away.

Most people who don’t have artists for moms don’t know how many browns there are. There is angry brown, mean brown, boring brown, sarcastic brown, gentle brown, funny brown. I used to think his eyes were sarcastic brown, but I was wrong. His eyes are a funny brown, a gentle brown. The kind horses have. The kind you can trust.

I’d rather think about Max’s eyes than the very real possibility that Gram is not only a liar and a spy, but also someone else I’ve never really known. What do I do if that’s true? Do I help her remember something that should stay forgotten?

15. Snap, Crackle, Pop

Synapses are just what they sound like—sizzle and snap. Snap, crackle, pop goes the brain. If the nerve signals are like electricity, then the neurons are like wires. Which would make synapses the outlets we plug our lamps into. Without the snap of the synapses, there’s no way for the nerve cells to turn on and talk to one another.

My synapses snap, and an electric current of information hums through me.

“Thanks for helping me,” I say as the car pulls along the curb.

“I’ll text you what I find.” Max twists in his seat so he can look me in the eyes. He almost seems worried about me, but I push that out of my mind. It’s one thing for him to not act like a jerk, but it’s a whole other thing to actually be a friend.

Olivia stays in the car as I climb out. “Call me and tell me everything,” she says, grabbing my hand.

“I thought you were spending the night?” I ask.

“My mom texted and she wants me to come home.” Her smile is wide, but her eyes are shiny. Like she’s trying not to cry.

“Is your mom okay?”

Olivia makes a face. “She’s just being needy. You know how moms are.”

I smile, but something twists in my stomach. I wish my mom needed me like Olivia’s needs her. I want nothing more than to find Gram and hug her tight. I wave as they back out of the driveway, my fingers so numb I can barely feel them.

Gram leans against the kitchen counter with her arms folded across her chest. “It’s dark, Lulu. What’s my rule?”

I walk to her, and she automatically opens her arms to hug me. I bury my face against the silky texture of her blouse. The scent of vanilla and lavender smells like home.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”