W hat makes humans different from animals? It wasn’t until recently that scientists studied a part of the brain called the insula. They’d ignored it before, partly because it was tucked so deep inside the brain and partly because they thought it was unimportant. With MRI testing they discovered the insula is where we sense love and hate, gratitude and resentment, trust and distrust, truthfulness and deception. It allows us to show compassion and empathy. It’s a huge part of what makes us human. Sometimes the things we think are unimportant are really the things that matter most.

I need my insula right now. I need to show Olivia all the compassion and understanding I’ve been keeping to myself. What good is my superpower of memory if I treat my best friend like she doesn’t matter?

Olivia answers the door in sweatpants, and I almost don’t recognize her. She hasn’t brushed her hair, and it’s tangled in a knot on one side of her head. Her eyes have dark purple circles. I don’t know this zombie girl standing in front of me with hollow eyes.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Thanks for coming.”

I follow her up the stairs to her room. The house is quiet. Is there such thing as a black hole where all sound disappears? Even our steps are muffled by thick carpet.

“What happened?” I don’t know if I’m asking about her parents or her room. Every piece of clothing Olivia owns covers every inch of space. There is no place to walk. I pick my way carefully, but she steps on her organza party dress as if it’s not even there. I scoop it up and place it carefully on her desk. She may not care now, but she loves this dress.

“They’ve been fighting for a while. I guess they both had enough.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I can’t even imagine.”

Olivia wipes her tears with one of the folded T-shirts next to her. “Yeah, well. I’ve tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. That worked well.”

Her sadness spills out of her. It’s in each piece of colorful clothing. It’s in the overturned garbage can. It’s in her tangled hair. It’s in the pile of shoeboxes stacked like Legos in her closet.

When I hug her, she leans her head against my shoulder. “So, what did Max say?”

I sit back and stare at her. “Nothing really. Just that your parents were, you know, fighting.”

“What did he say about your grandmother?” she clarifies, her cheeks turning pink.

“Oh!” I laugh nervously. “Sorry, I thought…”

“I read your texts,” she says. “You said he wanted to show you something?”

“Yeah.” I widen my eyes and hand over the folder. “This.”

She opens it and stares at the blacked-out pages with a frown. “What the heck?”