Grandpa didn’t recognize me today.

Archie Reese tried to say the words, but they wouldn’t come out.

He poked at his breakfast while Mom bustled around the kitchen. He tried thinking about his eggs and toast, or the way Mom talked to herself while she made his lunch. The academy served great lunches, but they were expensive. For him, anyway.

Thinking about food didn’t work, so he tried focusing on the school day ahead. But his brain kept returning to what had happened thirty minutes ago, and to similar incidents from the past few months. Moments Archie had dismissed at the time because they had only seemed like random incidents.

This morning had been different. This morning had felt like what his seventh-grade health teacher described in class last year. There had been a week when they talked about—

“Alley-oop!”

A slice of cheese flew across the kitchen. With an audible slap, it landed next to an open ham sandwich. Mom pumped her fist.

“Yes! Two points.”

Despite his mood, Archie laughed. “You missed.”

“But I got close. That’s worth partial credit.”

“Oh, right,” Archie said. “I forgot about the almost points they give you in basketball.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve actually watched a game,” Mom teased. “The world may crumble.”

“I’ve read Kwame Alexander’s books. That’s close enough.”

Mom chuckled. She was in a good mood today. No, more than just good. She was acting silly, which meant she was extra happy. Archie always noticed when that happened; for one thing, it tended to be a good time to ask for favors.

He wondered where it was coming from today. She liked her job as a dental hygienist, but she went every day, so that probably wasn’t the reason. Maybe she had a date tonight and had forgotten to tell him.

Archie tried to channel some of Mom’s positive energy. Today would be a good day, even if it had started . . . oddly. He reached toward a stack of books on the table and carefully extricated a sci-fi novel from the middle; he’d been wanting to read it for weeks but had forgotten which stack it was in.

He and Grandpa kept books all over the house. Last year, they’d spent months one-upping each other by finding increasingly random places to hide books within easy reach. Archie had thought he’d won by hiding a copy of White Fang in the freezer between two steaks. Then Grandpa had taken the prize by wrapping The Sea Wolf in plastic and taping it under the toilet tank lid.

The memory made Archie smile. Until it crashed against the memory of this morning and shattered.

You have to say it.

Shoving the thought away, he opened the book and leapt into the first chapter, where a lone ship was marooned in deep space. The story gripped him just like he’d hoped it would, until—

“Do you think you’ll have time to split some wood after school?” Mom asked. “I’d like to get the woodpile built up a little more before it starts getting cold.”

His concentration crumbled. He stifled a sigh. “Oh, um, sure.”

“Great. Oh, and I was thinking that when Grandpa’s with his crew on Wednesday night, you could come by the office after school and then we could pick up dinner on the way home.”

“Yeah, cool. As long as Zahira won’t mind me doing homework in the waiting room.”

“Are you kidding? You’ll be someone new to talk to. She’ll probably pull up a chair for you at the reception desk.”

Mom turned away, and he dove into the book again. But this time the world on the page didn’t come to life for him, and the characters didn’t act out the scene in his mind like a movie. His bubble of fantasy kept bursting as the memory grew more insistent, refusing to be put aside.

Archie and Grandpa had their morning routine. The same conversation, to get the day started right. Until now, Archie never realized how much he needed it.

“Morning, Grandpa,” he would say.

“Morning, Fletch. Ready for battle?” Grandpa would respond every time. Fletch was his nickname for Archie, though he would never explain why.

“Always,” Archie would reply.

“Good! Then suit up.”

That was how it should have happened. That was how it always happened.

Until today.

Instead . . .

Half an hour earlier, Archie had mumbled his usual groggy “Morning,” as he passed Grandpa’s door.

As usual, the door was open. Raymond Reese got up at impossibly early hours and had long since started his day, while Archie still shambled around like a zombie. He slowed his steps, waiting for Grandpa’s reply.

Except the reply didn’t come. Archie paused in his grandfather’s doorway.

Raymond Reese sat in his recliner, scanning the newspaper. He wore neatly pressed slacks and a button-up shirt with freshly polished shoes. Even for someone as put together as Grandpa, that was unusual.

“Um . . . Grandpa?”

Grandpa looked up, lowering the newspaper, and gave Archie a friendly smile. But it was the smile he gave to strangers.

“Morning, sir,” Grandpa said. “Are you the manager? I’d like to check out today, so you can send them to clean the room. That work for you?”

It wasn’t a joke. Grandpa’s eyes always twinkled when he joked. This was real to him.

For a long moment, Archie could only stare at his grandfather, feeling completely lost. Should he explain who he was, and where they were, until the light returned to Grandpa’s eyes?

“Um . . .” Archie began.

Then he turned and fled. Hiding in the bathroom, he took a long, scalding shower and tried to put the exchange out of his mind. Maybe he’d dreamed it. Sometimes dreams didn’t fade when you woke up.

He felt a little better after that. But then, as he was walking back to his room—

“Morning, Fletch. Ready for battle?”

Archie stopped short. Slowly he turned to look into Grandpa’s room.

The gaze that met his was no longer empty. Somehow his grandfather was Raymond Reese again. It was clear on his face—he knew who Archie was and where they were.

He didn’t remember that they’d already spoken.

Archie’s insides were cold. He couldn’t deny the memory any longer. Couldn’t ignore the symptoms the teacher had talked about in health class. Felicity Gordon had even talked about her grandmother having it.

The disease that attacked your mind and stole your memories. Then it stole your personality, your talents and skills, and your ability to function in the world, until there was nothing left but a shell that looked like you.

“Mom,” Archie tried to say, but it stuck in his throat.

“Touchdown,” Mom said, laughing to herself as she tossed chips into his sandwich bag.

Other memories hit Archie from all sides—ones that hadn’t seemed important until now. Just random moments by themselves. His whole family had pretended they didn’t mean anything.

Grandpa misplacing his phone, then finding it inside the shoe he was wearing. Forgetting where they lived and driving to the fire station, where he’d worked for so many years before retiring. Forgetting Grandma’s name until he looked at old pictures of them together.

Mom did need to know. Archie felt that urgently now, as all the little moments clicked together into one big picture.

“Mom,” he said.

“Dad, your eggs are getting cold!” she called, not hearing him. “Are you coming down?”

Archie pushed past the fear and put as much power into his voice as he could.

“MOM!”

She flinched in surprise. “Yeah?”

He couldn’t stop now. Holding his mother’s gaze, Archie took a deep breath and made himself say it.