“Nailed it again,” Mr. Gertner said. “Nice job, Archie.”

Archie grinned as the teacher handed back his paper. Most people groaned at essay tests, but he loved them. On-the-spot writing challenges were his Super Bowl.

Two weeks had passed since the diagnosis, and Archie hadn’t realized how badly he needed a victory until he saw the big 105 at the top of his test. Reading and writing had been the only way to escape, even for a little while.

Zig got a B-minus. He looked at Archie with a smile and shrugged. “Good enough,” he whispered.

Zig never stressed about tests—probably because he already knew his future. He would help run his family’s restaurant empire once he graduated. It must be nice to have life figured out so early.

Archie stole a glance at Desta. She didn’t look overjoyed, which probably meant her grade was similar to Zig’s. Everyone knew her parents were laser-focused on academics. Archie suspected that they’d had high expectations for her since she was born—or maybe even before that, when the family had immigrated here from Ethiopia. They didn’t take any test score lightly.

While the students looked over their results, Mr. Gertner stood by the whiteboard with his yardstick. Slicing it through the air, he made snap-hiss-zhoom sounds to mimic a lightsaber. A nerdy teacher, which meant he and Archie got along well.

“Man, this is ridiculous,” Spencer Harrington said, pushing away his test. “Mr. G, why don’t you just let us do multiple choice?”

The teacher kept slicing. “Life isn’t always multiple choice, Spencer. In the real world, you’ll need to know your stuff—sometimes at a moment’s notice. If you don’t know it, you’ll need to fake it really well. You won’t always get hints.”

“Ugh.” Spencer tapped Desta’s arm. “So annoying, right?”

Archie tried not to bristle. Spencer never missed an opportunity to flirt with her. Desta’s responses were always cryptic, so Archie couldn’t tell whether she liked it or not.

Spencer loved attention, which was convenient since so many kids at school seemed happy to shower him with it. His rich parents were par for the course at Blue Sun, but he stood out for other reasons. He was tall and muscular—which explained why he was captain of the wrestling and baseball teams—with perfect hair and teeth.

Archie looked down at himself. He wasn’t particularly tall or short. He wasn’t the fastest or slowest. He could lose a few pounds, but he kind of liked that he’d inherited Grandpa’s stocky frame. He was actually pretty strong. Taking care of land was a constant and physically demanding job, but the school didn’t have a team for chopping wood.

Aside from that, his talents were all internal and hard to see. Plus, he didn’t like being in front of people.

For someone like Desta Senai, who seemed to achieve anything she set her mind on, what kind of guy would stand out more? Archie wished he knew.

“All right,” Mr. Gertner said. “put those tests away and focus up here, because . . . the time has come!”

Archie sat bolt upright. Expectant whispers exploded across the classroom. Everyone knew what was coming. Eighth graders did it every year, and every year it was wildly different.

“That’s right, folks, the Stone-Katzman Project,” Mr. Gertner said in his fake broadcasting voice, clearly enjoying the drama. “You’ll have the rest of the year to work on your topic. The last week of eighth grade, you’ll all present at the gala . . . and it will be epic!”

People actually cheered, and their excitement wasn’t fake. Everyone at Blue Sun looked forward to this. For the thousandth time, Archie reflected on how weird private schools could be.

Every eighth grader had to write an essay and do a presentation on the assigned topic, but the presentation could be pretty much anything, as long as it expressed some kind of “personal truth.” Archie had seen kids do plays, interpretive dances, slam poetry, animation . . . and those were just the previous year. He felt his spirits rise. Finally, something he could dive into headfirst.

“Eighth graders, your assignment for this year’s Stone-Katzman Project is . . .”

With a flourish, Mr. Gertner swung his yardstick and smacked one of the maps rolled up at the top of the whiteboard. The canvas unfurled to reveal not a map, but a banner.

“Reach for the Future!” The teacher smacked his yardstick on every word of the banner as he narrated. “High school is fast approaching. Before you know it, you’ll be the adults running this planet. So, what are you going to be? What will you contribute to the world? Tell us in whatever way is you. You’ll summarize your project in a three-to-five-hundred-word essay, telling us why it really matters to you. Other than that, there are no parameters. Be subtle, be flashy, be whatever you want. Just be true.”

Smiles all around the classroom. A project with no limitations on how they could express themselves. Awesome.

“And this year . . .” Mr. Gertner held up his hand, signaling for quiet. “This year, you’ll submit your essays four weeks before your final project is due. Five standout essays will be chosen, and if yours is one of them, you’ll read it as a speech on project night!”

More excitement. The whole class seemed to be on board with this. Archie doubted that any Blue Sun students had made it this far without getting used to public speaking—the school made it part of the curriculum. And plenty of them would relish a little competition.

Staring at the banner, though, Archie found his enthusiasm dragged down by anxiety. Because unlike his classmates, apparently, he had no idea what he wanted to be.

“Dude,” Zig said, “we’re going to ace this project. It’s in the bag.”

Archie gave a noncommittal shrug and opened his locker. “Hope so.”

“It’s perfect,” Zig continued, opening his own locker. “I hope they’re cool with open flames, because I’m gonna cook something ridonkulous! Seriously, your taste buds will explode.”

Archie laughed. “That should be your project title.”

“Hey, all great food should be a little dangerous. What about you? You don’t talk much about what you want to do.”

“Because I’m already a secret agent. They recruited me last year, I just can’t talk about it.” Archie narrowed his eyes at Zig. “And they’ll know if you tell anyone.”

Zig laughed. “I dare you to stand there in a suit and sunglasses, with just a bunch of blank posters behind you. When people ask about your project, put a finger to your ear and say move along, sir.”

“I’d get points for originality.” Archie sobered. “Truth is, I’ve got no clue. So I’ll need to make something up, or have some kind of dramatic realization in the next six months.”

“Go for the realization thing. People love drama,” Zig said. “We’ll need to join a project group soon, but maybe we can get a head start tonight. Want to come over?”

“My mom’s got a date tonight, so I’m supposed to hold down the fort while she’s gone.” Archie didn’t add that holding down the fort really meant watching Grandpa in case he got confused. He still looked after himself for basic stuff, but a wave of disorientation could come out of nowhere at any time. So Mom didn’t like him being left alone. “You can come to my place if you want.”

Zig’s grin faltered. “Oh, um . . . yeah, maybe. Let me check with my folks.”

While Archie stuffed books into his bag, Zig pulled out his phone. His thumbs were a blur on the screen. He looked up just as Archie zipped his bag shut.

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll just ride home with you.”

Zig moved to slip his phone back into his pocket, and that’s when Archie saw it. His friend had forgotten to lock the screen, giving Archie a glimpse of what he’d typed.

His insides turned upside down. “Come on, man. Really?”

“What?” Zig followed Archie’s eyes to his phone screen. He winced. “Oh, no. Hey, bro, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You just searched is Alzheimer’s contagious,” Archie snapped, heat building in his chest. “If you don’t want to come over, just say it.”

“That’s not it! I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know how to ask without seeming like a jerk.”

Archie hated his next words before he said them. “Well, you seem like a jerk anyway, so problem solved.” He slammed his locker shut. “If you’re so worried, don’t come over.”

“No, I want to—”

“I said don’t.”

Archie walked off before Zig could respond.

“That smells like heaven,” Grandpa said, leaning over the sizzling pan. “What is it?”

“Your favorite,” Mom said as she stirred. “Onions, potatoes, local farm sausage.”

“It’s my favorite?” Grandpa grinned. “I can see why. Can’t wait to try it.”

Leaning against the far counter, Archie watched the exchange. He saw as Mom looked up at Grandpa with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“It’s not quite ready, Dad. Why don’t you go sit?”

“You’re a good daughter,” Grandpa said. “I should have had more.”

Mom’s stirring slowed. “Dad, you have three daughters.”

Grandpa leaned back in surprise. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

He laughed and gave her a hug. “Well, isn’t that great news!”

As Grandpa left the kitchen, Mom’s shoulders sagged. Archie watched her cook, feeling unequal to the job of trying to say something comforting.

“So,” he said. “Not a great memory day, huh?”

He winced. That had been the exact opposite of comforting. It was true, though. There were still plenty of days when Grandpa was Grandpa. Then, without warning, there were days like this.

Mom shrugged. Then she surprised him by laughing a little. “Not his best, that’s for sure.”

Archie moved to her side. “I can take over.”

“Thanks. You’ll need to keep stirring,” she said, handing him the large wooden spoon. “You know how Grandpa likes it.”

“Yeah.”

He took her place and stirred, his mouth watering in anticipation.

Mom’s high heels clicked as she walked to the far counter. Holding back freshly styled hair, she poured herself a glass of red wine and took a deep swallow. She always got nervous before dates, and this stuff with Grandpa wasn’t helping.

“Where’s John taking you?”

“Not John.”

“Kyle?”

“Nope.”

Puzzled, Archie peered at her over his shoulder. “Who, then?”

She sipped at the wine again before answering. “His name’s Hal.”

“I haven’t met this one?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Huh.” Archie turned back to the pan, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been going on, like, way more dates this month,” he said. “Did you find a new spawn point or something?”

“A what?”

“Sorry, video game reference. Did you find some new place with new guys?”

He could hear the suppressed sigh in Mom’s voice. “Just the usual places, Archie.”

Great. Now this was a thing. He didn’t care if she dated, and she knew that. But recently new guys were appearing at a notably higher rate than usual. It was odd, that was all.

“I’m not judging,” he said. “Just curious. Everything okay?”

He watched over his shoulder as Mom stared at the floor, started to speak, then finished her wine instead. She set the glass down with a clink.

“Just look after Grandpa until he goes to bed, okay?” she said. With more clicking heels, she moved toward the living room and the front door.

“Mom, is Alzheimer’s contagious?” Archie blurted. Then he gasped, mortified.

Mom whipped around, aiming a hard look at him. “Excuse me?”

“Well, um . . .” Archie swallowed hard. “I—I guess I’ve just been wondering.”

Ever since Zig had asked—and he had reacted so badly—the question had been worming its way through his mind. Until it fell right out of his mouth.

Mom’s hard expression wavered. Just a quiver of her bottom lip. A glistening of her eyes. Archie saw the truth then. She wasn’t mad—she was struggling not to cry.

“No, it’s not,” she said, her voice tightly controlled.

With that, she spun around and went down the hall. He heard footsteps on the stairs. Then her bedroom door closed.

Archie tried to focus on finishing dinner and not on feeling like a complete jerk. Of all things to say without thinking, why did he have to say that?

Mom came downstairs twenty minutes later. Her makeup had been retouched, but he could see the redness around her eyes. She’d been crying. Because of him.

Before he could even apologize, she said a quick goodbye and left. Archie spent the evening playing checkers with Grandpa, answering the same questions Grandpa had asked that morning, feeling like the biggest jerk ever to walk the earth.