“Read the first three chapters and then we can quiz each other,” he said, his eyes never leaving the page. Feeling resigned, I opened it up. The words in the book were tiny, and they marched across the page like overly industrious ants. Firsthand accounts of history were the bread and butter of the Glitching world, and I was lucky this one wasn’t in someone’s scrawling handwriting or in a crusty old journal that smelled like mouse poop. Still, I stared at those little ant words uncomprehendingly for a while before shutting the book and grabbing the tablet perched on the table beside me. A quick search in the database pulled up the exact same book, and I tabbed through to the first page, making sure the words were enlarged as much as possible. Elliot, meanwhile, flipped through page after page of the firsthand account, ignoring me completely. I tried to read again and made some progress this time. Slow progress, but progress all the same. The words tried to jumble themselves up and reorder themselves, but I willed them back into place and read on. The firsthand account was a good one, and I was just getting into it when Elliot tapped me on the shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

“For what?” I asked, blinking at him as I resurfaced from the sailor’s story.

“To quiz,” he said, and I saw that the other partner pairs were doing just that. What were they? Reading ninjas?

“I’m not ready yet,” I said. My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing like an idiot.

“Why?” Elliot asked, all impatience and judgmental furrowed eyebrows. He could just put those eyebrows away, I thought grouchily as I looked back down at my screen. I was on page five. That was it. He stared holes into my head while I studiously ignored him, but he finally got the picture and went back to his own book with a sigh. A lifetime later I set the tablet down and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m ready,” I said.

“Were you reading the book or writing a book?” he grumbled, but before I could say something back, he pulled out a notebook and started asking questions rapid fire.

“What was the exact time the first plane was spotted?” he said, looking up expectantly.

“In the morning,” I replied.

“Exact time,” he said.

“Early morning,” I said.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, setting down the notebook.

“Serious as the grave,” I said. “Fine, Mr. Know-it-All, what time was it?”

“Seven fifty-five a.m.,” he said flatly.