The rare gene that allowed a select few to Glitch couldn’t be activated at will. Thank goodness. It lay dormant, hidden inside the very DNA of a Glitcher until it was triggered by a Glitch platform in ways I still didn’t completely understand. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle that step when it came, but I’d have to find a way. If it ever came, I thought ruefully, and I hoped that thought hadn’t shown on my face. The last thing I needed was to give Elliot Mason ammunition, thank you very much.

The Glitch gene was so rare that I wasn’t in danger of getting kicked out of the Academy, especially with my mom being who she was, but that didn’t mean I’d get to be a Glitcher. Only about 20 percent of the Academy students made it that far. The mental strain broke some, and others opted out of the program due to the overwhelming stress and pressure of it all and chose to work on campus in some other role. They weren’t considered failures, just reassignments. You could label it however you wanted to, but if the daughter of the first ever female commander in chief didn’t make it through, I would be a big fat failure.

“Hey,” Elliot said suddenly, the mocking tone gone from his voice. “What’s this?” Turning, I saw him bend down and scoop up a small white envelope off the ground. Deciding to capitalize on his distraction, I hurried down the hall, relieved not to feel his leering presence at my side anymore.

“Hey, Fitz!” Elliot called. “It has your name on it!”

I ignored him and kept walking. This was just one of Elliot’s tricks. He’d get me to walk back there, and then he’d say something stupid, and I’d lose whatever cool I was managing to maintain.

“Hey!” Elliot called again. “I’m serious. It has your name on it!” I heard him jogging to catch up to me, and I quickened my pace. I was almost to the door that would take me out of the simulation building and into the sunshine. Tomorrow he’d ace that test, like he aced every test, and he’d move across campus to start the next phase of the Academy. With any luck, I wouldn’t see his sneering face again until I moved up myself. I was about to put my hand on the wall sensor that would open the door and let me out, but something stopped me.

Someday, I would look back at this moment and wonder what it was that kept me from walking away from Elliot Mason forever. But whatever it was, I stopped, and I turned, arms crossed, to face him. Seeing me turn, Elliot slowed down and walked the last few feet to catch up to me. Without a word, he handed me the envelope. The envelope’s paper felt unusually thick, much better quality than the thin stuff our assignments were usually printed on. I flipped it over and felt my stomach flop sickeningly. He was right. My name was scrawled across the front, but that wasn’t what made me feel ill. It’s that the name was written in my handwriting. I’d recognize it anywhere, the way the loop of my g was always just a tad too large. But I knew I’d never held this envelope before.