This must be Adam.

Ambivalent to the hair flips and improved posture of the other girls, he casually slid into the empty seat next to me, even though the spot next to Lil was available, too.

Deena audibly gasped, and Lil’s stare could have burned a hole in my romper. My chest tightened, but I scrolled through a Network feed on my wrist screen, pretending nothing happened while secretly checking him out in my periphery. A line of salt crust clung to his golden right cheek, and he was wearing board shorts. Maybe he came from the beach?

“Hi Adam,” Lil said, her voice so sweet my teeth ached.

“Hey,” he replied, taking a leather-bound virtual notebook out of a Quiksilver—probably one of his sponsors—backpack.

Australian? I immediately placed the accent, having practiced it as part of my acting studies.

“How were the waves?” she asked.

“Decent. Had to cut it short, though. Couldn’t miss Self-Awareness.” He rolled his eyes.

“No, you couldn’t. It’s the only class we have together.” She was practically purring.

“Good Morning.” A youngish teacher walked in and stood in the center of the room. He wore a ratty T-shirt with a stretched-out collar that showed off the slight slope to his shoulders, and his feet shuffled as he walked. He seemed anything but self-aware.

“A human?” I muttered under my breath.

“Yeah. Intersection keeps a mix of humans and robots on staff. They think it makes us more well-rounded,” Deena whispered back. “It’s really sad. He was a college football player on the fast track to becoming an Influencer, but he got injured and ended up here as a Laborer.”

“We have no secrets in Self-Awareness, Ms. Karman.” The teacher’s voice boomed across the room, shutting Deena up. “Care to share yours?”

Everyone faced me. Under the pressure of eyeballs, heat rose in my cheeks, and I forced a smile.

“I’m Peter.” He crossed the room and came to a stop in front of me with a curt nod. “Those debut numbers were almost too good to be true. Want to explain?”

Sweat trickled down the inside of my arm. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Then you’re in the right place.” His eyes bored into me, and I expected him to demand an answer, but he blessedly changed the subject. “Let me catch you up to speed. Diary entries are due tomorrow. They’re an ongoing assignment. Part of being self-aware is listening to your inner monologue, and you’re required to record your stream of consciousness once a day. If you’re confused as to what an inner monologue is, these are thoughts that your Life Stream would have no knowledge of because they are only in your head.” He tapped his forehead with his middle finger for emphasis.

“I know what stream of consciousness is,” I said, anger flaring in my chest.

“Then you’ve already exceeded my expectations. But don’t think that because you had the highest debut in history you’re above doing the work. We can always work on mastering our thoughts.”