Mrs. Whitney had started walking up and down the rows of desks, handing out graded tests from last week. Eli turned the pages in his book back to where it should be, took a note from something written on the board, tried to look engaged.

“The grades don’t miraculously change themselves,” Whitney said, as she slid the paper onto Eli’s desk.

But what if they could?

If the device could hack the school app, could it also hack the grading system? Because that might come in really handy. He added that question to his list.

When Whitney was back at the front of the class, Eli flipped back to his sketch and stared at the cube. He started to color it in methodically, shading it with his pencil.

Unhappy with the results, he started to draw another one, then wondered: Are there more of them? If so, how many? Putting down his pencil, he went seat by seat, studying his classmates for clues that maybe they, too, were hiding something. Was there a hidden army of devices right under his nose, all over school?

He surveyed everyone in his line of sight, from head to toe. Though he wasn’t sure what possible clues there would even be. Was he giving off any? Acting strangely? More strangely than usual?

He stopped when he got to Christos Anastapoulous.

Specifically, Christos’s sneakers.

That yellow splatter was an unmistakable color—like, no doubt about it. If Crayola named it, they’d call it “Egg Yolk.”

Ilanka

ILANKA

She went about her day, keeping her backpack with her and making sure to open the bag and take the device out between each class, either in a bathroom or in some solitary corner of the building. But keeping it secret was boring.

All morning the temptation to tell someone—Svetlana, especially—was like an itch. Then Svetlana sat down at their usual table at lunch and said, “What’s up with you today?”

So she suspected something? “Nothing, why?”

“You’re acting funny,” Svetlana said.

Ilanka snorted. “No, I’m not.”

“Why are you bringing your backpack everywhere?”

“Didn’t have time to go to my locker.”

A skeptical look but also a look of not really caring. “I think I’m coming over to your house this weekend?”

“You are?”

“Brunch or something?”

“Oh, okay,” Ilanka said. “Nobody told me. Or I forgot. That’ll be fun.”

“I guess,” Svetlana said.