“Yeah, that would hurt.” I adjust the webcam that’s hooked onto the monitor so that it’s pointing at me. When my image appears on screen, I take a second to fix my hair and then flash my corniest smile.

“Nice,” John says, still watching.

“What can I say? I’m photogenic.”

“I always wondered why picture day at Paradise High was called Sam Goode Appreciation Day.”

“And now you know.”

I drag and drop the picture into one of the programs Sandor installed and it immediately gets to work resizing my pic for a new driver’s license. “So,” I begin lamely, not having a better segue prepared. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on with you and Six now that Sarah’s, uh, not a traitor?”

John laughs. “We actually talked about it on the way to Arkansas. I think we’re cool now. It was kinda awkward for a while. I’m with Sarah, though. One hundred percent.”

“Okay, cool,” I reply, keeping things nonchalant. Although that doesn’t stop John from elbowing me.

“She’s all yours,” he says, and my face gets hot right away.

“That’s not why I was asking.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” John says, picking up a loose bolt from the desk and tossing it at me. “You’re gonna act like you forgot about what happened before she went to Spain? Her saying she like-likes you? Her kissing you?”

I shrug, flicking the bolt back in John’s direction. “Hmm, that sounds familiar, but it wasn’t on my mind at all.” Even as I say this, I think back to that hug Six gave me when we were reunited in Arkansas. My face gets even hotter.

Luckily, before John can mess with me further, my dad enters. He smiles at us as he wipes his greasy hands off on an old rag. He looks worn down from working on the machinery in the Lecture Hall, but there’s a pleased smile on his face. Digging into some Loric-built technology sure beats wasting away in a Mogadorian prison.

“How’d it go?” I ask him.

“The human mind is an amazing thing, Sam,” my dad muses. “When you have gaps in your memory like I do, you come to better appreciate the things you do remember. The way your hands just repeat a task you’ve done enough times, without even needing to think. Who needs Legacies when we have the infinite power of the human mind at our disposal, eh?”

“I wouldn’t mind some Legacies, actually,” I say, glancing over at John. “Sorry, he can get philosophical about science-y stuff.”

“I don’t mind at all,” John says, his smile wistful as he looks between me and my dad.