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entire day in a daze, beating myself up, and the sun is setting when I finally decide to go home.
    Sandor is in the living room when I return home, lounging in a leather recliner with some boring-looking book about advanced engineering in his lap.
    “Perfect timing,” he says when I enter, waving his empty martini glass at me.
    He doesn’t notice my slumped shoulders as I cross to the room’s fully equipped bar. I pluck Sandor’s empty glass from his hand using my telekinesis. Then I levitate bottles of gin and vermouth, mixing them through ice. The most difficult part is using my telekinesis to get the olives on the little plastic sword.
    I can mix a cocktail with my mind, but I can’t climb a damn wall.
    When I’m finished, I walk Sandor’s martini over to him and flop down on an adjacent couch. He tastes the drink, smacking his lips.
    “Pretty good,” he says. “So, how was it?”
    “Fine,” I grunt.
    “Just fine? You were there all day.”
    I hesitate before telling him more, but I need to confide in someone, and Sandor has way more experience with the humans—with girls—than I do.
    “I fell off the wall.”
    Sandor chuckles, not looking up from his book. “You? Really?”
    “I wasn’t paying attention. I mean, I guess I got distracted.”
    “You’ll get it next time.” He shrugs.
    “There won’t be a next time.”
    I’m silent, one arm draped across my face. Sandor must realize I’m holding back details because he finally closes his book and leans forward.
    “What happened?” His voice lowers. “Did the iMog detect something?”
    “No.” I pause. “There was a girl.”
    “Ohh,” he says, drawing it out. Even with my face covered I can tell he’s grinning. He rubs his hands together. “Was she pretty?”
    “She was beautiful,” I say, looking away. “I fell because she—I don’t know. She was, like, watching me. . . .”
    “Checking you out. Giving you the eye.”
    “Shut up.”
    “So a beautiful young thing saw you fall and now you’re embarrassed.”
    I have no comeback. When he says it like that, it sounds so juvenile, like something from one of those TV shows where humans in too much makeup mope around and make longing faces at each other. But he’s exactly right.
    Sandor gives my shoulder a squeeze.
    “’Tis but a minor setback, my young ward,” Sandor opines. “I can tell you one thing for certain. You’re not going to impress your lady by moping around here.”
    “Who says I want to impress her?”
    He laughs. “Come on. Who doesn’t want to impress beautiful women? Right now, in her mind, you’re just a guy that bit off more than he could chew. If you don’t go back, though, you become that wimp she saw fall off the wall one time. Do you want that?”
    I don’t even have to think about my answer.
    “I’ll go back tomorrow.”

Chapter Ten
    I’m up early again the next morning, back in the Lecture Hall, dodging projectiles and batting drones out of the air with my pipe-staff even though my mind is at the Windy City Wall. Sandor doesn’t take it easy on me, despite knowing that I want to be conserving my energy for a second chance at impressing that girl.
    “Keep your head in the game!” he shouts at me after a mechanized tentacle trips me up.
    After training, I shower thoroughly, even though I’m just getting ready for another workout. I want to look good. I even run a comb through my tangled thatch of hair. Sandor’s been ragging on me to cut it forever, telling me that I look like a girl, and recommending all kinds of hair products that would give me “maximum hold.” I’ve never paid any attention to his unsolicited style tips.
    Only looking at myself in the steamy bathroom mirror, I wish I’d listened to him. I look like a caveman. But it’s too late to do anything about my hair now. Besides, I figure showing up with a fresh haircut glistening with pomade—whatever that is—would look pretty desperate.
    “Good luck,” says Sandor