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be honest, I was on their side. The robot wasn’t a toy or pet; it was a machine. I kept my mouth shut, though. Poor Donovan had only been in our class about thirty seconds, and we were already jumping all over him.
    It didn’t seem to bother the newcomer. “Okay, no name.” He turned back to the robot. “Sorry, Tin Man.” Oz on the brain, I guess.
    He grabbed hold of one of the forks of the lifting assembly and gave it a hearty handshake. With a snap, it came off in his hand.
    There was nothing lukewarm about the class reaction to that. A babble of outraged accusations filled the lab. Abigail, our team captain, was on her feet barking, “You broke it!”
    Donovan tried to press the broken fork back onto the chain drive. It clattered to the floor.
    â€œAll right! Quiet, everybody!” Oz held his arms up for order. “Donovan didn’t break anything. The component hadn’t been attached properly.” He turned to his newest student. “But it’s not a bad lesson for your first day in the lab.”
    â€œI won’t mess with any more of your—stuff,” Donovan promised, chastened.
    The robotics teacher shook his head. “I want you to mess with stuff. This is a place of tinkering, fiddling, experimentation. But,” he added pointedly, “before you touch, ask somebody.”
    â€œEspecially before you touch Tin Man,” Latrell added feelingly.
    â€œHe’s a delicate piece of equipment,” Abigail pointed out. “And he’s not Tin Man.”
    I was fascinated. Now everybody was referring to this array of nuts and bolts and circuits as he . Was it possible that in not naming our robot, Donovan had just named our robot?
    << Hypothesis: A name changes an “it” to a “he.” >>
    Kevin Amari raised his hand. “Even though he’s not Tin Man, is it okay if we call him Tin Man for short? ‘The robot’ is so impersonal.”
    â€œMaybe because he’s not a person !” By this time, Abigail was gritting through clenched teeth.
    â€œHe’s not actually made of tin,” Noah mused thoughtfully. “But I guess Aluminum Man isn’t appropriate either, since he’s also made of titanium, steel, plastic, various polymers, and silicon computer chips.”
    â€œHow about Metallica?” suggested Latrell.
    â€œThat’s good too,” Donovan approved. “Anything but ‘the robot.’ Poor guy.”
    â€œSquarepants,” Kevin offered. “You know, because he’s so boxy.”
    â€œOh, perfect,” Abigail snarled. “Now all our hard work is named after a cartoon!”
    â€œLet’s live with it for a while,” Oz put in hurriedly. “We don’t have to decide right away.”
    Amazing—in a few minutes we had gone from no name to three. And all because Donovan Curtis had walked into our school.
    I kept an eye on him through homeroom. Except for the mishap with Tin Man—or whatever the name was going to be—I saw no sign of the buffoon Abigail had described. If anything, Donovan was trying to be friendly—not that he was getting very far with our crew. Engaging Noah in conversation isn’t the easiest thing to do under the best of circumstances. But Donovan was asking him for advice on what to expect in some of his classes.
    â€œWell,” Noah replied thoughtfully, “math is easy, and the only thing easier than chemistry is biology or maybe physics. Social studies—easy. And English—well, you get the picture.”
    Poor Donovan just stared at him. He’d probably spent his entire life hearing stories about the Academy’s killer courses and crushing workload. And here Noah had dismissed them all in the space of about eight seconds.
    << Hypothesis: If you want a realistic assessment of a challenge, don’t ask the guy with the two hundred IQ .>>
    If Donovan had inquired about unraveling the genetic