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code, Noah would have said that was easy too.
    â€œThanks, I guess,” Donovan told him. “Is anything in this place—well—hard?”
    â€œYou know what’s hard?” Suddenly, Noah’s face flushed with emotion. “Trying to control your own destiny. It’s not just hard; it’s impossible.”
    So Donovan shifted gears and talked to Latrell about the robot, which also backfired. Latrell got weirdly defensive, as if Donovan might be trying to steal his job as the team’s top mechanic. And Jacey became so genuinely flustered by the newcomer’s presence that she asked him which of the earth’s continental plates was his favorite.
    Abigail went over to Donovan and put her two cents in. “You know a Gymboree parachute isn’t the same as a real parachute, don’t you?”
    Well, how could I not say something? He was going to think we were all nuts.
    I caught up with him in the hall on the way to first period. “Hi, I’m Chloe Garfinkle from homeroom.”
    I held out my hand, and he shook it lightly. Maybe he expected it to break off like that piece of robot.
    â€œHey, don’t worry about the lift mechanism,” I soothed. “The weakness probably came from a bad weld that got jarred loose by the chain drive, or maybe too much compression from the Bimba cylinder.”
    He looked blank. “What’s it for?”
    â€œOh, the Bimba cylinder provides the pneumatic pressure—”
    â€œI mean Tin Man,” he corrected. “What does he do?”
    â€œThe robot has multiple capabilities,” I enthused. “The electric eye can navigate color-coded tracks on the floor. The forks pick up inflatable rings that the lift mechanism places on various pegs at different heights. And it—uh— he can deploy a mini-bot that will climb a pole and strike a bell at the top.”
    He seemed confused. “Is that how geniuses spend their time? Picking up toys and ringing bells?”
    I bristled. “You’re here, aren’t you? If being smart’s such a crime, you’re just as guilty as the rest of us!” He had no answer for that, so I went on in a calmer tone, “Noah’s the only one who’s really a genius. Except that the work is a little more challenging, how’s the Academy any different from Hardcastle?”
    He gave me a half smile. “Seriously?”
    â€œIf there’s one thing we’re good at here,” I assured him, “it’s being serious.”
    â€œHave you ever been to Hardcastle Middle School?” he asked.
    â€œI know we probably take some things for granted—”
    â€œBut they’re probably not the things you think. If you want to plug in a computer, can you find an outlet with three prongs? Can you find one that even works? Will part of the suspended ceiling come down on your head in the middle of class? Will the cafeteria refrigerators break, so you can’t buy lunch for a day, or a week, or a month?”
    â€œHey, things like that happen at the Academy too,” I insisted, almost triumphantly. “Last year the freezers failed so there was no ice for”—the wind went out of my sails as I realized how lame this was going to sound—“the sushi bar.”
    He nodded sympathetically. “You guys should get T-shirts made. You know: I Survived the Sushi Crisis.”
    â€œHey!”
    â€œAll I’m saying is that you brainiacs have a nice racket going here.”
    I skewered him on that point. “Don’t you mean we brainiacs? You’re one of us now.”
    â€œRight,” he agreed, flustered. “But—well, I just got here, so you’ve been riding the gravy train longer.”
    â€œRegular school has its advantages, right?” I didn’t want to seem dorky, but I was genuinely interested. “Dances, parties …”
    A shrug.
    â€œPep rallies, sports—the basketball team is