A big tunnelling operation begins – not that I’m a part of it.
Some parents I haven’t dealt with before, Mrs Ballard and Ms Leitch-Hughes, are posted to supervise me.
There’s a third one–Mr Ibrahim–with the same bronze skin and wide lips as a girl I once knew, Fatima. Is it her dad? Her uncle? I’m waiting on a wink or a smile, though the only acknowledgement he gives me is a smile of contempt as I transfer my stuff from the Fossil Room to the Oracle Room. I believe it’s the same smile Fatti used to give when we would hack the mech teacher so it froze mid-sentence. While it rebooted, Fatti would stand on a desk and tell stand-up jokes.
‘So, two robots run into a bar,’ Fatti would go, ‘And the third one was a better driver.’
Or the time Fatti went, ‘Why was the robot angry? Because someo
