In the Cloud, perfection is a lie.

  Sixteen lightplex desks line up in two neat rows. More than half are still empty—transparent, light, almost invisible.

  The classroom is washed in the ceiling’s cold white light. No shadows. No gradients. The smooth, dark floor reflects everything—spotless.

  The air is sterile. Flat. Odorless.

  To the right of the teacher’s station, a hologram hovers:

  APRIL 7, 207 a.G.R.—12:45 p.m.

  US CLOUD | SECTOR 3 | ROOM 1A

  ***

  Elis

  I sigh, seated at the first desk.

  I brush my cheek and loosen the collar of my uniform—the fabric pulls, like it wants to choke me. I fix a strand that’s slipped from my ponytail. It never stays put. I stare at my Personal, set to school mode, wrapped around my left forearm. I glance sideways. The classmate beside me doesn’t notice.

  They’re all hunched over their holographic keyboards, focused on the test I already finished.

  I tug the uniform down a little, trying to breathe. The new school uniforms are even tighter than the previous ones. Maybe I even liked the old pink better—less dark.

  With my finger, right over my heart, I trace the faint lines of the Syrium mark: two mirrored S’s, like the infinity symbol rotated ninety degrees.

  Below it is my registry code: “F1931207S3A128431”.

  A hiss.

  The door opens. Professor Kalinski comes back in. His drawn face is almost redder than the uniform he’s wearing. Something must’ve happened to him. He looks at me and tries to hide whatever he’s feeling.

  “Elis,” he says, barely smiling. “If you’re done, go ahead and send it.”

  “Yes, Professor. I’ll check one last time and send it.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  I go back to the test for a single second.

  Robotic Limb Programming, Level 2.

  I skim it fast. Nothing to change.

  I tap SUBMIT.

  The test vanishes. Along with it, the holographic keyboard.

  While I wait for class to end, I drum my fingers on the transparent desk. The keyboard is disabled, but I know the keys by heart.

  I tap where D should be, then A… and finally D again.

  Dad.

  One by one, my classmates submit the test. At exactly 1:00 p.m., every Personal lights up.

  Kalinski stands.

  “See you tomorrow, kids. Goodlife.”

  “Goodlife, Professor.”

  We line up. I’m first, and we file out of the classroom.

  The corridor LEDs switch on as I pass. I walk by the escalator and look up.

  Jameth’s reddish hair, on the upper level, stands out among the others. He greets me with enthusiasm, and I wave back without stopping.

  Up ahead, the glass walls open on both sides, sliding back into the structure. Artificial outdoor light floods the atrium.

  Outside, bushes bloom.

  Jets of water dance.

  Trees shiver, as if there were real wind.

  At a brisk pace, I leave the school behind. The airtrain platform activates, and the two moving belts begin to flow in opposite directions.

  I’m first, as always, and I turn toward the crowd approaching at a slow drift.

  I look for my brother. Seniors take longer to come down.

  But I spot Jameth again.

  He smiles as he passes me and steps onto the left belt. I follow him with my eyes for a moment.

  He’s getting really cute.

  A familiar voice behind me:

  “Elis.”

  It’s him…

  I answer without turning.

  “Isaac. You’re always the last one.”

  No sarcasm.

  I whip around. I want to see his reaction.

  Isaac doesn’t answer. He looks down at me from his nearly six-foot height. I’m at least a head shorter, met by his worried grimace.

  He snaps his head left, toward the front of the train, where Jameth is waving like crazy. He lifts a hand.

  “Coming!”

  I place a hand on his chest, covering part of his registry code.

  “I’m going to Arleen’s today, remember?”

  He nods, distracted.

  With a light stroke, I slide my hand up to his cheek. “Last Friday of study support. She’s almost caught up now. She worked for it.”

  “That’s on you,” he says.

  Cold. Not him.

  I lower my hand.

  “She was sick for two months. And school doesn’t come easy to her. I just helped her fill the gaps.”

  “If you say so.”

  He shifts aside, but before he steps onto Jameth’s moving belt, I grab his arm.

  “Isaac…”

  He only half turns.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Great.”

  He looks like he’s trying to dodge my eyes.

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  The smile he gives me is flat.

  I pull my hair free and shake it out.

  “See you tonight? We’ll call Dad, like always?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. And yes, we’ll call Dad.”

  It’s like arguing with a household bot. Actually, those respond with less mechanical timing.

  I let go, and Isaac hops onto the moving belt.

  I stay on the platform a moment longer, trapped in the same thought that’s had its hands around my throat for days.

  Finally, I step onto the first moving belt, then the second, toward the other end of the train.

  My temporary seat for the visit to Arleen’s is only two cars down.

  My stomach twists.

  What is Isaac hiding from me?