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laugh. “It isn’t that. But thanks for the compliment.”
    “No problem.”
    The bell rang, and around us, students shuffled up with their backpacks and turned
     off their computers. I hadn’t finished my synching exercise. I wasn’t sure if I’d
     ever be back to complete it.

 
    4
     
    THE BLIP RANK BOARD
    BY LUNCH, I was starved, and my anxiety about the cuts was gnawing at my gut. Every time I’d
     stolen a chance to check my blip rank, it was hovering around 85. All the other first-year
     students were checking their ranks perpetually, too, and some of them looked even
     more frazzled than I felt. From a distance, the older students gloated good-naturedly,
     as if they’d never gone through this torture.
    As I passed along the cafeteria counter once again, I peered into the kitchen for
     Linus. He was working at a back sink between mounds of dirty trays, scrubbing in water
     so hot it steamed up against his face. His red arms disappeared into yellow gloves,
     and his white shirt clung.
    A couple of students shifted out of line before me, and I realized the girl ahead
     of me was Janice. I couldn’t think how to ask her if she’d also been called to the
     infirmary, but I could at least try to get her talking.
    “Hey,” I said. “You’re in my Media Convergence class. Janice, right?”
    “That’s right,” she said. “DeCoster chewed you out for being late. How did you do
     with the synching?”
    “It was okay. I didn’t quite finish.”
    “Really?” she said. “You always look so badass in that class, like you can’t see anything
     but your screen.”
    I laughed. “You’re kidding. Me?”
    She smiled, and for the first time, I wondered if, in my own way, I was as intimidating
     to the other students as they were to me. Janice kept talking about class, and we
     went through the line together. Brightly lit stations made French fries glow and green
     nubs of broccoli shimmer in their cheesy sauce. I still couldn’t get over how much
     food was offered to us every day, and in such a variety.
    When we came out of the line, the tables were nearly full, and I scanned for empty
     seats. Janice hovered beside me. Above, designer LED lamps dropped down between crisscrossing
     beams of wood. I didn’t have to look closely to know the room was riddled with cameras,
     little button ones affixed to window frames, booths, and napkin dispensers. The blip
     rank board flipped its mini panels in another update, and I could feel how the fluttering
     noise fanned the anxiety in the room as students turned to check their ranks. I was
     at 87.
    Someone called my name. I turned to see Burnham sitting at a round table with a couple
     other first-year students. They’d found a sunny place near the windows, and Janice
     and I wound our way over to join them.
    I set down my tray across from Burnham, and Janice took the place between him and
     me. “This is Janice,” I said.
    “Burnham Fister,” he said, half rising to offer a hand. He was the first guy I ever
     saw who made shaking hands look natural and not weirdly grown up.
    “I think we’ve met before. At Camp Pewter,” Janice said. She smoothed her long hair
     over her shoulder.
    “That’s right,” Burnham said, smiling. “I didn’t think you remembered. Do you know
     Paige and Henrik?”
    Paige, slouching in a black leotard, said a quick hello. Her eyes were ringed with
     black, her dark complexion was flawless, and her lips were a deep, pouty red. Henrik
     had close-cropped brown hair and a chin-strap beard, and his thin summer scarf made
     me think Europe , especially when I picked up a slight accent. He was methodically adding sugar to
     the four cups of coffee on his tray.
    “You know, Paige, it doesn’t mean you’re any less of a person if you get cut,” Henrik
     said. “Viewers watching from home have no way to judge our inner worth.”
    “That’s not true,” Paige said. “Our inner worth is directly connected to the behavior
     we show