Override (Glitch)

about these death-defying missions and then something like this happens right in our own home.” She paused, shaking her head. “Life is weird.”
    I nodded. I’d never heard a better summation.
    The scraping stopped. “It’s not just weird.” Xona hopped down from her bunk. “It’s suspicious, that’s what it is.”
    I blinked in confusion, both by the sudden change in her manner and by what she’d said.
    “Suspicious?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
    “The thermal unit circuit just happened to blow while we were all at lunch, and the bottle of oil just happened to have been sitting beside it?”
    Ginni gasped. “Sabotage!”
    “Normally I’d guess it was a Reg. But they’re more the brute force types.”
    “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I said quickly.
    “You know, Saminsa did leave the room right before it all happened,” Ginni said.
    Xona leaned in, nodding. “It makes sense. Saminsa was already working for the Chancellor. She says she hates the Chancellor for being willing to blow her and her friends up, but what if that was just a lie to get in with us?”
    I thought of how I’d felt when I’d come here, like a stranger without a home. But it was even worse for Saminsa, going from one cold dangerous place to what she thought was another. That didn’t necessarily make her a threat. Then again, after everything she’d been through, maybe she wanted to strike back the only way she could.
    The door slid open and we all jumped.
    “Hi Saminsa,” I said, my voice high and too-bright.
    Saminsa’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene of the three of us pretending we hadn’t been huddled together whispering conspiratorially. Ginni’s eyes widened in fear and she turned around abruptly. Xona arched an eyebrow at Ginni and me, looking pointedly at her ankle weapon before climbing back into her box.
    Saminsa set her jaw and sat down on her mat by the door without saying a word.
    I stared at her a moment longer than I should have. Could Xona be right? Did Saminsa secretly hate us and want to hurt us? I didn’t want to believe it, but then I remembered the flesh melting off Eli’s face. I knew we’d all be keeping a closer eye on Saminsa. Then I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t accuse someone without any clear evidence again. Xona was probably just seeing enemies where there were none again, like she always did with the ex-Regs.

Chapter 21
    THE PROFESSOR BROUGHT OUT new art supplies in Humanities. There were little pots of shocking colored paints and brushes. I picked one up and looked at it dubiously. I ran the bristles across my hand. It tickled.
    It seemed like a very impractical instrument for making pictures—how could you be precise with tons of little flopping bristles? The sharp-tipped markers I’d always used before seemed like a far better idea.
    I sat in front of one of the large blank pieces of canvas the Professor had set up at stations throughout the room. He gave brief instructions and set out a bowl of vegetables, but he said we could paint whatever we wanted. City was laughing and joking with Rand, who was quickly making a mess on his canvas. Cole immediately began working quietly in the corner, glancing around the room occasionally. Adrien had skipped class. Again.
    I swallowed and dabbed the tip of my brush into the red, but stopped before it touched the canvas. The paint was globbed on the bristles. I’d picked up too much. I didn’t know how to do this. I tried wiping some of the red off on the edge of the pot, but it still looked like too much on the brush. If I put it to the canvas now, it’d just be a mess. I screwed the tops back on the pots, feeling an embarrassed heat flush my neck. I was supposed to be the artist.
    But then, I was supposed to be so many things.
    I dropped the paint brush into the cleaning solution and moved my chair away from the canvas. I pulled out a piece of paper from a stack in the corner and a marker. There, that was better. I started sketching the room and the people in it. City and Rand kept moving around, and I wished I could tell them to stand still. I tried to get their proportions as correctly as I could. I almost wished I was connected to the Link so I could see the technical schematics laid across my vision. I could be so much more exact that way.
    Professor Henry called me to stay after class. The heat in my neck returned.
    “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the paper I’d been drawing on. I handed it over and