"Just... checking the weather for school!" he lied, his heart hammering against his ribs.
As the pages slid out, warm and smelling of ozone, Anton felt like a master hacker. He tucked the printed sheets into a folder, hid the chewed remains of the original book under his bed, and dove under his covers just as the door handle turned. He tucked the printed sheets into a folder,
His mother’s footsteps echoed in the hallway. He had twenty minutes before "lights out" to find a digital copy, print the homework pages, and pretend nothing happened. He opened the file
He opened the file. It wasn't a virus. It wasn't a collection of 8-bit photos. It was the book. The familiar blue-and-yellow cover appeared on the screen, smelling—metaphorically—of ink and grammar rules. He hit 'Print' on the clunky inkjet printer. Whirr-clack-zip. print the homework pages