The next morning, his teacher, Maria Ivanovna—a woman whose glasses seemed to magnify her ability to smell a lie—called him to the front.
Anton did what any desperate fifth-grader in the digital age would do. Under the desk, his thumb scrolled frantically through a (Ready-Made Homework) website. He found the section: Unit 5, Control Tasks. He scribbled the answers down with the speed of a master forger—perfectly placed commas, flawlessly identified suffixes. The next morning, his teacher, Maria Ivanovna—a woman
"Anton," she said, tapping his notebook. "This is perfect. Too perfect. Even Trostentsova herself might have tripped over this particular participle." The next morning