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Agata and I were both eleven years old when she first introduced me to her machine We were in all the same classes She was sallow and thin, with enormous hands and feet She wore her dark brown hair in a short bob, held back from her face with a plain, plastic barrette Her eyebrows weren’t thick, but they were long, stretching to her temples Her mouth was wide, but her lips were thin, with an expressiveness that reminded me of worms   She wasn’t tormented by our schoolmates and teachers, as I was The only student they treated worse than me was Large Barbara, who was so fat she walked with a cane, had one lazy eyeball, and a wart on her chin so long and thin it mocked the rest of her body Agata wasn’t teased or tormented because she was a genius She excelled in the sciences and maths, and could write beautiful, complex poems, though she only did so when it was a school assignment She often yawned and shook one of her legs in class; she finished her work before everyone else Some teachers let her read her own books, imported ones in foreign languages, full of complicated diagrams just as mysterious to the rest of us as the words   Though she wasn’t bullied, she also didn’t have any friends She seemed above such trivialities No one invited her to parties – it was impossible to imagine her at them She spent her lunch break reading She didn’t play or gossip She saw the other students as a nuisance, like flies or fleas Some tried to pay her to do their homework, but she responded with, ‘You think I don’t have better things to do?’ in a tone of voice that was arrogant, and delighted in its own arrogance, her worm mouth wiggling   Agata’s parents were poor because they had so many children, but they still bought her whatever she needed or desired so she could focus on her schoolwork: books, expensive pens, cigarettes Agata was the eldest, and the most promising of her siblings The rest were snivelly,