At first Eloy didn’t know what he’d found. It was behind the set of risers he was helping to move, a square box of a machine with a viewing screen and a wheel of sorts on its front. He knew it was old because it was covered in dust and the metal was painted a peculiar avocado green. Elita, his twin found him wiping the front of it with his sleeve. “You’re in trouble again,” she lit into him without preamble, her dark eyes darting around the dim storage room, “Mr. Samael was asking where you were and saying you would get a zero for the day.” “It says ‘Microforms Reader,’” Eloy sneezed, then looked up at Elita, “Like tiny forms? Or like micro phone? Like some early sound equipment?” “There’s no way anyone will believe that you were sitting here all class staring at a Microfilm Machine,” Elita poked her finger inside a cardboard box, “Hey, I think this is the tapes that go in it.” She opened the box and removed a reel of tape, a quarter of the size of an old-fashioned theater