Two Years Late

The thing nobody warns you about transferring into Starcrossed Academy two years late is that everyone already has their seat. Not just in the classroom. Everywhere. In the mess hall. On the simulator rotation. In the little jokes people make that go back to a first-year trip you weren't on. Dario stood in the doorway of the third-year flight hall holding his transfer slip and watched forty students who all knew each other turn to look at the one who didn't. He had dreamed about Starcrossed since he was small. He had the scores. He had earned the seat the hard way, the late way, the way that meant two extra years of qualifying exams while the others were already flying. And now he was here and it turned out the seat came with a room and a schedule but not, it seemed, with a single person who would save him a place at a table. He found an empty one. He sat at it. He told himself empty was fine. He was not very convincing, even to himself.