The honking of a car horn behind me startles me, and I realize I’m literally standing in the middle of the road. Hauling my case off the street and onto the path, I lift my hand in a silent apology to the car whose path I was obstructing as I turn and start to walk to where the valet—of course this place has valet parking—is pointing people in the direction of student registration. The megarich can’t park their supercars just anywhere, obviously.

“Hi,” I say to a guy around my age wearing a white shirt and a navy-blue vest with Kingsacre university embroidered in gold thread on the pocket.

“Good morning, miss, let me take your keys and I’ll give you a ticket. When you need your car again you can take the ticket to any of the valet points around campus and someone will collect your vehicle and bring it to you.”

“Oh, er, I don’t have a car, I was just hoping you could point me in the direction of freshmen registration.”

The guy stops, stares and then blinks at me. “You don’t have a car?”

“Nope.”

“Did you come in a car service?”

“Er, no,” I laugh awkwardly, furrowing my brow.

“Then how did you get here?” He sounds baffled, like he has literally no idea how anyone could possibly get through the gates without a car or a car service.

“The bus.”

“The closest bus stop is like twenty minutes away.”

“I thought it was only about ten minutes, but I’d say it took me closer to fifteen. Although I was kind of power walking so I didn’t just turn around and go back to the airport.” I have no idea why I’ve got verbal diarrhea with this guy. Normally I limit my conversations with people to polite and concise, but something about his sheer shock is keeping me from shutting up.

“You caught the bus and then walked here alone, with your case?” he says slowly.

“Yep,” I nod.

Scoffing lightly, his lips tip up into a smile. “I’m Angelo,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake.

“Starling.” I take his hand and shake it briefly, releasing it quickly and pushing my hand into the back pocket of my jean shorts.

“You’re not like the other kids that go here, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” I agree, dropping my chin to my chest and staring down at my feet.

A honking horn interrupts what has turned into an uncomfortable conversation. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I work at the valet booth over by the cafeteria full time, you should come see me one day, we could get coffee or something.”

“Maybe,” I say as noncommittally as I can.

“Registration is on the lawn outside the administration building, head on down this path and then swing a right, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, nice to meet you, Angelo.”

“You too, Starling. You take care, you hear me? The kids that go here can be sharks,” he warns with a warm smile etched across his lips.