Chapter 3
On my very first day at college, I met Stella Sterling.
She was my roommate, took the top bunk, majored in computer science, and was born and raised right here in Riverstone.
She was on the short side, had a round face and dimples when she grinned, and her Riverstone accent made her talk a mile a minute.
"You're Sophie, right? I checked the roster. Out of the four of us, you're the only outsider. Came from the south, huh? Is it crazy hot down there?" she fired off.
"Yeah, it's pretty hot," I said.
"Well, Riverstone's awesome. It's hot here too, but at least we've got seafood stew. Can you handle spicy food? If not, you won't survive in this city."
"I can handle it."
"That's perfect. Let's go. I'll show you the famous spot behind the school. It's seriously the best."
Stella was the kind of person who could make friends in ten minutes flat. She'd already told me about the time she got caught sneaking snacks in elementary school, and her mom chased her for three blocks.
But she was no airhead.
On the third day of new student orientation, our intro to programming teacher gave us a beginner's assignment. We were told to write a simple sorting algorithm in the C Programming Language.
Most of the sixty-plus students in the class were still flipping through their textbooks.
Stella handed hers in after fifteen minutes.
I glanced at her code. It was clean and logical. It didn't have a single unnecessary variable.
"Have you done this before?" I asked.
"I started teaching myself in middle school. My dad's a programmer," she said, tilting her head at me. "What about you? Did you finish yours?"
"Yeah, I'm done," I replied.
She leaned in to look at my screen, and for a second, she was stunned. "You used quicksort? The teacher didn't cover that."
"I figured it out on my own," I replied.
She stared at my code for a good ten seconds. "Sophie, how long have you been coding?"
"A while," I replied.
She didn't press for more, but from that day on, the way she looked at me was different.
After new student orientation ended, our programming classes officially started.
Our C Programming Language teacher was a young associate professor named Julian Shaw. He wore glasses and spoke in a measured tone.
On the first day, he gave us a challenge. We were told to write a calculator program that could handle addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and parentheses.
We had forty minutes.
I was done in twenty.
Julian came over, took a look at my code, and said nothing.
He took another look, then asked, "What's your name?"
"Sophie Rivers," I replied.
"That recursive descent parser you wrote is impressive. Most freshmen wouldn't think to use something like that."
"I picked it up from some tutorials online."
He adjusted his glasses. "Sophie, how about joining our algorithm lab?"
A couple of guys nearby glanced over at me.
Stella, from the back row, shot me a thumbs-up.
"Sure," I said.
"Come to Room 302 in the lab building next Monday," he said.
After class, Stella grabbed my arm. "Sophie, you're hiding your skills way too well. What's your real level?"
"Average." I shrugged.
"Average? Come on. Even third-years can't get into Mr. Shaw's lab," she said.
I smiled.
In my previous life, I spent three years reaching this level. Now, with ten years of experience backing me up, freshman courses feel like review sessions.
But I couldn't let them see too much.
An eighteen-year-old freshman shouldn't outshine the seniors with her coding skills.
I had to keep it low-key and take it slow.
Back in my dorm that night, my phone buzzed.
It was an unknown number with a Liabrenn area code.
The message read: [Hey, Sophie, I'm doing freshman new student orientation at Liabrenn Transit University. How's life in Riverstone?]
It was Jack.
I stared at the message for a few seconds, then blocked him, turned off my phone, and went to sleep.