Crossing the River

"You'll do fine, Jordan." The counselor smiled reassuringly.
"So you can't change it? I just don't want everyone to point at me, 'that kid from Mindoir.'"
"No, we can't change it," said the counselor carefully. "You'll just have to find some way to deal with it."
Jordan thanked the counselor, and walked out of the administration office. He had thirty minutes before the first instruction session started. He decided to take the counselor's comments at face value, and picked up his new omni-tool. He finished making his changes in about twenty minutes, and had to run across campus to his first session, basic skills assessment.
Jordan found a seat near the front of the room. It was a huge lecture hall, filled with new students from all over Human space.
"Welcome, first year students," said the instructor. "This class is meant to help you figure out your strengths and weaknesses. We'll be working in small groups, so don't expect to meet here every day. My name is - "
Another professor, an old wizened man hunched by years in front of terminals entered the room and interrupted the BSA instructor. "Is there a Jordan Shepard in here?"
Jordan winced, and stood up. "Sir."
"You're in the wrong class," said the old man sharply. "Room 218, Central Hall."
"Sir?" Jordan asked in confusion. There were no first-year classes in Central.
The old man smiled. "Integrated Computer Security. Any student who spends his first day hacking the Academy records system belongs in my department. Move it."
Jordan blushed, but wasn't going to argue the opportunity. The other students stared at him as he left.
The rest of Jordan's day followed the same pattern. He got tossed out of all his basic classes, and thrown into advanced ones after one or two questions. Instead of being 'that kid from Mindoir,' he found himself marked as the newest Academy prodigy. He also suspected every single one of his professors knew that he wasn't really from Ravinia II.
"Does this happen a lot?" Jordan asked a third year student. He was in a Tactics and Survival class after being tossed out of Introduction to World History for knowing about and being able to explain the impact of President Rodham on the development of the UNAS and the Alliance.
"Not usually on the first day," the other student admitted. "But that's how they do sorting at the Academy. Everyone starts at the bottom, and if you stand out, then they throw you into harder classes to see if you fail."
"Cream rises to the top," added Bettencourt, a second-year Spacer. "Shit sinks back to the bottom." He'd already made it clear which way he hoped Jordan would go.
Jordan ignored him. Most Spacer kids were rich and arrogant, and Bettencourt was no exception. Most of the Colonists tended to stick together, but there weren't many of them in the advanced classes. Every class that he had been in so far, someone from one of the Colonies had come up to him and introduced themselves. They were all fourth or fifth years, and far from feeling jealous, they were all proud of him, as if he was a new little brother.
His last class of the day was basic weapons training. At least here, Jordan thought, I won't get kicked up. He was only an average shot and had never handled anything larger than Venn's pistols. He looked around, scanned the room.
"Welcome to the firing range." The instructor looked down at his datapad. "I see we have someone on the leadership track. Shepard."
"Yes, sir?" Jordan tried not to cringe. He hoped he wouldn't be asked to parade his shooting skills.
"How many people are in this room?"
"Seventy-one," he answered without thinking.
The instructor grinned. "You're in the wrong class. Up the stairs and to the right, IFT and Sniping."
Jordan sighed. Everyone stared at him as he left again. He wondered what IFT stood for.