Somebody call animal control. I think a huge hippo escaped. Bryce Helton's voice carried easily across the South Lawn, loud enough for everyone to hear. He wanted everyone to hear. Marlon Walters stopped walking.
The folder under his arm, the one holding his engineering job offer, his entire future, pressed against his ribs. He turned slowly. Tanner Wolfe was already moving toward him, cracking his knuckles. You lost, big fella? The buffet's off campus.
Tanner said, stepping directly into Marlon's path and glancing down at the hands already hanging loosely at Marlon's sides. Neither Bryce nor Tanner realized those hands had ended every match unbeaten for 3 years running. Marlon Walter had one job today. Get his transcripts. Get his diploma paperwork.
Get out. That was it. That was the whole plan. He wasn't here for memories. He wasn't here for reunions or handshakes or a stroll down the quad for old times' sake.
He'd spent 4 years at Caldwell University doing what he came to do and now he was done. The place could keep its brick buildings and its manicured lawns and its carefully polished reputation. He just needed one envelope. Then he was gone for good. He parked his '09 Civic in the visitor lot.
Visitor because that's what he was now. Cut the engine and sat for a second. The campus looked exactly the same as the day he left in May. Same red brick. Same oak trees shedding October leaves across the same stone paths.
Same Sigma Alpha Kappa house sitting fat and proud at the edge of the quad like it owned the whole school. Which, depending on how you looked at it, it kind of did. Marlon pushed that thought away. He reached across the passenger seat and grabbed his folder. Inside it, his state-issued ID, a printed confirmation email from the registrar's office, and the letter from Keller and Associates.
An Atlanta engineering firm that had offered him a real job, a good job, the kind his mother had cried about when he called to tell her. The letter said his start date was 6 weeks away. It also said they needed official sealed transcripts and a copy of his diploma before day one. Six weeks. That was more than enough time.
He tucked the folder under his arm and got out of the car. The air smelled like cut grass and approaching winter. Students moved across the quad in clusters, backpacks, coffee cups, the low hum of a campus morning in full swing. Nobody looked at him. He was just a broad-shouldered man in a navy jacket walking with purpose, invisible in the best possible way.
He liked it that way. The registrar's office was in Harmon Hall, first floor, east wing. Marlon knew the route the way you know the layout of a house you grew up in. Automatic, without thinking. He pushed through the glass doors, found the line, and got in it.