Red plastic, full of something. It bounced off his skull and skipped across the path, leaving a thin trail of beer across the stone. Marlon stopped walking. He stood completely still for one long second. Then he turned around.
The Sigma Alpha Kappa house sat 30 ft away, its wide front steps crowded with bodies, pledges in matching T-shirts, girls with coffee cups, and right in the middle of all of it, three young men who looked like they'd been waiting for exactly this moment. Marlon recognized the type immediately. He'd seen them a hundred times. The one on the left was big, thick neck, linebacker shoulders, the kind of guy who had been the largest person in every room his whole life, and had never once had to think about what that meant. He was already laughing.
That was Tanner Wolfe. The one in the center was the dangerous one. You could tell because he wasn't laughing. He was just watching, arms crossed, one corner of his mouth pulled up like Marlon was a mildly amusing thing that had wandered into his yard. That calm, easy cruelty, that was Bryce Helton III.
And the one on the right already had his phone up, already filming. That was Preston Alcott. And the smile on his face was the worst of the three, because it was the smile of someone who understood exactly what he was doing. "My bad, big fella." Tanner called out, his voice carrying easily across the open quad. He didn't sound sorry at all.
"Didn't see you there." He paused, letting the next part land. "You kind of blend into the landscape, you know? Like a landmark." The pledges laughed on cue, the way pledges do when they're terrified of the person they're laughing with. Marlon looked at Tanner, then at Bryce, then at Preston's phone. He knew what this was.
He'd seen this exact play run before. Not here, not in college, but in every gym, every hallway, every space where boys like this had decided someone like him was fair game. They wanted a reaction. Something loud, something ugly, something Preston could clip and post before Marlon was even back in his car. He thought about the folder under his arm, the Keller letter.
Six weeks. He bent down, picked up the red cup, and dropped it in the nearest trash bin without breaking stride. Then he turned back around and kept walking toward the administrative building. Behind him, he heard Bryce's voice, smooth and unhurried, like a man commenting on the weather. Look at that.
It's self-cleaning. More laughter. Louder this time. Marlon kept walking. His jaw was tight.
His eyes were straight ahead. Every step was a decision. Every step was him choosing the folder over the fire burning low and quiet in his chest. He didn't look back. What he couldn't see was Preston already typing.
The clip had started uploading before Marlon had even reached the trash bin. A slow pan from the cup bouncing off Marlon's head to his retreating figure. Wide-shouldered and silent. Just walking away. Preston had a gift for captions.