Oglethorpe University - Yamacraw Yearbook (Atlanta, GA)

Page 12 text:

Soon 1 realized that perhaps I looked out of place in this strange new world. Now that I had made it past registration and check-in, I needed to complete my cover. I needed a disguise — a complete change of identity. I picked my brain, looking for a way to blend in with the rest of the crowd. Then I noticed stu- dents in college-type clothes, all car- rying books and wearing jackets with O.U. stenciled on them. 1 was de- termined to find the source of all these clothes and books. After hours of shadowing and stealth, they led me to it. It was called The Bookstore. I found everything I needed there ex- cept a P.I. discount. Then, I made my next important discovery. I was hungry. Very hungry. Casual questions about someplace to eat pointed the way upstairs from the bookstore. But I noticed quick looks of fear and warn- ing. Just before 1 left, an innocent- looking young girl slipped me a tiny crucifix and said her prayers were with me. I went upstairs to the cafe- teria.

Page 11 text:

At registration, I signed up for all the early morning classes so I would be spotted by as few people as possi- ble. I knew that I would also have to live there on campus, soaking up the feel of the place, trying to do better with girls than I had the last time I had been in school. I had a hunch that things had changed in a big way since the fifth grade. The R.A. who checked me in obvi- ously had something nasty to hide. He must have known about my hunt for Mac. He must have been thinking of ways to put me on ice, to eliminate me, even as he smugly jingled his in- nocent-looking keys. I could tell by the look in his beady eyes. I could tell by the way he took me up, slowly to the third floor of the brick pile called Weltner and showed me the garret I was to call home for at least the next four months. Here it is, he said, tapping on the door and watching it fall to the floor with a crash. So this is it, I sighed, as I crunched over the cardboard corpse of the door. Looking around the room, I drew in my breath in a long gasp. I had been in rough spots be- fore, but not as rough as this one. But I could take it, or my name wasn ' t Styles. Porter M. Styles. Ill sztjilllllll III o S f§

Page 13 text:

I couldn ' t let anyone know I was here for a purpose — I couldn ' t let anyong know I had a set objective in mind. Oth- erwise, I wouldn ' t fit in as a typical student. I was soon to discover why they called it the Last Chance Cafe. Pick- ing my way over the students, I pl aced myself in a strategic position, a position where I could see anyone entering or being carried out. If Mac was anywhere near as reckless as I remembered him, I had to see him eventually. Then I met with opposi- tion — some guy with an apron came in and told me I ' d have to leave my carefully chosen seat. He gave me some flimsy excuse about my mak- ing people nervous, staring at them from the middle of the salad bar. Bouncing my lasagna, I walked slowly to a table. They had taken me out of action temporarily, but that was true of everyone else who had come to the cafeteria, too. It wasn ' t over yet.