THE MARSH OF CAMARINA
Matthew Kressel“Your grades really are quite spectacular, Sita,” my career advisor Mrs. Dana Rice says to me in her deep southern drawl, an accent I’ve come to associate with my studies here. “A 3.8 cumulative GPA at Georgia Tech is nothing to sneeze at. You should be proud of yourself!”
I force a smile and say, “Thank you.” But all I can focus on is the football stadium gleaming outside Mrs. Rice’s office window. Sweeping. Enormous. Empty. Baking in the morning sun. I went to a game in my freshman year and cheered on the Yellow Jackets with all the other Rambling Wrecks. But after that, I got too immersed in my studies to cheer on anything but my grades. And just like the band’s snapping snare drum then, my heart beats triple time now. Mrs. Rice didn’t call me in t
