First Semester (12 page)

“Anyways. I don't know what you're talking about. I got a ninety on the test. The only thing I need to work on is my parallel parking.”

“Yeah, I know. Mom told me about what happened last time. Hey, Rob, I'm gonna call you back a little later. I'm in the library studying right now.”

“In the
library? Studying?
Are you okay? You're not running a temperature, are you?”

“Anyways! I'm gonna call you back later.”

“Sounds good. Love ya!”

“I love you too,” I said as I hung up.

“Wow!” Katrina said. “Playa, playa! Booty calls coming in before ten p.m., huh? That's a new one for me.”

“
Booty call?
Girl, please. That was my little sister, Robyn. She was calling to tell me that she got her license.”

“Aw, how cute. How old is she?”

“She's sixteen.”

“Man, I sure miss those days. High school was so much fun. College was too, the first couple of years. But now that I've started to take courses pertaining to my major, it's no joke.”

“I see that. It looks like you've got every book in the library except for the Bible stuffed into your backpack.”

“I know, right. All this studying is kicking my butt.”

“So, what's on your agenda after you finish studying?”

“I need to go to my room and do a little more studying for a microeconomics exam I have coming up in a few weeks. I swear that class is my Achilles' heel. A few of my line sisters are trying to convince me to hit up Club One Tweezy with them, though,” she said. “Who knows? I might get out and have a few drinks with them or something. By then it should be just about your bedtime, huh?”

“Not unless you plan on tucking me in.”

I'll never forget the next three words that came out of her mouth. It beat “I love you” by a long shot.

“I just might,” she said.

“If I had your phone number I could reach out and touch bases with you,” I said. “Who knows when I'll need a little extra help on an assignment?”

“That would be nice, huh?” she asked.

“Fa sho.”

“I just don't think that's the proper way to go about this. Since I'm the tutor and you're my pupil, why don't you give me your number? Then I can call you when the time is right.”

“Hey, I know that one,” I said. “The girl asks the guy for his number, and then she never calls. Spare me the embarrassment. There's no use in me giving you my number if you're just going to play games.”

“If there's one thing I don't do, it's play games,” she said in a serious tone as she reached into her purse and grabbed her cell. “Now, are you going to give me your
locker combination
or what?”

I fought off excitement. It was almost too good to be true. But I just played it cool, grabbed her cell and punched in my name and phone number, hoping she'd call.

After she reversed the game, and got my digits, we studied for nearly an hour. Studying with Kat definitely had its pros and its cons. Her patience made her the perfect tutor for me, especially since my attention span was about as short as Mini-Me's arms. But she couldn't help it that her one fault was the thing that attracted me to her the most—her sexiness. Every time she flipped the page in my First Year Seminar book with her French-manicured nails, licked her lips before speaking or looked me in the eye, I was thrown totally off track. By the time we were midway through our first study session, I already had a PHD—pretty hard dick, that is. Before long, miscellaneous dialogue found its way into our conversation.

“'Sup with the decorations?” I asked, tugging at a red ribbon she had pinned to her shirt. “Is it Christmastime already?”

“Observant, aren't we?”

“Inquisitve.”

“I see,” she said. “And no, this is not a Christmas decoration, silly. It's an AIDS awareness ribbon. This week my sorority is conducting safe sex seminars on campus and offering free HIV testing for students.”

“That's what's up. You seem really excited about it.”

“I am.”

“Well, have you been tested yet?” I asked.

“Of course I have. Please, I don't play around with that.”

“Me neither,” I said. “I heard the number of people with the package on campus is crazy. I don't want no parts of that.”

“Well, you'd better wrap it up. Half of all new HIV infections occur in people under twenty-five. People don't understand the seriousness of this epidemic, mainly because there are so many myths and misconceptions out there. It's one of the top ten leading causes of deaths for blacks.”

“I'm not surprised,” I said. “I know just how that shit happens too.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Half the dudes on this campus are as sweet as a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and probably going bareback on each other. But a lot of females down here like a sensitive man—one they can go shopping with, and talk to about their problems. So the females go shopping with the soft guys and they do each other's hair. Then the girl ends up testing her
little friend
to see if he's really gay. Then the two of them wind up having unprotected sex. It's all one big nasty circle.”

“It's funny that you've only been here one semester, and you think you've got it down to a science like that,” she said, laughing. “And I bet some of what you just said is right. But truthfully, it's more than just a gay thing now. Most females become HIV-positive through heterosexual sex. But the worst part about it is that one out of every three people infected with HIV doesn't even know his or her status. Most people are scared to go get tested. So they just keep passing it around.”

“You're kind of sharp on these statistics,” I said. “I mean, you've got the facts memorized. Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No, silly!” she said, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “One of my mom's brothers passed away about a year ago because he had AIDS.”

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear about that.”

“Thanks,” she said. “But everybody knew it was only a matter of time with him because he was out there pretty bad.”

“What you mean?”

“He was gay. I mean, he was all the way out of the closet. But it's funny because he was my favorite uncle. Actually, for a minute, he was like my best friend.”

“Your uncle was your best friend?”

“Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but when I think about it, for a while he probably was. That's probably because he loved to go shoe shopping with me at the mall. Shoot, we even used to get our nails done together and he loved to help me talk about my boy problems too.”

“It sounds like you two were really close.”

“We were. See, my mom is the oldest of seven, and he was her youngest brother, so we were almost the same age. He moved out here from San Francisco when I was a freshman in high school, and he was a junior. So let me see…Yep, Uncle Kahlil was only two years older than me. I remember because his birthday was two days before mine.”

“That's cool,” I said. “I don't have a problem with those types of homosexuals. I mean, if you're gonna be gay, then do you. But I can't stand the dudes who try to switch-hit on the low. You know, the kind who want to have a girlfriend one week and a boyfriend the next.”

“That's exactly why I decided to have my sorority sponsor the safe sex week. I've seen the effects AIDS can have on a family. We watched my uncle die and there was nothing we could do about it,” she said, tearing up. “I refuse to be a statistic. That's why I get tested on a regular basis. I don't know what I'd do if I ever got AIDS. Shoot, my mom would probably kill me before I died from it.”

“
Your
mom? My mom left me an economy-size box of condoms when she helped me move in. She told me that she didn't want me to come back home with anything other than good grades.”

“Your mama gave you some condoms? You're a little freaky thing, ain't you?”

“Hey, it's better to have 'em and not need 'em than need 'em and not have 'em. Wouldn't you agree?”

“I guess so,” she said. “But wait a minute…how did we even start talking about all this anyway? I'm supposed to be helping you study.”

“Hey, there's nothing wrong with us getting to know each other in the meantime,” I said, gently running the tip of my finger across her ribbon, in a slightly seductive, stroking motion. “Besides, we probably won't be having our midterm in Dr. J's class for a little while anyway.”

“Bite your fingernails, huh?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject while peering at my fingers with a look of disgust.

“Observant, aren't we?”

“Inquisitive.”

“It's an ugly habit.”

“I see.”

“Hey, at least I don't smoke cigarettes.”

“Stressed out?”

“I'm a black man living in America. That's life.”

“I may have something that'll calm your nerves,” she said as she slipped her jacket back over her shoulders and got up from the table. “I'll talk to you later, J.D.” She smiled as she walked away.

I gave her a stone-faced look and nodded my head so she wouldn't think I was overexcited. As soon as she walked out of the door, a Kool-Aid smile perforated my face.

Who said you never get a second chance to make a first impression?

THE HALLWAY

B
y October, dorm life was finally starting to grow on me. I'd gotten used to sleeping on a twin-size bed, scrounging up quarters to wash my clothes and Timothy's annoying complaints about me cleaning up my side of the room. The Cafeteria food had grown on me, I'd learned to tune out the loud music being played in the wee hours and I was used to Lawry knocking on my door every morning asking to borrow my iron and ironing board. I had even learned to cope with the fact that we could only have female visitors from 6:00 to 11:00 p.m. But I still had an issue with the roaches.

It had gotten so bad, I had to buy a small can of Raid for my key chain, just to be on the safe side. Just last night, I came into my room after eating dinner in the Caf and saw a roach scatter across Timothy's desk onto his senior pictures, which were propped up in that pleather display case they give you to put your photos in. I swear, the roach posted up on this man's photo album, posing like it was his prom date or some shit. It went from picture to picture standing on one side of Timothy, then electric sliding to his other side, vogueing like a supermodel. I laughed for a second. But ain't nothin' cool about insects, so I whipped out my economy-size can of Raid and sprayed him down. I picked up the lifeless pest with a ball of paper towel and hurried to the door holding it as far away from my body as possible. At that point, I was so disgusted I couldn't even stand the thought of a roach corpse marinating in my trash can. Just as I was about to reach for the doorknob the door swung open and Lawry stepped inside, coming face-to-face with the dead roach, which couldn't have been more than five inches away from his lips. If he had puckered up, he would have been kissing an antenna.

“Aaagghhh!” he screamed as he jumped back. “Shawty, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“That's what you get for busting in my room without knocking like that,” I said, laughing as I walked briskly to the bathroom to dump the roach in the toilet.

“I ain't neva scurred,” he said as I walked away. “But that ain't cool, shawty.”

When I came out of the bathroom, Lawry was posted up outside my door talking to Fresh, who was standing on the wall across from him. I dapped Fresh up and stood beside him.

“I'm telling you, it's nothing, shawty,” Lawry said, crossing his arms defensively.

“It looks like more than nothing to me,” Fresh said, taking a closer peek at Lawry's left eye.

“What's wrong with him?” I asked.

“You don't see his eye, joe?” Fresh asked. “Look how swollen that joint is.”

“Now that I really look at it, your shit is on sweezy, blood,” I said. “What happened?”

“I've been trying to tell this nigga I was playing basketball the other day up at the gym and got hacked all across my face,” Lawry said. “I almost had to get into it with one of them boys.”

“You should have,” Fresh said. “That looks like a technical foul to me. I hope you at least got to shoot some free throws.”

“That's real talk,” I said, in between laughs. “What y'all got up for tonight, though?”

“On some real shit, I need to be studying for that big midterm in Dr. J's class tomorrow, joe,” Fresh said.

“That test is tomorrow, ain't it?” Lawry asked. “I had forgotten all about that.”

“Now that I think about it, I'm gonna just read over my notes in the morning,” Fresh said as he bent down to tie up his Timbs. “I ain't even gonna try to cram all that in tonight, folk.”

I had been studying for the midterm with Kat for the past two weeks, so I wasn't trippin'. Ever since she helped me make a seventy-eight on my first test in Dr. J's class, and an eighty-four on my second, I figured the midterm in his class would be a breeze. It was the biology midterm I was worried about. Since Professor Obugata announced last week that the grades were so bad on the first quiz he was willing to drop each student's lowest quiz score for the semester, I hadn't been so concerned about getting a zero on the first one because I'd missed it. I knew I didn't have any room to slip up on any of the others, so I'd been studying with Kat just about every other day. With her help, and the assistance of the girl sitting in front of me who had no idea I was looking over her shoulder at her Scantron, I scored a seventy-four on the second quiz and got a sixty-nine on the third. Normally, I would've been cool with those grades, because I only needed a D in biology to pass the class, since it wasn't a part of my major. But since I was on academic probation, I needed to keep a 2.5 just to stay in school, and that meant I couldn't afford any D's. I had planned on linking up with Kat later tonight to study, but I didn't want to let the fellas know that I was being tutored. My pride wouldn't let me.

“Y'all heard about that midterm party going down tonight at Club 580?” Lawry asked.

“A
midterm
party?” I asked. “Damn, they throw a party for everything down here, blood.”

“I heard some females in class talking 'bout going to it. They said there's gonna be some shuttles leaving from the Elman parking lot going to the party.”

“Why you worried about getting on a shuttle?” Fresh asked. “You're about the only one in this dorm with a car.”

“My car is so fucked up right now, I'd rather walk or catch the shuttle,” Lawry said. “It only starts when it wants to. I'm down like four flats on a dump truck. When my car does start up, it sounds like a lawn mower. I'm about to take my rims off of it and sell them. They're worth more than my car anyway.”

“I wish I had my whip out here,” Fresh said. “I probably still wouldn't be able to afford gas money, let alone have some bread to go to a party. I'm broke as hell. My mom was supposed to wire me some money, but she hasn't gotten around to it yet. We might not be able to get in, but we can still do some parking lot pimpin'.”

“If both of y'all put up three bucks, I can holla at my boy Stretch upstairs and see if he'll let us slide with a ten-dollar bottle of Grand Marnier for nine bucks.”

My eyes widened. I hadn't drunk any Grand Marnier since prom night. I knew I should probably be studying with Kat, but I had been so stressed out writing papers for my other classes and studying for tests, I figured a swig or two could do me some justice, especially since I didn't know anybody out here other than Fats who was old enough to buy a bottle for me.

“Stretch who?” I asked.

“You ain't met Stretch, fam-o?” Fresh asked. “You've seen him before. He's gotta be the tallest cat who stays here, other than Dub-B. I say he's at least six foot seven.”

“Oh, you're talking 'bout that lanky dude from Houston who stays on the third floor? The one who is always carrying that black water bottle around with liquor in it?”

“Yep,” Fresh said. “I think he's a borderline alcoholic. That nigga comes to our First Year Seminar class, drinking early in the morning. As a matter of fact, he's always getting drunk in the other class I have with him. That dude is wild, joe. He's cool, though. He stays right across the hall from me.”

“He got drink for sale like that, blood?” I asked.

“Man, shawty got everything you can think of up there,” Lawry said.

“Now that I think about it, my money is kinda funny right now too,” I said. “I think I can scrounge up three to drop on it, though. Let me go to my room and see what I can come up with.”

As I walked into my room I overheard Lawry ask Fresh, “Got a dollar I can borrow, shawty?”

“Damn!” Fresh screamed.

I laughed as I dug in Timothy's laundry change box to
borrow
a dollar. I had good intentions of returning it, so I refused to let guilt set in. When we made it to Stretch's door, I could hear Martin Lawrence's first stand-up comedy show,
You So Crazy,
playing on the inside. Fresh ran across the hall to his room to get an extra dollar to cover Lawry. Fresh told us to wait on him to knock on Stretch's door, but as soon as he left, Lawry banged his fist on the door anyway. The second he knocked on Stretch's door, the TV was muted, and the room fell silent. Lawry banged on his door a few more times as Fresh came running back toward us from his room.

“I know he's up in here,” Lawry whispered as he continued to beat on Stretch's door.

“I told you to wait for me to knock on the door,” Fresh said. “You can't just knock on that man's door like that, folk. He ain't never gonna answer. Watch out.” He playfully shoved Lawry aside.

It's hard to explain the secret knock that Fresh used to get Stretch to open the door. But it went something like the baseline on the old-school Zapp & Roger classic, “Computer Love.” It sounded like “boom…chick…boom, chick, chick, chick…boom, boom, boom…chick…boom!”

On the last boom, the door swung open on cue, and Stretch ducked his head under his doorway, suspiciously sticking his long neck out to see who his visitors were. All three of us looked up at him at the same time.

“Oh…Fresh,” he said with a big grin, and an even bigger Houston accent, as he looked down on us. “What it do?”

“Just tryin' to see what you was working with up here,” Fresh said, exchanging a handshake with Stretch.

“Already. Say no more,” he said, motioning for us to come inside.

When I walked into his room, the first thing I noticed was an autographed high school basketball jersey hanging on his wall, and all of the basketball trophies aligned along the top of his bookshelf. Then I noticed that he had combined two beds, putting the head of one bed at the foot of another. That was hella smart, considering he would have had to sleep like an embryo if he didn't want half of his body to be hanging off the bed.

“What's up, ATL?” he asked, looking at Lawry. “What happened to your eye, my nigga?”

“Hoopin',” Lawry said. “With some fools from Texas as a matter of fact. You know y'all can't play no D.”

“Is that the word on the streets?” Stretch asked sarcastically, before turning to dap me up. “What up, Cali? What's going down tonight?”

“We were talking about going to the club, but money is funny right about now,” I said. “I'll be straight when my refund check posts in my account. But until then I'm lying low, blood. We're probably just figna sip on something.”

“Already,” Stretch said as he got down on his knees and reached under his bed to reveal an enormous suitcase. “I'm waiting on my refund check too. I got what ya need, though.”

“Good,” Fresh said. “Since we can't go to the club, the least we can do is get slammed.”

“I feel ya,” Stretch said as he fiddled with what looked like a complicated combination lock on the suitcase. “I thought y'all were them law boys at first. You know they kicked my door in a couple of weeks ago. Somebody was snitching, so I gotta be extra cautious these days.”

“I feel ya, shawty,” Lawry said. “What you planned on getting into tonight?”

“Man…I was talking to my T-Lady when y'all knocked on my doe. But I need to start studying for this First Year Seminar test tomorrow.”

I was thrown off by a word he used. Confusion must've been written all over my face.

“What's wrong, man?” Stretch asked. “You must've ate that spaghetti in the Caf.”

“Nah, blood,” I said. “I was just wondering what ‘T-Lady' means.”

“Oh,” he said, laughing. “My T-Lady. That's my mama. You ain't neva heard that before?”

“That's a new one for me, family,” I said.

“I ain't never heard that one either, joe,” Fresh said.

“Must be an H-town thing, because I'm from the South and I ain't neva heard of that,” Lawry added.

After entering a combination fit for a bank storage vault, Stretch finally cracked the suitcase open. My eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. This cat had more merchandise than a real liquor store. He had the bottles stacked on top of one another in Alpha Mu Alphabetical order, with the amaretto on top of the Armadale vodka.

“Oh, that's that shit right there, joe,” Fresh said, picking up the bottle of Armadale.

“You already know I got that throwed inventory for y'all boys,” Stretch said, rubbing his chin. “I got them bootleg CDs going for five bucks, and the DVDs for ten. I even got that blue diamond in stock for y'all boys.”

“Blue diamond? What's that?”

“That's that Viagra. It'll have you going all night.”

“I'm cool, blood,” I said.

Who needed Viagra with all the liquor he had in stock? He had everything from two-dollar shots of Seagram's gin to a fifteen-hundred-dollar bottle of Rémy Martin Louis XIII. It didn't take long before we found what we'd come in search of. The Grand Marnier was right next to the Hennessey and Hypnotiq. After bargaining with Stretch to let us slide with a twelve-dollar pint for nine bucks, we came to an agreement. He said he would let us slide with it, as long as he could drink with us. Fresh told Stretch that we would be getting slizzered in his room. Just before we walked out, I asked Stretch what baller he had autograph the high school jersey hanging up on his wall.