First Semester (17 page)

He stopped in midsentence, and his eyeballs swelled. The laughter ceased.

“Don't mention it, Professor O,” I said, reaching for my papers. “Just give me back my Scantron, and we can forget it ever happened.”

“Not so fast,” he said. “What is this?”

“What is what, sir?” I asked.

“What is this despicable piece of paper that I have in my hand right now?”

“That's a Scantron, sir,” I said as candidly as possible.

“You know I'm not talking about the bubble sheet. I'm referring to this,” he said, holding out the cheat sheet in my face.

“Professor, I don't know where that came from,” I said, slightly trembling.

“I do,” a voice behind me said.

“Who said that?” Professor Obugata asked. “Who is responsible for bringing this funny business into my classroom?”

“I am, sir,” Timothy said, standing up.

My jaw almost hit the floor. Timothy was the last person on earth I would've expected to ever take the rap for me. I was floored.

“Well, I'll be…” the professor said, at a loss for words. “Mr. McGruden, you are one of my most prized students. What is the cause of this mischief?”

“I don't know,” Timothy said. “I don't have an applicable excuse. It's just that things have been really hectic for me with my honors schedule.”

“Spare me the malarkey, Mr. McGruden. You disgust me.”

“I apologize, Professor.”

“Well, I don't have time to accept your apology now,” Professor Obugata said. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have an exam to administer to the students who took the time to study. You will receive a zero on this exam. You're free to go now.”

“But, Professor,” Timothy said.

“I said, you are free to go now! I'm trying to handle this without involving administration. Now please dismiss yourself from my classroom immediately.”

“Let me explain,” Timothy said, pleading with him. “I was just—”

“Flee!” he screamed, pointing toward the door. “Immediately!”

HOMECOMING

T
he first time Todd called me to brag about how much fun he was having at homecoming up at Crampton, I figured he was probably putting a little extra tartar sauce on the catfish, embellishing his story a little to make his campus seem like it was more crackin' than mine, since his homecoming was one week before mine. But after all of the stories about the parties, the step show, the comedy show and the tales about how many fine women showed up for the pregame tailgate, I was convinced he was telling the truth.

Still, there wasn't anything anyone could've told me to adequately prepare me for the homecoming experience at an HBCU. Even though I'd been in school for two months, I was still in a state of awe when homecoming finally came around. By the amazed look on Dub-B's face, it was pretty safe to say he was feeling the same way. I don't think either of us even understood what going to an HBCU was all about until we saw the crowd of alumni gathered outside Panther Stadium on game day.

We were playing Lighthouse, the number one team in black college football, who just happened to be our cross-campus archrival. The game was so packed there wasn't an open seat in the bleachers, but it didn't matter, because the real party was going down outside the stadium. There were thousands of alumni tailgating, rockin' their old-school Greek paraphernalia. Vendors' booths cluttered the sidewalk on both sides of the street. There were people scalping tickets and vendors peddling bootleg CDs and DVDs, fresh fruit and homecoming T-shirts. Downtown-D mania was in full effect. There were people selling University of Atlanta football jerseys with Number One on the front and Downtown-D on the back, and game programs with his autograph on them.

After freeloading drinks and barbecue chicken from each of the frat houses, I headed over to the game with Dub-B to see what this Downtown-D hype was really all about. When I finally got inside, I spotted Fresh sitting in the bleachers sharing some nachos with his girl. Stretch was sitting on the other side of Fresh, tossing back his signature “water” bottle.

“What's crackin', y'all?” I asked.

“Man, y'all late as hell,” Stretch said. “This boy Downtown-D is going hard.”

“Yeah, he's going off,” Fresh said. “Have I introduced you to my girl?”

“Nah, I've never met her,” I said, extending my hand.

“Chantel, that's J.D. from Oakland,” he said. “And that's my guy Dub-B over there.”

“It's nice to meet you both,” she said, with a smile.

By the time I looked up at the clock, there was only twenty seconds left in the game, and U of A had the ball near the fifty-yard line. We were losing by six points and needed a touchdown to win the game.

“I think I seen your girl in here, joe,” Fresh said.

“Who?” I asked

“Katrina, who else?”

“It ain't like that just yet, blood,” I said. “Where's she at, though?”

“Ain't that her right down there?” he asked, pointing a couple of rows down.

I looked down and saw a girl in a pink and green APA jacket. She was hoisting up a double-sided sign that read Downtown-D for MVP on one side and had a huge number one on the other. When the girl turned around to talk to one of her sorority sisters, I did a double take. I would've bet my refund check the girl riding Downtown-D's jockstrap was just some starstruck freshman. I was trippin' when I realized that the girl riding Downtown-D's bandwagon was indeed Kat. I wouldn't have expected that from her—especially after she'd told me that the two of them were “on the rocks.”

“Yep, that's her all right,” I said, slightly embarrassed.

Everyone in the stadium looked like they were holding their breath, waiting for Downtown-D to work his magic. They didn't have to wait long. He dropped back to pass, ducked underneath a Lighthouse linebacker gunning for his head, hopped over another diving at his ankles, spun away from an onslaught of raging defenders and threw a perfect spiral off his back foot to an open receiver in the corner of the end zone for the game-winning touchdown with no time remaining on the clock. Lighthouse players dropped to their knees on the sideline as the extra point kick sailed through the goalposts, giving U of A the 35–34 victory over our rival. Every Panther in a uniform on the sideline rushed the field, and the crowd went crazy. Their thunderous applause quickly gave way to an even louder, repetitive chant of “Downtown-D for MVP!”

“Oh, my God!” Stretch shouted. “Did you just see that?”

“Yeah,” I said, gazing at Katrina, who looked elated. “I saw it.”

Downtown-D took his helmet off and cockily stood on the sideline with his left hand on his hip, while holding up number one with his right hand high in the air. Maybe I was trippin', but for some reason it seemed like I could hear Kat cheering louder than everyone else in the stadium. She held her sign up high and jumped for joy like she'd won the lottery. Everyone in the stadium was happy. But for an average fan, she seemed overjoyed.

If someone would've asked me, at the start of the semester, which homecoming event I thought would be most memorable, I probably would've guessed either the football game, the coronation ball, the concert or maybe even the dorm step show. But I would've been wrong. I was chilling in my room, ironing my suit for the coronation ball, with my door open and music blasting, when the unforgettable took place.

“Okay, so who did it!” I heard a guy in the hallway scream at the top of his lungs. “C'mon, B, whoever is big and bold enough to do some nasty shit like this needs to fess up!”

Even with my Dr. Dre CD blasting, I could make out an East Coast accent that couldn't belong to anyone but Dub-B. When I walked out into the hallway to see what he was hollering about, I laughed so hard I damn near hit the floor. Dub-B was dripping wet, with a white towel wrapped around his waist, but was covered in runny, brown shit from head to toe. He smelled and looked like he'd accidentally fallen into a toilet, just after someone had taken a number two. He was so mad he was damn near crying. And so was I, because I was laughing so hard. I tried to hold it in, but I couldn't help it.

“Just admit it!” he said, in front of a growing crowd of hysterical onlookers. “Who in the hell is nasty enough to take a shit in their own hand and wipe it on each and every one of the showerheads in the bathroom? That is fucking disgusting, kid! Y'all better hope I don't find out who did this! Word to my mother, yo! That's some foul shit!”

Literally, I thought, as he walked toward the steps, boo-boo squishing in between his toes with his every step. No one could even think to take Dub-B's threats seriously. All anyone could do was laugh. The second Dub-B cut the corner, Lawry came running out of his room, laughing his heart out.

“Ha, ha!” he screamed. “I told you I was gonna get that boy! Now that tattoo on his arm that says white chocolate really means something!”

“You a fool, blood,” I said. “You gotta have some serious problem to even think to do some shit like that. I'm going to try to remember not to shake your hand for a while.”

“Hey, shawty thought he was the shit anyway, right? All I did was make sure he lived up to it. Now he'll be the shit everywhere he goes. Hell, he can't help it!”

“Man, that had to be the funniest thing I've seen in hella long, blood. You're wrong for that.”

“He had it coming,” Lawry said. “But enough about that. I need to borrow your ironing board.”

“Where you been at lately?” I asked. “How you just gonna pop up out of the blue on the night of our coronation ball, smearing dookee on showerheads and asking a nigga for his ironing board?”

“Man, I've been so busy studying for them midterms I ain't had time to do too much of nothing else,” he said. “But speaking of your ironing board, that reminds me, I'm going to be needing your starch too.”

“You're something else,” I said. “The starch is over there in the corner next to the ironing board. I'm figna have to start charging you a fee, blood. You're killing me.”

“Killing
you?
” Lawry asked. “You should be ballin' out right about now. Didn't you just get a refund check back for about a stack and a half?”

“It wasn't even a whole stack,” I said. “It was only nine hundred dollars. And I've got to stretch that money out for the rest of the semester. I've gotta use that on everything from Christmas shopping to laundry money. Come to think of it, why are you all up in my checking account anyway?”

“All I'm saying is, if I'd gotten back that much money from my student loans, I wouldn't be trippin'.”

“Cut the crap,” I said. “I ain't ballin'. I'm falling. I need to be asking you if I can hold something.”

I had to go up to the second floor to take my shower. After I hopped out, and threw on the light gray suit my mom had bought me for Easter several months ago, I headed over to Lawry's room. His door was closed, but I didn't bother knocking. I just walked right in. When the door flung open, it hit the ironing board, knocking his freshly pressed black slacks to the floor.

“My bad,” I said, bending down to pick them up.

To my surprise, Timothy was in his room sitting on Lawry's bed, tying his shoe. He looked startled when I busted in. He quickly scurried to the floor to help me pick up the slacks, as if they were his.

“Damn, shawty!” he said, scrambling to his bed, seemingly trying to hide something. “You could've knocked.”

When I picked the pants up, I noticed that they were way too big for him. They looked like they belonged to Stretch. Upon further investigation, I noticed that Lawry had over ten pairs of black slacks neatly folded on his comforter. Each pair of slacks had a freshly pressed white dress shirt and a gold bow tie laid out just above it.

“I'll take those,” he said, grabbing the pair of slacks out of my hands.

“What's up with all the black slacks and dress shirts? You trying to run a bootleg cleaners?”

“I couldn't figure out which suit to wear, so I ironed all of 'em,” he said nervously.

“What's the truth, cousin?”

“It ain't nothin', shawty,” he said, nonchalantly grabbing his keys and passing me a fifth of Armadale. “Let's get out of here.”

After Timothy helped Lawry neatly place each slack-and-shirt combo in separate garment bags, he threw them over his shoulder and we dipped out.

“You riding with us tonight?” I asked Timothy as we walked down the hallway.

“I suppose,” he said. “Lawry told me that it would be a good way for me to get my mind off of that zero that I got on that biology midterm.”

“Speaking of that exam, I've been meaning to thank you for that,” I said. “I mean, you're a real nigga for looking out for me like that. I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Well, I saw that you were in trouble,” he said. “And I figured since my average in the class was around a ninety-eight, I could afford to take a fall on one exam. Especially since you're going to need to pass that class in order for you to come back next semester.”

“That's what I'm saying,” I said. “I mean, what made you do that for me?”

“I know we haven't been best friends or anything, but you are my roommate and I want to see you graduate. Besides, that advice you gave me after I screwed up on that First Year Seminar exam really helped me out.”

“What did I say again?”

“You told me that all progress requires change, but not all change is progress.”

“Oh yeah, that's right. I sure did kick that knowledge, didn't I?”

“Yeah, man. And hey, without it I might still be lost. For a second there, I was losing my religion. I was drifting pretty badly. I think I was receiving too many different doctrines at the same time, so I began to get confused. But for some reason, when you said that, it helped me put things in their proper place. And for that, I'm eternally grateful. So I figured I kinda owed you one. And at the end of the day, that's what brotherhood is all about, right? Stepping up for one another.”

“Well, thanks a lot,
brotha,
” I said, wrapping my arm around his neck. “We need more like ya!”

When we got outside, Fresh was standing in the parking lot, holding his girlfriend's hand. When I got close enough to see the green and gold tuxedo he was wearing, I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes.

“What's so funny?” he asked, as he pulled a brush out of his coat pocket and began stroking his waves.

“Oh no, the hell you didn't, shawty,” Lawry said.

“I knew y'all wouldn't recognize pimpin' when you seen it. Man, my uncle Bishop Don Magic Juan gave me this suit. He wore it at the BET Music Awards show when he was onstage with Snoop.”

“Well, keep it pimpin', then, pimpin',” I said as I downed my first cup of Armadale.

“You guys ain't figna be snappin' on my man like that,” Chantel said, playfully pushing Lawry.