First Semester (8 page)

THE CAF

W
hen I caught up with Fresh, he was cutting across the basketball court talking on his cell phone, headed toward Marshall.

“What up, pimp?” he asked, turning around to dap me up, before redirecting his attention toward his conversation.

“Look, baby, I told you I'm not trying to avoid you. It's just that since I've been out here, I've been trying to get on my feet so I haven't had as much time to talk to you lately. You know I love you, though…C'mon now, boo, you know it ain't even like that. I'm not even thinking about these bust-downs out here. Why would I, when I have a queen like you at the crib? Now, I'm gonna call you back in a few so I can holla at my boy…All right, boo. I love you too. Bye.”

After closing his flip phone, Fresh took a deep breath, looking exhausted. “Boy, I'm telling you. This female is driving me insane. I mean, don't get me wrong, joe. I love her and all that. But damn! Ever since I left the crib it's like she calls every ten minutes, asking where I'm at, what time I got there and who I'm with. All that's doing is driving me away, joe.”

“Who you telling, blood? If there's one thing I can't stand, it's an insecure breezy.”

“I know, right,” he said. “Anyway, where you headed? You look like you've been knocked out.”

“I was. I just got out of biology class. I can't stay awake in there for nothing. I was in the back row getting my snooze on. I'm about as hungry as the werewolf of London, though. I need to grab something to eat on.”

“Right, joe. I was just thinking the same thing. Let me run upstairs and drop off my book bag in my room, so we can shoot over to the Caf. I hope the dinner is as good as breakfast was this morning.”

“I might as well throw my bag inside my room too,” I said. “Just meet me outside on top of the steps.”

“Bet,” he said as he lifted his ID card to the electronic sensor pad to open the door. “I'll be right back.” He flung the door open.

I followed him inside. I was so hungry I damn near made it back to the front door before it closed behind me. Fresh had changed into a black short-sleeved polo and a pair of black Steve Maddens.

“You getting kinda clean just to hit the Cafeteria, ain't you?” I asked.

“You know a pimp like Fresh gotta stay as sharp as a barber's clippers,” he said, carefully brushing his waves. “Plus, it's six o'clock. I don't know if you're hip, but that's prime time for some right now pimpin' in the Caf.”

Fresh kind of reminded me of Todd. He was as slick as black ice, but hella laid-back. I'm not the type to kick it with just anybody, but Fresh was cool like that. He had one of those rare, one-of-a-kind personalities you never forget. I followed him.

When I opened the double doors leading to the foyer area outside the Cafeteria, I saw that Fresh was absolutely right. The Caf was crackin'! The area outside of the Caf was set up like the inside of a fast food joint. They called it the Den. Most of the people sitting down at the tables in the Den were upperclassmen and most of them were females. I could feel most of their eyes on me. I exchanged eye contact with a bad dime at the table closest to the door, just before she dipped her chicken strip in her barbecue sauce. Our eyes followed each other's until we were out of one another's peripheral vision. I made a mental note to crack my whip the next time I saw her.

Our pimp struts came to a halt when we jumped in the back of the lengthy line, which snaked all the way from the cashier's desk in the Caf to the staircase next to the men's bathroom. While waiting in line behind Fresh, I peered through the clear Plexiglas window separating the Caf from the Den. The Caf had more dimes than a piggy bank. Just as I began scanning my pockets in search of my ID card, I felt a wave of people behind me push the line, thrusting me forward. I didn't turn around until I felt someone step on the heel of my Js. I turned around with my fists balled up ready to cut somebody's grass. But I unballed my fists when I saw who it was. Downtown-D and about four three-hundred-pound offensive linemen had shoved their way to the front of the line. I lifted my ankle and looked back over my shoulder to check my Js for a scuff, and then I looked at Downtown-D like he'd lost his mind.

“Hold up with all the hostile looks, man,” he said with a Southern drawl. “I ain't mean to get ya.”

Some short girl standing in line with her hair pulled back in two French braids smacked her lips, put her hands on her hips and let him have a piece of her mind.

“I don't care who you are!” she shouted. “Downtown, uptown, or whoever you wanna call yourself. You gotta stand in line like everyone else!”

Instead of responding to the girl standing in line, Downtown-D turned to the dark-skinned lady wearing a hairnet sitting at the cash register and posed a question.

“Does it look like I'm wearing an apron and got a menu in my back pocket to you?” he asked.

“Nah, baby,” she said with a deep Southern accent.

The star quarterback turned around to the line, looking directly at the girl who'd made the smart comment.

“Exactly,” he said emphatically. “Because I'm not a waiter. And I ain't about to wait in this line. Somebody better tell her who I am.”

The offensive linemen slid their ID cards to the cashier one at a time. Downtown-D didn't even take out his ID card. He just nodded at the cashier and followed them inside. When Downtown-D made his entrance, at least half of the girls in the Caf stopped eating long enough to glue their eyes to his body. I figured it must be nice to have that kind of attention. The last time I had a bad breezy checking me out like that, it was because I had a piece of toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

By the time she swiped my card, Fresh had disappeared around the corner leading to the buffet line, and Downtown-D was halfway there. I should've been walking behind him carrying neck braces for the ladies. I tried to stagger my strut to maximize my attention. But Downtown-D was clearly the man of the hour. I was just the guy walking behind him.

The walk from the cashier's desk to the buffet area was like walking down the catwalk in a Sean John fashion show. Every step and exchange of eye contact had to be carefully calculated. Everybody was rocking the tightest gear—from the hottest urban fashion lines to the newest Gucci purses. The lunchroom looked like a nightclub. I caught a few eyes, but most of the bad breezies were focused on Downtown-D.

I thought the Cafeteria food was going to taste like that slop they serve in the county jail, but I was wrong. There was a tall dark-skinned guy wearing a chef's hat, standing over a pizza bar scattering pepperoni over hand-tossed dough and sprinkled mozzarella. There was a breakfast cereal bar with all of my favorites—Lucky Charms, Frosted Flakes and Waffle Crisps. That was right next to the waffle batter, syrup and waffle maker. But the aroma that smelled the best was coming from the steam rising off the collard greens, macaroni and cheese, candied yams and fried chicken. Judging by the length of the line, everybody else obviously felt the same way. I scooped up a red tray, some silverware and a bowl of fresh salad before jumping in the line. On my way to the end of the line, I saw Fresh headed toward the lunchroom area, struggling to balance his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder and to hold up his overloaded tray at the same time.

“Hey, baby, I'm trying to find a seat in the lunchroom right now,” he said, looking annoyed. “We were just talking less than five minutes ago. Let me call you back when I get to my dorm. Yes, I'm gonna call you back this time. Last time, I had fallen asleep. I know I always say that, but I'm for real this time. I know I said that last time, but look, I've gotta go. All right, I love you too. 'Bye.”

He paused for a second before looking at me. “You got a girlfriend, joe?”

“I had one back at the crib, but we broke up right before I came out here.”

“You're a lucky man, folk. I'm telling you, my girl is getting on my last nerve. With her calling every five minutes, I've barely had time to bust down the new bust-downs I've come up on since I've been here.”

“You better keep your game tight,” I said.

“That goes without saying,” he said. “Anyway, I'ma go hold a table down for us.”

I nodded my head and walked over toward the lunch line. Luckily for me, this line was moving faster than the one during registration. I grabbed my plate, set it on my tray and headed to find Fresh.

Trying to look cool while balancing a plateful of soul food and a cup of sweet tea on a tray was harder than honors calculus. One slip or mistimed step could ruin your whole reputation. And since I was a freshman without a car, my rep was just about all I had, so I took my time.

I saw my roommate sitting at a table by himself with his napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, eating soup and crackers near the emergency exit door.

“Hey, James!” he yelled out, waving excitedly, like he'd known me for years.

I started to act like I hadn't heard him at all, but he kept waving. It was still a little premature for me to be publicly associated with ol' Timmy, but in order to avoid further embarrassment, I walked over to his table.

“What's crackin', Timothy?” I asked, looking down at his table cluttered with textbooks. “What you studying?”

“I'm just doing a little research on Thurgood Marshall for our First Year Seminar paper,” he said. “I figured now would be the best time for me to formulate an outline.”

“We just got that assignment today!” I said, laughing. “You're getting started already?”

“I figured it would be to my advantage to get it out of the way.”

“More power to you,” I said.

“You might want to get started on yours too, James. It couldn't hurt. I wouldn't mind sharing my notes with you.”

“Man, we've got a whole week to finish that assignment! I ain't even thinking 'bout that right now. And from now on, it's cool for you to call me J.D.—especially in public.”

“Well, aren't you going to sit down and eat?”

“Nah, I'll let you get your study on,” I said as I spotted Fresh waving me toward his table near the back of the Caf. “I'll holla at you back in the room, though.”

By the time I made it to the table, Fresh had almost finished his food. He was sitting at a table with Lawry and Dub-B, just across from a tableful of other cats I'd seen in Marshall Hall.

“Yo, this yam pie is off the hook, son,” Dub-B said, forking a large bite of dessert into his mouth.

Everybody at the table started cracking up. I laughed so hard I almost cried.

“Yam pie?” I asked, wiping a tear from the corner of my eyelid.

“What the hell is you talkin' about, Wonder Bread?” Lawry asked in his thick Southern accent. “That's called sweet potato pie, shawty.”

“Wonder Bread,” Fresh said, pointing toward Dub-B. “I like that name for you, joe. From now on, that's what we're calling you—Wonder Bread.”

“All of my homies call me Dub-B,” he said. “That's what I go by.”

“Exactly,” Fresh said with a laugh. “Dub-B stands for Wonder Bread.”

The veins near Dub-B's temples pulsated and his face turned red, as he angrily shoved the last piece of sweet potato pie from his plate into his mouth. For the first time since I'd met him in the registration line, Dub-B was losing his cool. I had to cut the tension.

“Speaking of a sweet potato,” I said, nudging Fresh with my elbow, “whatever happened between you and ol' baby you were stepping with at the Olive Branch? She was the truth!”

“Who you talking 'bout, Alexis?” Fresh asked.

“The one you were dancing with when R. Kelly's song came on,” I said.

“The one whose ass was about as thick as the Yellow Pages, shawty,” Lawry added.

“Oh yeah,” Fresh said. “I don't know what the hell that has to do with a sweet potato, but that's her. She goes to Elman.”

“So what ever happened with that?” Dub-B asked.

“Nothing,” Lawry interjected. “He just said she goes to Elman. You know those girls be acting like they're too cute to poot—unless you're a Lighthouse man.”

“Oh, c'mon, now,” Fresh said casually. “You know I hit that.”

“No bullshit?” Lawry asked.

“It's a small thing to a giant,” Fresh said. “You've seen me with her before, J.D.”

“When?” I asked.

“That's the same girl you seen me sneaking into Marshall the night V-Man called us out about coming to our meeting late.”

“Well, say that, then!” I said.

“Ooh!” Lawry screamed as he got up from the table. “I know she had some wet-wet.”

“Yeah, she's a real freak,” Fresh said. “Where you headed?”

“Back for seconds,” Lawry said as he walked back toward the kitchen. “I'll be right back.”

“I like how Fresh is trying to act all cool and player about Alexis now,” Dub-B said. “But that night, it looked like y'all were falling in love on the dance floor, B.”