Next Semester (15 page)

“Aaawww!” Fats sounded off. “Man, that’s ugly, cuz. I hope none of y’all are depending on getting an A up in there.”

NO SHOW

Every
Tuesday at six o’clock for two months straight, our group met in the conference room in Club Woody to work on Kat’s campaign. Timothy had uncharacteristically missed the last couple meetings because he was “sick.” I knew “lovesick” was more like it. Kat, on the other hand, really was sick most of the times we met—coughing, sneezing, nose running, nauseated. I assumed it was probably just her body reacting to all of the drugs she was taking. Even still, Kat was always the first one at the meeting. Dub-B and I were usually always the last to show. With basketball practice and games, he always had a legitimate excuse. Since nobody was supposed to know I was prepledging, I never had a valid excuse. Every time I’d come in ten or fifteen minutes late, Kat would bark out the same complaint.

“To be early is to be on time,” she’d recite. “To be on time is to be late. And to be late is unacceptable!”

This time, it was almost half past the hour when I rolled up in the meeting, late as usual. I figured I would have to hear Kat’s mouth and deal with the others murmuring about me being the slacker of the group. Mentally, I was prepared for it. I was not, however, prepared for Kat and Fresh to be missing in action. Neither of them were in attendance. Immediately, I noticed a worried expression on the faces of my other group members.

“Have you seen Katrina or Fresh around?” Dub-B asked.

“Nah,” I said.

“Timothy?”

“Not since class earlier,” I said. “Why?”

“None of them are here,” Destiny said in a panicked tone.

The fact that Fresh and Timothy were MIA didn’t bother me nearly as much as Kat’s disappearing act. Fresh was expendable. Timothy was becoming progressively unreliable the more he fell for his girlfriend. But we needed Kat. She was the one running for office. We couldn’t do anything without her.
Kat sure picked a hell of a day to go missing,
I thought, as I called her cell for a third time.

In less than thirty minutes, each candidate for student body president was to give their speech for the primary election. As a group, last week we’d agreed to meet at our usual time and location to listen to Kat deliver her speech and give her a few last-second pointers before she hit the stage. Apparently, Kat had other plans that none of us knew about.

“What happened?” Destiny asked, a look of concern on her face.

“Straight to voice mail,” I said, frustrated. “Again.”

“Do you think we should head down to the student center?” Dub-B asked. “Maybe she forgot about the meeting and she’s already there.”

“Maybe he’s right, y’all,” I said.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Destiny asked. “Kat would never forget about a meeting this important. That girl is the most organized person I’ve ever met. Her not answering is starting to scare me. Dub, you try calling her from your phone.”

After yet another failed attempt to connect with Kat, we decided to take matters into our own hands. Quickly, we drafted a speech detailing all of Kat’s accomplishments and where she stood on the issues. Just as we were putting the finishing touches on the conclusion, Destiny’s phone rang. It was Katrina.

“Put her on speakerphone,” Destiny said. “Hey, girl. Where in the world are you?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Kat said in a muffled voice. “I came to the mall to pick up the big poster we had designed at the art supply store.”

“And?” Dub-B asked.

“And when I came outside, all of my tires were flat,” she said. “
All
of ’em!”

“Who are you with?” I asked.

“Well, Fresh rode with me out here,” she said.

“Hell nah!” I said. “That explains things. I think I know exactly what happened.”

I wasn’t certain, but something told me Tiffany had something to do with Kat’s flat tires. Then again, any one of Fresh’s women could’ve been to blame.

“Well, are you going to be able to make it back before the speeches start?” Destiny asked, nervously pacing back and forth. “I’m on scholarship. I can’t afford a bad grade in this class.”

“You?”
I asked under my breath.

“And you can’t afford to miss this speech, ma!” Dub-B continued.

“I know,” Kat said, sniffling as if she was crying. “I don’t know why this had to happen right now!”

“I can come pick you guys up,” Dub-B said. “You’re at Lenox?”

“I already called one of my line sisters to come pick us up about twenty minutes ago,” Kat said, pouting. “She said she’s stuck in traffic, and it’s deadlocked. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it, y’all.”

“Damn!” I said, my heart beating faster. “What are we gonna do?”

“If I don’t make it, I want J.D. to deliver the speech,” Kat said.

“J.D.?”
I asked. “Why me?”

“What do you mean, why you?” Kat asked. “Your mom basically wrote the doggone thing for me! You know it better than anyone else in the group. Plus, I know that you need to pass the class, so I’m sure you’ll give it your all.”

Judging by the looks on the faces of Destiny and Dub-B, neither of them thought Kat’s idea was a very bright one. But this was Kat’s campaign, and although they may have disagreed, none of them spoke up in opposition. There wasn’t a bone in my body that wanted to deliver the speech in Kat’s place. But she had a valid point. I needed to pass the class. About as unsure of myself as everyone standing around me was, I hesitantly agreed.

“I got you,” I said without a lick of confidence.

“Girl, please try to make it back,” Destiny pleaded. “Please! If not, we’ll figure it out.”

Ten minutes before the speeches were to commence, I’d come to the conclusion that Kat wasn’t going to be in attendance and I would have to put the fate of our group on my shoulders. Of the five candidates running for student body president, only two would be voted onto the final ballot. As an incumbent, and three-time president, Howard
Harrell was a shoe-in for one of the spots based on his experience alone. The other spot was up for grabs. The way my grades were shaping up in my other classes, I figured I need at least an A in Dr. J’s class in order to ensure a 3.0 GPA. The only way I’d even had a shot was if Kat’s name appeared on that final ballot alongside Howard’s. And now, by an ironic twist of fate, whether it did or didn’t was solely my responsibility.

As we walked down the strip heading toward the Student Center, the closer we got, the more nervous I became. The speeches were open to the entire student body. And judging by the crowd filing up the steps toward the auditorium, you would’ve thought Barack Obama himself was giving a speech. Just before I was ushered backstage by an administrator, I took a peek at the crowd. There wasn’t an empty seat in the house.

“Ain’t this about nothing,” I whispered to myself as I took my seat backstage in the room of presidential hopefuls.

I was the fourth candidate slated to take the stage. Just as the third—Tangy Fuller, an airhead junior who thought she’d win on her good looks alone but really didn’t stand a chance—was wrapping up her speech, Howard rose from his seat on the couch and approached me. At the time, I was nibbling on my thumbnail, half-mouthing my speech to myself one last time.

“So your girl Katrina is a no-show, huh?” Howard asked before taking a sip of water.

I’d never said two words to Howard in my life—and would have been content going to my grave without doing so. But I knew he was just trying to psyche me out. Before I had a chance to answer, Howard answered for me.

“Figures,” he continued. “After I take the stage it’ll be like she never showed up anyway.”

If his intention was to rattle me, it worked. I was already
nervous as hell. Howard’s comment damn near put me over the edge. When I heard the crowd applauding for Tangy, I knew I was up next. My heart was racing like I was being chased by a stray red-nose pit bull. Like a shark smelling fresh blood, Howard could sense my anxiety.

“At this time, I would like to introduce the fourth candidate for student body president,” the host said. “A junior criminal justice major from Athens, Georgia—Katrina Turner!”

Katrina Turner? I specifically told the host that I was speaking on behalf of Katrina,
I thought, as my hands trembled so vigorously the speech fell to the floor.

“Katrina,” one of the backstage helpers yelped, “you’re on!”

“I’m
J.D.,
” I said, bending over to scoop the speech up.

“Oh, yeah,” the girl said. “Sorry about that. Well, you’re on, J.B. Hurry up!”

“Good luck,
Katrina,
” Howard said, bursting out in laughter.

As I strutted out to the podium, trying my best not to look into the crowd, I could hear the whispers in the crowd.

“That ain’t no damn Katrina,” someone said.

“Who the hell is he?” one guy in the back yelled.

“Where’s Kat?” one of her sorority sisters in the front row asked another.

My knees wobbled uncontrollably as I stood behind the podium. I tried to gain my composure by grabbing a hold of it, but my unsteady hands only caused the wooden structure to shudder, making my inexperience more obvious. As hard as I tried not to stare into the audience, it was impossible. I couldn’t help noticing Dex and a few of the other Kappas standing near the front, off to the side, watching intently. I saw Dr. J, too. He was standing closer to the front of the stage, his bow tie protruding from his V-necked
sweater. Somehow, my group members managed to get a seat front and center in the second row, sandwiched between the Alphas and APAs.

“As you can probably tell by now,
I
am not Katrina Turner,” I said, inciting a few laughs from the stone-faced crowd. “But I am James Dawson, a member of her campaign team. And I am here to speak on her behalf, because I believe in her motto—
the status quo has to go!
”

The APAs and Alphas erupted in a standing ovation. To my surprise, more than half the crowd followed suit. That was my shining moment. Ten seconds of applause. I relished every last one of them. Somewhere between the first hand clap and the last, I completely blanked out. Even with my speech written out in front of me, I was overwhelmed by the pressure. I’d never spoken in front of that many people before. And all eyes were on me. All of a sudden, I couldn’t read my own handwriting. I stumbled over my words and stuttered indiscriminately. By the time I made it through my intro, the heat from the spotlight was cooking me like a rotisserie chicken. I thought wiping the small stream of sweat from my temple would help me get back on track, but when my hand slipped awkwardly from my head and crashed down onto my neatly arranged sheets of paper, causing them to flutter to the stage, I completely lost it.

“Excuse me,” I said, before bending over to scrape up my papers scattered across the stage.

At this point, my ineptitude was on full display. By the time I collected my speech and put it back in the correct order, the guy in the back of the room was flashing his red beam in my face, signaling me to wrap it up.

“I apologize for this,” I said. “As you can probably tell, I wasn’t prepared to deliver a speech today. In closing, I just ask that you look at all of the qualities Katrina brings to
the table. She is more than qualified to be student body president.”

“Well, where the hell is she?” a heckler in the back of the room yelled.

A few people laughed. Then, before I could muster up an answer, it started. What began as a soft chant near the back of the auditorium snaked its way to the front like the wave at a baseball game, growing louder as it approached.

“Howard! Howard! Howard!” the crowd chanted.

I tried talking over them, but it was useless. Over half the crowd was chanting Howard’s name at the top of their lungs. I saw a few people waving me off stage like I was stinking it up at the Apollo. A few others held their key-chains up and rattled their keys, signaling me to hit the road. To add fuel to the fire, the DJ started scratching and spinning a song before I could say “Vote for Katrina” one last time. Even as the music played, the chant continued and fists pumped. I couldn’t have done a worse job representing Katrina and her campaign. I’d been given a chance to salvage my own GPA and help Katrina win the election and I blew it. Oddly enough it wasn’t the hecklers rattling their keys or the DJ cueing me off the stage that hurt the most. Not even the thought of how mad Kat would be when everybody told her how bad I’d bombed. It was the sight of Dr. J dipping his head into his hands in shame and the dejected look on the faces of my group members that made me feel like the scum of the earth. I’d all but single-handedly ruined any chance of Kat being elected student body president. I hoped her support from the Greeks on campus and friends she’d made over the last three years would be enough to at least get her on the final ballot. By the look on their faces, I was certain my speech didn’t win over any of the Kappas. As I walked off stage, my head slightly drooped and tears formed in my eyes. I felt hopeless.

“And now for the man who has served three consecutive terms as president,” the host said as I made my way toward the backstage exit, “it is my pleasure to introduce Howard Harrell!”

The crowd went wild. I went back to Marshall Hall. I didn’t care to stick around for his speech. Instead, I snuck out the back door, careful to avoid all of my group members. I’d bombed so horribly, I didn’t even want to see them. Just when I’d made it to the stoop outside Marshall Hall and thought I was home free, I was spotted.

“You didn’t do that bad, cuz,” Fats said, catching up with me as I walked down the stairs.

“I needed that to go a lot better than it did,” I said, my head sunken. “Everybody was depending on me and I blew it!”

“Pick your head up, cuz!” Fats said, patting me on the shoulder. “It was just a speech.”

“It was more than just a speech,” I said. “I really shot myself in the foot on my midterms, so I’m probably gonna need an A in public policy class to make the cut.”

“Hey, everybody flunks a midterm exam every now and then,” he said.

“Try two out of three,” I said.

“Damn! That’s a bad look, cuz. Well, maybe you can make up for it on your finals.”