Next Semester (4 page)

“White girls!” I said in exasperation. “With a name like Amy, I’m assuming she’s a snow bunny.”

“Oh!” he said. “I had no idea you were referring to…no! Amy isn’t white! She’s Italian.”

“Last time I checked, that was white, playa,” I said. “She lives in Italy?”

“No, she lives in Tubman Hall, on the other side of campus,” he said.

“Oh, I probably know her then,” I said.

“I doubt it,” he said. “She’s a chemistry major, like me. Plus, she’s into church. She isn’t really on the social scene.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, peeking over his shoulder to take a look at her profile picture. Under one of her pictures, someone left a comment that said Italian stallion!

“Italian stallion, huh?” I asked, leaning in for a better look. He quickly closed the window.

“Do you mind?” he asked, sounding agitated.

“She’s a cutie,” I said.

“Yes, she is,” he confirmed. “But looks are temporary, J.D. Amy is a virtuous woman. A woman I can trust to do the right thing, even when I’m not around. That’s why she’s my girl.”

“Wow,” I said, laughing. “Looks like she’s got you open, too.”

“I’m not even gonna try to figure out what that means,” Timothy said, closing his laptop. “Come on. Let’s go, before we’re late.”

I grabbed my room key and followed Timothy down to the living room area of our dorm, near the entrance. The hallway was packed. Everyone was heading to the meeting. When I walked into the room, I noticed that this meeting was a lot different than the one we had last semester. This was no longer a group of strangers who didn’t know each other. By now, everybody had pretty much clicked up and made friends. Now, guys were sitting with their crews getting reacquainted, arguing with each other about whose team was going to win the Super Bowl. Instead of walking into a quiet room of fellas still feeling each other out, I walked into one of laughter, assuredness and guys showing off new tattoos. It still smelled like the inside of a dirty clothes hamper, though.

“All right, everybody quiet down,” Varnelius said,
standing up in his gold boots, army fatigue pants and purple wife beater. He was bald-headed, dark-skinned and average in height, with a husky build, and biceps as big as my head. “I know you are just getting back into the swing of things, so I want to make this meeting short and sweet.”

Varnelius was flanked by his three assistant RAs. Each of them responsible for their own floor. Of course, our floor RA, Lester, a tall, lanky, light-skinned guy with an S-curl and a plethora of female mannerisms, stood out in his florescent pink Polo button up, matching Chucks and ripped jeans. I had no idea Fresh was standing next to me, until he whispered in my ear.

“Okay, so I know the ripped jean this is making a comeback and everything,” he said. “But aren’t the holes supposed to be around the knee area?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“I’m just wondering why Lester’s holes are so high up on his thighs. That’s kinda suspect, if you ask me.”

“As if his pastel color combo wasn’t,” I said with a laugh.

“Now that Cool Cali and Chi-Town’s finest are done sharing beauty secrets, we can get started,” Varnelius said, staring us down. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Varnelius, and I am the head resident assistant here at Marshall Hall. I am
not
your babysitter! You all are grown young men, and I expect you to conduct yourself as such. By now, you all should know our dorm motto.”

“I can’t stand that nigga, blood,” I whispered to Fresh. “He’s one of them cats who just takes his job way too serious.”

“As a matter of fact, since my boy D.J. from Cali is so talkative this evening, I will let him refresh your memory. D.J.,” he said, looking at me.

I just sat there, looking at him with a blank stare.

“Come on D.J.,” he said. “We don’t have all night. We’re not on West Coast time. Give us that Marshall Hall motto.”

“Well, if you are talking to me, my name is J.D.,” I said.

“And the motto?”

“Distinguished men of Marshall give respect to get respect,” I said.

“That’s right. And when it comes to respect, the rules are simple. Visitation is over at eleven o’clock p.m. Not eleven-oh-one.”

“Not eleven-oh-two,” everyone said in unison, sounding like a choir.

Varnelius chuckled. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him crack a smile.

“Well, I’m glad y’all know it,” he said. “Eleven o’clock sharp! No loud music after ten. It’s the winter. It’s cold outside. And the roaches need somewhere warm and cozy to call home. If you don’t clean up after yourself, they will be roasting marshmallows right here in Marshall Hall. And I’m sure none of us want that. So do us all a favor, and keep the place clean. And for God sakes, stop pulling the daggone fire alarm! In a month or so it’s gonna be too cold out to be standing outside waiting on the firemen to come for a false alarm. So this semester, easy on the practical jokes.”

“This fool got more commandments than Moses,” Fresh said.

Everybody within earshot busted out laughing.

“Word,” someone behind me said. “Son is buggin’ right now, B.”

I knew that accent all too well. When I turned to see who was in agreement, I wasn’t surprised. It was Dub-B, in a Mets fitted, white T-shirt and sweatpants. He stood
six-four, and was the only white guy I’d ever met who rocked his hair braided in cornrolls and stayed with a fresh goatee. All things considered, he was the blackest white guy I’d ever encountered. Since Dub-B lived on the same floor as me, we grew close last semester. But since he played on the basketball team, he practiced so often I hadn’t even seen him since I’d been back on the yard.

“My guy,” I said, dapping him up. “What’s up with you, fam?”

“Tired,” he said. “This new coach got us doing two-a-days. Killing me, son!”

“And last but not least!” Varnelius said with an attitude, raising his voice to let us know he was annoyed by our side conversation. “One last warning. We all saw what happened to Downtown D last semester.”

The mention of Downtown D’s name sent a chill down my spine. The thought of how close I came to being a victim of his love triangle was unsettling, to say the least. I discreetly looked around to see if anyone looked in my direction to see how I’d respond, but didn’t notice any unordinary attention.
Thank God,
I thought. Maybe people really have forgotten about me being in the middle of that whole saga.

“This HIV thing is real,” Varnelius continued. “So if you’re gonna go deep-sea diving, please, for your own safety, wear a life jacket. If you know what I mean.”

“What does he mean?” Timothy whispered.

“Downtown D scored one too many times without his helmet,” Fresh said with a laugh.

“What does
that
mean?” Timothy asked, sounding even more confused.

“Wear a condom,” I said.

“Oh,” Timothy said. “Well, what the heck does that have to do with deep-sea diving and a helmet?”

“Don’t even worry about it, homie,” I said, with a laugh. “I swear, you’re ’bout as square as my back pocket. You crack me up sometimes.”

“Unless any of you have questions, this meeting is officially adjourned,” Varnelius said.

“Good,” I mumbled, turning to walk away before he even got the last word of his sentence out.

“Except for those of you on academic probation,” Varnelius said. “I’m not going to call out any names. You know who you are. If I am talking to you, each of you will be meeting with your individual floor RAs on your respective floors, near the washroom. If you are on the first floor, stay put. You all will meet right here. Thanks everybody for coming on time, and I look forward to a successful second semester, with no problems.”

“Damn,” I said, making an about-face, pouting.

“What you about to do, J?” Fresh asked.

“Man, I gotta stay for this lil’ meeting,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot, you are on academic probation, huh?”

“Wish I wasn’t. What you finna get into?”

“I can’t call it,” he said. “Just hit me when you get outta there.”

“Aight,” I said.

Just as I was about to walk back into the room, a guy wearing a Pizza Time uniform busted through the front door, hoisting a pizza bag over his head.

“I got one last pizza going for five bucks. Any takers?”

The aroma had damn near everybody in the hallway digging in their pockets for a Lincoln. I was the first to pull one out of my pocket.

“What kind is it?” I asked.

“The five-dollar kind,” somebody in the hall said. “Who cares? If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“Sausage,” the guy said, handing me the medium-size pizza.

“Thanks,” I said. “Man, I’m glad you came through. I probably wouldn’t have had time to make it to the caf.”

“I’ll give you two-fifty for half of it,” one guy said as he passed by.

“I’m straight,” I said. “You know I’m still on Cali time, and we’re three hours behind, so I get hella hungry at night.”

There were about six guys sitting on the couch in the room. Lester was sitting on a stool in front of them, the holes near his thighs in his jeans at direct eye level. I decided to stand up.

“Glad you could join us,” Lester said. “That pizza sure smells good. Care to share?”

“Not really,” I said.

“I don’t blame you. What is that, sausage?”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Mmmm,” he said, licking his lips. “I love me some sausage.”

“I bet you do, girlfriend,” a guy said mockingly as he walked by, snapping his fingers.

A group of guys standing in the hallway burst out in laughter. I snickered, trying to hold mine in.

“Anyway,” Lester said, rolling his eyes, “now that everybody is here, let’s get this meeting underway. I wanna make this as quick and painless as possible. I’m sure we’ve all got better things to do. In short, Varnelius has instructed us to keep you all on a short leash. The retention rate of students on academic probation at U of A is too low.”

“What is a retention rate?” someone asked.

“Basically, there are too many of you all on academic probation, who for whatever reason, don’t make the grade and end up dropping out of school. The university feels that
your behavior in the dorm is a reflection of your obedience in the classroom. So to put it bluntly, they aren’t going to put up with any shit from you all this semester in terms of taking disciplinary action if you all get out of line here in Marshall Hall. Varnelius may be a little more lenient on the other guys, but you all are starting out with a red flag. Just keep that in mind, be sure to follow all of the rules that he discussed earlier and you shouldn’t catch any flak from him or anyone else. As far as your course loads go, just study hard, man. By the mere fact that you are sitting here, you obviously did well enough to make the cut last semester. And just think, if you keep your grades above a 2.5 this time around, you will have this monkey off your back for good. So handle your business.”

With that, the meeting was dismissed and each of us headed to our rooms. But not before Lester made one more announcement.

“Oh,” he said, “I almost forgot. This really goes without saying, but I will tell you anyway. Absolutely no fighting. Any students on academic probation who are caught fighting are expelled off top. No questions asked. So if you even see somebody fighting, just go the other way.”

I thought Lester would never stop talking. By the time he concluded his speech, my stomach was doing backflips. Sausage pizza never smelled so good.

“I’ll give you a dollar for a slice,” Dub-B said as I walked by.

“Not this time, homie,” I said. “This one is all me.”

When I made it to my room, I noticed Timothy was thumbing through a biology book. I knew I wasn’t going to be using Kat’s tutorial services anymore, so I was going to need all the help I could get passing biology this semester.

“Say, blood,” I said. “How’d you do in biology last semester?”

“I aced it!” he said. “You know that’s my major. I freakin’ love science!”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “That’s right. I forgot all about that. Man, I might need you to look out for your boy and help me out in that class from time to time this semester.”

“What happened to the tutor you had last semester?”

“Who, Katrina?”

“Yes, that’s her,” he said.

“Man, I ain’t even messing with her like that no more,” I said. “I haven’t even really spoke to her since all that stuff went down last semester. To tell you the truth, I ain’t even tryna be seen with her.”

“I heard about the way everything unfolded,” he said. “That was a very unfortunate situation. I hope you got tested for HIV.”

“Oh, you know I did,” I said. “Thank God, it came back negative.”

“That’s a blessing,” Timothy said. “My father always says you can either have buns or abundance. I dunno, J.D. I mean, I’m not sexually active or anything. You know that. But it just seems like so much trouble comes with…well…you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“Buns!” he said. “You have to worry about getting a girl pregnant, contracting an STD. These days, you’re practically risking your life! I think I’m sticking with focusing on abundance for now.”

“I never really thought about it like that,” I said.

“But more importantly, to answer your question, you know I don’t have any problem lending a helping hand in biology, if you need it. I’m taking a full load this semester, so my schedule is going to be rather hectic. But as long as you’re willing to study, I’m willing to help.”

“I’ma need that, homie,” I said. “Biology is one of my
hardest classes. And I’m on academic probation, so if I don’t get at least a 2.5 GPA…”

“Say no more!” he said. “We’ll meet at the library once a week to study.”

BOOKS ON A BUDGET

It
wasn’t even noon yet, and the strip was jumpin’. The strip was a narrow street smack-dab in the middle of the yard lined by the library, the student center, dorms and campus buildings. The strip stretched all the way from University of Atlanta’s main campus, past Lighthouse, all the way to Elman’s front gate. In between classes, and sometimes during them, the strip is where all the students hung out. There were so many people congregating in front of the student center, you would’ve thought a step show was going on. As we got closer to the crowd, I saw there
was
a step show going on. In an impromptu clash of the Greeks, each fraternity and sorority were taking turns showing off their unique partyhops, strolls and chants. I even spotted Timothy in the mix, joining his frat brothers in their call and response. I couldn’t help but notice the way the sorority
chicks gawked at him and his crew. It was like pledging had made Timothy a brand-new person.

I looked on with a tinge of jealousy. For some reason, sorority chicks mesmerized me. They came in all sorts of shades and sizes. Some rocked the long hairstyles, others the short dos. But no matter if the colors on their jackets were blue and white, pink and green or crimson and cream, all of them carried a certain mystique about themselves. They walk with a confident air that exudes sexiness and distinction. In my eyes, their attention to detail in their appearance made them stand out. For instance, you would never catch a chick with an APA jacket without her fingernails and toes freshly manicured with French tips. And for some reason, they always smelled fragrant. At least Kat did. And the Deltas were known for dressing sharp. Even without a line jacket on, you could tell a girl was a Delta from a mile away. It was commonplace to see them walking to class in an outfit sharp enough to wear to a
Fortune 500
job interview. And they never stepped foot on campus without heels. Not in all cases, but in most, sorority chicks were the cream of the crop. And I was standing right in the thick of it.

For a moment, I didn’t care if people thought that because I’d slept with Kat, I was HIV positive. And it didn’t matter that the only money I had to my name was the money I was supposed to spend on my books. I was just happy to be back on the yard. Away from the gritty streets of Oakland and back on campus. For a moment, as I stood with my Jansport strapped to my back, I felt free.

A familiar ruckus catapulted me back into reality. The sorority girls stopped doing their steps and hurriedly stepped aside as the fellas inside the circle began pushing and shoving each other. All of the onlookers began backing up to give the guys some room, in case it came to blows. I took a couple steps back, not knowing what was going on.

“What just happened, blood?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But it looks like the Kappas are getting mad at the Sigmas for twirling canes,” Fresh said. “As soon as they started twirling, one of them got their cane snatched.”

“So you mean to tell me that these fools are beefing over who can twirl a cane?” I asked. “They’re going at it like some Crips and Bloods.”

“These niggaz be taking that fraternity stuff serious, joe” he said. “Plus, the Kappas were founded first, so they feel like the Sigmas are biting their style.”

“
Who
cares?” I asked.

“There’s a lot of history behind why they carry those canes, G,” he said.

“What are you? Some kind of Kappa-ologist?” I asked. “How do you know so much about Kappas all of a sudden?”

“Sssssshhh!”
Fresh whispered. “I don’t want everybody all up in my business. But, if you must know, I’ve done a little research here and there.”

“Research?”
I asked. “Are you serious? You wanna be a Kappa now?”

“I’m not sure just yet. But I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I mean, think about it, fam. They always dress clean.”

“True.”

“They always get the baddest chicks on the yard.”

“For the most part.”

“And their parties are always off the chain!”

“You’ve got a point there,” I said.

“Plus, from what I heard, they do a lot of community service,” Fresh added.

“Man, please!” I said. “You know good and well you ain’t thinking about no damn community service. You’re just tryna get some.”

“Who ain’t?” he asked, laughing. “I bet you wouldn’t have any problem pulling that lil’ cutie from Elman if you were a Kappa.”

“I wouldn’t have no problem getting with her if I wasn’t,” I said confidently. “Besides, I ain’t even tryna get caught up chasing breezies this semester anyway. I gotta get my grades right and stay focused. Speaking of which, let’s go to the bookstore real quick.”

“I hear you talkin’,” Fresh said, wearing a facial expression that clearly stated he didn’t believe anything that was coming out of my mouth. “C’mon.”

The first thing I saw when we walked inside the student center, heading to the bookstore, was a large sign on one of the walls that read Student Government Applications Available Now! It made me think of my mom. The next thing I saw made my eyes bug out. The line from the cash register inside the bookstore stretched all the way out into the hallway in the student center. For every person who walked out, the security guard let one in.

“I ain’t about to stand in this line, fam,” I said. “We might have to come back.”

“You ain’t lying, joe,” Fresh said. “This line is bogus as hell.”

Just as I was about to make my exit, I felt an arm wrap around my shoulder.

“What’s
crackin’ blood?
” Dub-B asked, mocking my West Coast slang.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes Dub-B sounded blacker than us when he spoke.

“What’s
demo, joe?
” Dub-B continued, mocking Fresh’s Chi-Town slang, as he nudged him. “Where y’all headed?”

“I guess back out to the strip to try to kill some time,” I said. “That line in the bookstore is way too long for me.”

“Not a problem,” Dub-B said. “Just let me know what
books you need and I got you. You know my girlfriend works in the bookstore, so I can skip the line.”

“That’s what’s up,” I said.

“Just write down what books you need, give me the dough for ’em and I will hook it up.”

“That works,” Fresh said. “But since your girl can get you to the front of the line and all, you think she could hook a brotha up with a lil’ discount? I’m a little short on ends right now.”

“If I had the hookup on a discount, I would have hooked myself up by now, yo,” Dub-B said.

I was looking through my backpack for a scrap piece of paper to write on when Fats walked up.

“Did I hear somebody say something about a hookup?” Fats asked. “How much you got to spend and what you need?”

“Not a lot,” Fresh said. “And textbooks.”

With Fats being from L.A., he took it upon himself to show me the ropes when I first got to U of A. He was the resident super senior on the yard. Short and stocky in stature, Fats was the man when it came to getting the hookup on anything and everything on campus.

“Well ‘not a lot’ doesn’t sound like enough, but we may be able to work something out,” Fats said, struggling to hold two extralarge plastic shopping bags full of textbooks.

“There you go,” I said. “What you doing with all those books you got in those bags? I know
you
ain’t taking all them classes.”

“C’mon now,” he said. “You know I keep more hustles than janitors keep keys. I can get you whatever books you need for twenty-five percent off. They will be photocopied. But it’s still the same thing.”

“Twenty-five?” I asked. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Well, between me and you, since y’all my little homies, I’ll look out and give y’all an additional ten percent off my usual prices, but don’t tell anybody.”

“Can’t beat that with a baseball bat,” Dub-B said. “Now, I wish I woulda holla’d at you before I bought mine.”

“You really be making bread off of photocopying books and slangin’ ’em for the low?” I inquired.

“Do I?”
Fats asked, with a laugh. “I’ma make a killing, cuz. My roommate put me up on the hustle. That fool made so much cake doing this last semester, he bought some chrome rims for his ride and furnished our whole apartment. Fly shit. A living room set you would see on
MTV Cribs.
Flat screen and all, cuz.”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “All that just off selling some books for class? Wow!”

“What classes you taking anyway?” Fats asked.

“You know I’m a business major, but I’m still taking a whole lot of my prereq classes right now,” I said, looking over the sheet of paper I was about to hand Dub-B. “So I’m taking Biology, English, African-American history, Algebra II, and one more class. Either public policy or intro to technology.”

“Oh, that’s a no-brainer,” Fats said. “You gotta go with the public policy class, without question. Dr. J teaches that Intro to Tech class. And you know him. He will actually have you up in there doing some work, so you definitely don’t wanna take that. But that public policy is an easy A. I know who teaches that class. Wussername? Ummm…Uh…man, it’s right on the tip of my tongue. Miss…Professor Mitchell,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Yep, that’s her name. Professor Tessa Mitchell. That’s whose class you want to take.”

“Why Miss Mitchell?” I asked.

“Because I took her class last semester, and she was
about four months pregnant then. She was always canceling class because of her doctor appointments. It was beautiful. It’s been at least a month, so that means she’s gonna have even more visits to the doctor. She’s never gonna be there! Think about it. More doctors visits mean less homework. And less homework equals less exams. Man, I wish she taught every class!”

“Oh, hell yeah,” I said, scratching intro to technology off of my list and replacing it with public policy. “Sign me up!”

“Me, too,” Fresh said. “An easy A sounds good to me.”

After placing our order with Fats, Fresh and I went back outside. Things were back to normal. The Greeks were still battling. Students interested in joining their organizations standing off to the side, looking like groupies. Vendors set up along both sides of the strip peddling everything from fresh fruit and water to socks, CDs and knockoff jewelry. I was strolling by the bootleg CD stand when I felt someone tap my elbow.

“What it is, folk?” Lawry asked in his signature Southern twang.

Lawry stayed next door to me in Marshall Hall. He was one of the few people I’d met on campus who was actually born and raised in Atlanta. Clad in classic ATL dopeboy garb, it seemed like Lawry had an endless supply of white tees and Atlanta Braves fitted caps. He wasted no time flashing his gold fronts and giving me a hug shake—one of those half-handshake, half-hug displays of affection guys who are good friends can share in public without being viewed as gay—and continued: “You ain’t holla’d at ya boy since you been back, shawty! What the business is?”

Some things never change. Lawry’s breath was one of them. There is a difference between something stinking and something stankin’. Lawry’s breath crossed the thresh
old. His breath stank like he had food from last month stuck in the back of his teeth. And on top of that, it always seemed hot. I could literally feel the heat from his breath around my lip and nostril area every time he opened his mouth. Last semester, it got so bad, a few times I seriously had to hold my breath every time it was his turn to speak. And Lawry, of all people, had the gall to be a notoriously close talker, which further complicated things.

“I just got here a day ago, blood,” I said as I quickly reached in my pocket and pulled out a pack of gum I’d had since the plane ride. Two sticks. Just enough. I offered him the first piece. Thank God he accepted. “I’m surprised you ain’t came by my room asking to borrow anything yet.”

“Funny you should say that,” he said. “You got a dollar you can loan ya boy? I’m trying to see what this new Lil’ Wayne mix tape is talking ’bout, but I only got four bucks and penny pincher over here won’t let me slide.”

“Same old Lawry,” I said with a smile as I whipped out my wallet. “You can have this dollar as long as you make me a copy of that CD. I heard it’s tight!”

“I got a couple of blank CDs in my room. I got ya!”

“Make me one, too,” Fresh said. “As many times as you came to my room last semester asking for ramen noodles, I know I’m good for one.”

“I know you ain’t still talking about last semester,” Lawry said. “Shawty, that was soooo long ago. I got you, though.”

When Lawry pronounced the
th
in his last word, I heard something flick against his teeth. Unless he’d just become the first human being I’d ever seen pop a bubble while talking, there was a foreign object in his mouth.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“Hear what?” Fresh asked.

“Don’t tell me you’re still having flashbacks from when we got jacked by them dopeboys last semester,” Lawry said.

As he spoke, I paid close attention to Lawry’s mouth. In the middle of his sentence, I saw something metal flicker.

“Hold up, blood,” I said. “I know I didn’t just see what I think I saw.”

“What the hell is you talkin’ ’bout, shawty?” Lawry asked.

“Damn it, man!” I said. “What made you go and do that?”

“Go and do what?” Lawry asked.

“Get a damn tongue ring!” I said, pointing at Lawry’s mouth.

“No, he didn’t,” Fresh said.

“This little thing?” Lawry said, sticking his tongue out for all to see.

“Yes, he did!” Fresh said, covering his face with his hands. “What the hell was you on over Christmas break?”

“Man, me and my girl were wildin’ out one night, drinking and stuff,” Lawry explained.

“
What
girl?” I asked.

“Oh, me and my girl from high school got back together for a second over the break. And you know how that is. She got a nigga drunk. Next thing you know we talkin’ about getting matching tattoos. We get all the way to the parlor and she gets scared of the damn needle. So instead of getting a tattoo, she convinced me to get a tongue ring and shit. Ya know, something I can take out when I get ready.”