College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) (10 page)

Max and Paul were both short and stocky. They could pass for athletes or gym instructors. Yet they were approaching forty and growing gray hair.

“Ay', Troy, I hear you got a three-point-seven, man. That's kicking it out,” Paul commented.

Max turned and shook Troy's hand. “Troy, we need Blacks like you here. You can show these White people that we can excel in something other than sports.”

After chatting briefly with them, Troy went to speak with Ms. Whatley, who was also having a downing discussion in her office.

“Dawn, I told the girl that I had originally graduated with a degree in administration, and that I wasn't trained to be a counselor, but I took the job anyway.

Well then the girl tried to let me down easy. You know how the White people are: ‘Well, I'm extremely sorry, but we have only one position, which you don't really qualify for.' I mean, it doesn't seem to matter what you do, you
never
qualify,” Ms. Whatley was saying. She shook her head, disappointed. “Now see, that Black girl who got the other position down there knew somebody. But if you don't know anyone, there's nothing you can do about it.”

“Pam, they don't think any Blacks are qualified, for real. It just goes to show that you have to know somebody,” the counselor named Dawn said before leaving. “And thank God for affirmative action, because without that, none of us would have a job. I'll be in my office if you need me.”

Ms. Whatley gave her attention to Troy, who had been waiting patiently. “Well, Mr. Potter, you made honor roll while on the basketball team. No one, I think, has done that,” she said. “No one who was Black, anyway.

“You and Mat had the highest averages on the dean's list from all the C.M.P. students,” she added.

“What was Mat's G.P.A.?” Troy asked.

“Aah, Mat got a three … point-eight-two,” she said, trying to remember. Troy remained silent, figuring that she would tell him some other information. He was not usually interested in other people's business, but he would listen to
anything
that wasn't negative in his state of woe.

“So are you going to the banquet, Troy?” she asked him.

He nodded. “I didn't wanna go, but I called my mom, and she said it might help me in the future to let my face be known.”

Ms. Whatley nodded back to him. “She's right. It's highly important that you get in with people. Trying to do it alone is the hardest thing you'll ever want to do.”

 

Troy left the C.M.P. offices and found Clay, sweeping up floors on the bottom level of Platt Hall. He wore a green campus uniform with an identification card on his shirt pocket.

“Ay', Clay, you got a job here, hunh?” Troy asked, smiling.

Clay stopped to take a break. “Yeah, man, everybody can't be a self-employed barber like you. Some of us have to work in the system. I heard that you and Matthew on honor roll up here, though,” he mentioned. “Yeah, I worked hard for it, but I'm still not happy,” Troy glumly said.

“Aw man, shut up. You sound like the White people. I don't believe you actually gon' stand here and tell me that you're not happy after getting a three-point-something.”

They started to laugh as Clay continued: “You sound just
like
them White people. Them mugs be talkin' that mess all the time: ‘Oh my God, Clay, I didn't study for this test at all. I'm gonna get an F, I just know it.' Then after the test, they get, like, an A-minus, talkin' 'bout they got lucky. And they're always downgrading the teachers: ‘Aw man, he's such an asshole. I don't understand anything he says.' But they sure do bust the tests out, though. I tell you, man, it's a trip being up here with them.”

Troy smiled, said, “Later,” and walked slowly back to the dorms. The weather was beginning to feel colder with each step. He thought about how easily White students adapted to college. He had always heard them complain, but as Clay had said, they all seemed to have good grades and good times. Even Simon had a 3.0, which Troy figured wasn't all that bad for someone who admitted he wasn't all that bright.

 

“So how do you want it cut, Doc?” Troy asked as Doc sat in his chair with a towel wrapped around his neck.

“Oh, just do the regular. Tape the sides and round up the top. Blend the sides in, though,” Doc squeaked.

“Blend it in? I didn't know that. I thought you wanted a straight-up Mohawk,” Troy quipped.

Doc grinned. “So Troy, Jay told me you got a three-point-seven-three, man. That's good as hell. I wish I had that, 'cause my grades were finished,” he commented. “I gotta go to summer school now. And I hate school, man. I mean, I like being on campus and all, but I hate the testing part.”

Doc paused to think for a moment. “We gotta go through all this shit just to get a job. I be feelin' like leavin' civilization and goin' to a deserted island sometimes, man. Then I wouldn't have to worry about all this dumb stuff we go through in America. I'd eat fish while livin' in a hut with a woman and kids, wearing a pair drawers strapped around my waist and shit. And I'd take a shit in the woods, get some ass out on the beach; and
fuck
paying you six dollars! I wouldn't even need a haircut. Who the fuck cares about a haircut when you live on an island?”

Troy cracked up, having to stop himself before he messed up the hair cut.
“Awww, shit, cuz!”
he yelled, still laughing. He bawled for three minutes after putting his clippers down. It was a great stress relief. Everything felt beautiful for a moment.

Troy returned to work with watery eyes. Doc had explored total freedom. Troy welcomed and needed the relief. He had been knocked off his high horse and forced to realize that some sweet dreams turn sour.

P
ROUD OF THEIR ACADEMIC ACCOMPLISHMENTS
, T
ROY AND
Matthew wore suits and ties to attend a banquet being held for freshmen honor roll students inside the campus ballroom. There were 137 honorees packed inside the large, elegant room. Waiters and waitresses served, donning formal black-and-white uniforms. Troy, Matthew, and two other students were the only Blacks. There were a few Asians and Latinos, and the rest were White.

The banquet organizers had arranged the seats in a random order. In the mix, the four Black students would have been the farthest apart. But they all chose to sit where they pleased. Troy and Matthew sat together.

Speeches were made, buttons were received, and dessert was served after dinner. Most of the White students and parents did not finish theirs. Matthew and Troy had two servings. They felt uncomfortable, yet not alone. They had pleasant rapport, joking about the proceedings.

Troy's mother had to work that Sunday night and Matthew's mother couldn't make the trip either. Their mothers were both proud of their successful boys. They had worked hard. Banquet night was one to be cherished and remembered for years to come. They had succeeded as academic hopefuls at a White university.

Troy's new courses, however, were much more difficult than during the first term. He had the next section of chemistry and the lab, as well as calculus, economics, physics, and anthropology. He feared the chemistry lab the most. He would have to work side by side with White students, and laboratory classes were three hours long.

 

During the first chemistry lab, the instructor handed out the syllabus for the experiments. Troy figured he would snatch a partner who was less dominant so that he could contribute without arguments. He never thought of himself as inferior, but he realized after the first semester that Whites still felt they were smarter.

Unfortunately, for the semester opener, there were groups of five students working together instead of two. Troy planned to be assertive.

A tall, brown-haired student took first crack at group leadership while Troy plotted, jockeying for a position. “Well, you guys, we have to get all of the items on this list. I'll get the ether and the methyl chloride. You get …,” the White chieftain directed. Troy noticed that he was immediately exempt. The three White students moved right in close to the group leader, using conversation.

Troy felt like a bee trying to find his way into an unfamiliar hive. He didn't belong; it was not his type. Nevertheless, This is America, he thought, moving his way in and speaking up. “All right, since you guys are getting that, I'll mix the chemicals together for the next part,” he suggested.

“Hey, great, guy! Then we'll filter it and do the next part. Great!” the tall leader said enthusiastically. The others brought the chemicals as Troy continued to mix the solution. The White students backed off, involving themselves in another conversation.

Troy began to feel like an idiot. He stood there, mixing chemicals, while they laughed and giggled behind him, doing nothing.

“Are you finished yet, guy?” the tall one asked after a while.

“Yeah. Almost. But my name is Troy.”

“Oh, OK, then, Troy.” They gathered around him, making Troy feel like a part of the group. After he had finished, the group proceeded with the next set of chemicals for the experiment. Again, Troy mixed the solution as they laughed and joked in the background.

At the completion of the experiment, the group was assigned a series of questions to answer. Troy knew the answers, yet he was ousted from the conversation. The group had allowed him to do all the actual work, but decided they would answer the questions without him. Troy knew they would have to ask him for information eventually, so he sat and waited.

“It can't be that, because it turned yellow after the bromide was added. So it would have to be this equation,” a short and chubby student in glasses argued.

“No it isn't. He said that that would only be from the first product,” the towering leader insisted.

Troy still waited, knowing that he held the answers. After waiting five more meaningless minutes, no one consulted him. He concluded he would have to force his way inside their discussion with corrections. It was time to intervene.

“It's the fourth equation because we filtered twice, which would turn out a more purified product,” he said.

“Yeah, that's right,” the chubby guy agreed. “The solution was smaller in quantity than before, so I guess it is the last equation.”

The chieftain was disappointed. He wanted to play hero. “Well, I don't see how we could get a more purified solution from that, but OK. If that's the answer, we'll keep it,” he said.

Troy left his first lab feeling like a champion. He had shown that he was a quality player. And he had already picked a lab partner who would not get in his way.

 

“Ay', what's up, Mat? Man, I feel good today, cuz. I was the savior in our chemistry lab experiment, with four White boys,” Troy said. He sat down to join Matthew inside the freshman lobby area.

“Yeah, I had chemistry lab yesterday,” Matthew said.

“I didn't know you had chemistry labs,” Troy responded. “Your major requires that?”

“Yeah, man, I'm gon' be a chemistry major. I like that shit,” Matthew told him.

“Yeah,” Troy said, thinking to himself. “Ay', Mat, you remember last term when that White guy was talkin' to us, and he gave that long story about his friend, who ended up being a chemistry major?”

“Yeah, that bugged me out. 'Cause, yo, he started off like his friend had failed or something. He was like, ‘My best friend from home, he studied that chemistry every night. And aw man, he got an A in it. He's majoring in it now,'” Matthew reflected as they both laughed.

“I know, cuz, 'cause I thought he was going to say, ‘And he still failed that shit,'” Troy said.

“And you notice how when the White students say they messed up on a test, they get, like, a B?” Matthew commented. “Man, if a Black dude say that, it's an F. Them White students ain't so smart, though. 'Cause when the teachers ask questions, they don't be knowing much. Matter of fact, I answered all the questions in my lab group yesterday. Then they all crowded around me for answers,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, well let's study tonight, man, 'cause I get tired of studying now. I need someone else there to stimulate me,” Troy responded, packing up his books to leave.

“Yeah, aw'ight. But yo, I heard you quit the basketball team. What's up with that, troop?” Matthew asked before Troy could leave.

Troy sat back down. “Well, I wasn't gettin' no time, so I quit. I felt like they had allowed me to get just so far, then they just kept me there, like they wanted to control me and make me beg to get in. Fuck them coaches, though, man. They don't know what the hell they're doing. I ain't no benchwarmer, cuz.”

Troy stood back up and thought for a minute. “I don't even like number three, man. I took it 'cause they said I was on the team. I didn't even want to make a fuss; I was so happy. But ta hell wit' that team, man. Dem White coaches just using everybody anyway.”

“Yo, you should have hung in there, troop,” Matthew insisted. “I'm not as good as you in basketball, but I'll hang in there till the last whistle.” Matthew extended his hand. “Aw'ight, then, Troy, I'll see you tonight,” he said, seeing that Troy was eager to leave. Troy left the lobby for his next class, feeling that Matthew was right.

 

That evening, Simon sat inside their shared room with two of his friends, talking about a basketball game on television. Troy knew both of Simon's friends but he didn't talk to them much. They seemed sincere; Troy just never allowed them to get too close.

“Hey, what's up, Troy?” one of Simon's friends asked as Troy walked in. They would always beat him with politeness before Troy could get a chance to speak. “I heard about you quitting the team, Troy. But don't worry about it, because they're no good anyway.”

“Yeah, Troy, as long as you're getting the grades you got, you don't need that team,” the other added.

Troy was stunned. “How y'all know what kind of grades I got?” he asked, feeling deprived of privacy.

“Simon told us.”

Troy wanted to say something about Simon spreading his business. At the same time, he felt kind of proud that these two White students knew that he was an achiever.

“So you went to the banquet, hunh, Troy?” the other asked.

“Yeah, I went,” Troy said, feeling proud again.

The four sat and watched the ball game until nine o'clock, before Simon's two friends departed. Troy had forgotten about studying with Matthew. He didn't feel up to it anyway. He and Simon decided, instead, to go play table tennis in the Student Activity Center. Troy needed a stress release. Simon, on the other hand, was going just to have a good time. They talked and warmed up prior to beginning the actual games.

“So what kind of grades did your boys get, Simon?” Troy thought he'd ask.

“They got three-sevens, too. They just didn't go to the banquet, because they felt it was kind of corny. Matter of fact, I know a lot of kids that got real good grades and didn't go,” Simon revealed.

“I knew it. I thought that crowd was kind of weak, 'cause too many White people in my classes were getting good grades for it to be so few on honor roll. But why didn't your friends tell me their grades?” Troy queried.

Simon hunched his shoulders. “Aw man, because it ain't such a big deal. Besides, you didn't ask them.”

Troy used all his best serves in the practice games. The ball continued to spin off Simon's side of the table before he got a chance to hit it. Simon was actually impressed with Troy's performance, yet the real games had yet to begin.

“Ay', Simon, check out this slam,” Troy said, putting a spin on the ball that Simon couldn't handle.

“Wow! That's a great spin you have. I'll have to watch out for that,” Simon told him, taking the practice games lightly. He only returned the ball as Troy worked himself up to show how good he was.

“Getting back to your friends, Simon. If they wanted me to know about their grades, they would have told me. That's how I feel about it,” Troy commented, pressed to get his views off his chest. Simon hunched his shoulders as they started playing the real games. Simon won the first five out of seven. Troy was disgusted, wanting to play more games until he won back all that he had lost in the beginning.

“Ay', Troy, I gotta go study now, man,” Simon said, grinning.

“Naw cuz, ta hell with that. We don't leave until we finish at least four more games!” Troy shouted in anger.

Simon remained calm, with a smirk on his face. “Hey, come on now, Troy. It's my ball anyway, so I'll just take it and leave. Then what are you going to do?” Simon asked. “See, if you didn't show me all your best shots, you probably would have beaten me a few games. But you had to show off; that's why I won. Now let's go back to the room and study.” When they finally did get back to the room, Troy had lost three more games.

“You lost, Troy, and I won. It was fair and square,” Simon said, opening his books at his desk at eleven-thirty. Troy, worn out and defeated, hit the sack instead of studying.

He attended his anthropology class, across Madison Avenue, the next morning. He answered several questions from previous readings. The students were all supposed to have read the first two chapters, yet Troy was the only one who answered anything. White students were not as bright as they had everyone fooled into believing. Troy even provided humorous quotes and statements from the book that his classmates found entertaining.

A White girl, who Troy considered attractive, sat beside him, impressed. She had the dark hair, thick eyebrows, and the olive skin that Troy felt he liked. She read another book while sitting through what she considered a boring lecture, except when Troy had made comments. It was a long Tuesday class that lasted an hour and twenty minutes. After a while, she decided to befriend him.

“You're pretty smart, and you make me laugh,” she said. She smiled and ran her hand through her dark, shiny hair. “This class would be boring without you,” she added. Troy would have turned down an opportunity to make friends with a White girl during the first term. Now he had experience with them. Or so he thought.

“Yeah, I read these chapters two days ago,” he said softly.

She laid her hand across his arm, snickering. “You know, I didn't even buy the book yet,” she said. “By the time I get the money, I probably will have failed the first test already.” She still held on to his arm gently as she continued. “So what's your name?”

“Troy Potter.”

“Oh, well my name is Mary.”

They spoke with each other after class about nothing in particular while heading to the dorms.

“That teacher is really good. She explains everything in detail. Last term, I had some real jerkoffs, who I really couldn't understand, you know,” Mary said, walking fast to keep up with him. The wind threw her hair back and forth and in front of her face as they marched along.

“Yeah,” Troy responded, feeling nervous. He didn't like being seen with White girls out in public. Although he had broken the ice and had sex with several of them, he still felt uncomfortable. To top it off, they were crossing Madison Avenue, the busiest street on State University's campus.

“I had calculus last term, and this guy we had was from China. I never knew what he was talking about. I got a B-plus in the class. So I did all right,” Mary said, tacking on information about her studies.

“Yeah,” Troy said again, still walking like he was in a hurry. He wanted to ask for her phone number but found no opportunity to do so. Whenever he said something more than “Yeah,” Mary spoke like there were no periods in her sentences.