Into White (19 page)

“It's okay, Mom.” I just sat there and let her cry for what felt like a long time. I couldn't think of the words to comfort her. I figured she needed to confess and apologize. So I let her.

The semester my mom went to live with Aunt Evilyn, I'd gotten the worst progress report of my life, and I use the word
progress
lightly. I had earned seven straight Fs. I simply couldn't focus on algebra while Dad considered buying every crap car in the Gump. Or memorize state capitals while Mom refused to get out of bed at Aunt Evilyn's. I mean, who really cares about high school when your parents need wrangling? I worried about the stability of my household more than I'd ever concerned myself with school.

When Mom's waterworks finally calmed, I asked, “What school?”

She lifted her head from the wheel. “What?” she asked.

“What school is Alex going to?”

“That one.” She pointed to the letter.

“Harvard?”

She nodded.

“How long will he be gone?”

“The whole summer, more if they love him, and of course they will.” She drew a breath and blew her nose until the McDonald's napkin fell to pieces.

She opened the driver's-side door. “Let's go home.”

“Wait, we're leaving the car here?”

“Not a chance in hell I'm getting this thing up that hill.” She slammed the car door. “I'll send your daddy.”

 

DEEP-DISH DIMPLE DEANTÉ

“Want your seats hot or cold?” asked Deanté as he opened the passenger-side door to his mother's Mercedes.

“It's eighty degrees today.” I smiled. “Cold, obviously.”

I ducked into the car and flipped the visor to check the mirror. When I saw my reflection in the lighted vanity mirror, the smile faded from my face. My cheeks and nose were splotched with pinpoint tiny red dots, and my eyes were puffy and dry from the awful night's sleep. When Deanté got in the driver's seat, I flicked the visor back up with more force than I'd intended.

Deanté turned in his seat. “Whoa. Did I do something already?”

“Can you just drive?” I asked, eager to escape Beckman Drive. As we drove I told Deanté about Alex's letters, Mensa, and my mom's breakdown in Edgewood Park. The truth poured from my lips, and Deanté stayed silent, listening intently and nodding where appropriate. It felt wonderful to speak without half-truths, or anxiety, just no-holds-barred truth telling for the first time in weeks. I spoke so fast that I couldn't keep up with myself. After unloading my family problems, I exhaled loudly and slouched in my seat.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “This is a horrible way to start our date.”

“Wait,” he said, beaming. “Is this a date?”

“Deanté!” I shouted. “From everything I just said, is that all you heard?”

“Nah, I was listening to you. I just don't really know what to say. You know what I mean? I can't say I'm surprised that Alex is legit Mensa-level smart. Everybody knows he's got a little something extra going on.”

I could tell he was cautiously forming his words so as not to offend, so I decided to let him off the hook. “Well,” I said. “Thanks for listening anyway. It helps to talk about it out loud.”

“Anytime,” he replied. “Oh, and we're here.” We were underneath the arched entryway of the campus of Alabama State University. “You ever been here?”

“I live in Montgomery, Deanté. Of course I've been to ASU,” I said, feeling uneasy. Alabama State was an HBCU—a historically black college/university—and when I say I'd been to ASU, I actually meant I'd ridden past it on the way to Edgewood. I'd never actually left the car and entered any of the buildings.

“My bad, dang. I asked because a lot of Edgewood folks don't leave the neighborhood. Some of my old homies have never seen the inside of an ASU building.” Deanté was positively sunny as we rode past the stadium. “Welcome to Hornet Nation, Toya.” He smiled over at me.

“Thanks,” I said. “But why exactly are we here?”

He made a parking space in front of a fire hydrant. “I thought about our conversation after Josh … you know,” he said.

“Yes, I know. Go on.”

“You asked me why I acted so black, remember?” He paused. “I couldn't think of an answer. All that mess about choosing hard-core black instead of being an Oreo, that was bullshit. It bothered me that I couldn't explain, so after I dropped you off, I came here.”

“I'm not sure I understand, Deanté.”

“Just … no one's ever had the balls to ask me that question, not even my boys—and they're supposed to be hard.” He shook his head. “I've been trying to explain it to myself, more than anything, why I treated your brother like that. And you…” He shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “I made you … hell … I still don't know why I did that sick shit with the Jordans.”

“It's okay.”

“It's really not,” he said, not allowing me to let him off the hook this time. “Just so you know, I've always appreciated your style. You and Alex. Y'all don't fall in line like the rest of us. You do your own damn thing and I respect that. I just never had the guts to admit it.” He pulled from the parking space. “I want to show you something.”

Rolling through campus, I realized it'd never crossed my mind to visit ASU. “When I came here the night of the party, this is what I saw.” He pointed to a brown-skinned girl sitting alone on the grassy quad. She wore plaid parachute pants, a bright orange head scarf, and a T-shirt that read
Screw Normal
in multicolored letters. He placed his palm on my knee. “It's you.” He smiled.

“And Alex,” I replied.

“Yeah. Him too.”

Students crisscrossed the sidewalks and streets, blocking the car from progressing too far past the stadium. Most of the students wore black-and-gold T-shirts reading something like
Hornet Nation
or
When We Teach Class, the World Takes Note
. I noticed all shades of black people from nearly passable light-skinned to deep dark mahogany. They were all headed in the same direction.

“Where are they all going on a Saturday?”

“That's the surprise,” he replied. “What time is it?”

I looked down at my watch. “Almost eleven.”

“Dang, I'll just park here,” said Deanté, as he spun the wheel, parking half on and half off the sidewalk.

“I told you that I don't really like surprises. What's going on?”

Deanté put the car into park and shifted toward me. “Okay, I have to be quick because it's about to start. Do you know my sister, Andrea?”

“I know of her. She was a senior when I was a freshman,” I said, more confused than before.

“She goes here, and her probate show is today.” He grinned ear to ear.

After a pause, I said, “I give up. What's a probate show?”

Deanté squeezed his cell phone. “Shoot! We're about to miss it. Let's go.”

Everyone was headed to Lockhart Gym to see this probate show. The closer we got to the building, the more I noticed the pink balloons tied to cars, and poles, and benches, and anything else that would stand still. When we reached the building, we were greeted by an enormous banner reading
GAMMA PI INTRODUCING: THE FAIR FORTY
.

“Forty what?” I whispered into Deanté's ear.

“There are forty Neos on the line. My sister is the Tail-Dog,” he said, still grinning.

“What's a Neo?” I asked.

“Toya, honestly, have you ever been on this campus before?”

I shook my head.

“I suspected as much,” he replied, pointing toward two of the last empty seats. When he grabbed my hand, I nearly leaped from my skin. I looked around to make sure there would be no Gus Von March–type encounter, but to my surprise, no one paid us any mind. Everyone was talking, laughing, and minding their own business. When I calmed down and looked at our fingers tangled together, butterflies flipped my diaphragm. When we reached the seats, he didn't let go of my hand.

“Okay, I'll give you a brief rundown of what's happening here. Gamma Pi is a member of the National Black Council for black Greek organizations. There are nine total, but only four are all-female. Follow me?” When I nodded, he kept going. “Andrea's always wanted to be GP because my mom pledged back in the eighties. When they accepted her back in January, she called me screaming, so excited.”

“Wait. If she got accepted back in January, why does the sign say they're being introduced today?” I asked.

“Great question,” he said, then looked around to make sure no one was listening. “That's how long it takes to pledge GP. There's a process. Andrea told me a little about it, but most of it is secret stuff that no one outside of the sorority knows.”

“Wow,” I said, just noticing the blocked-off section taking up the first three rows of the auditorium. I nudged Deanté. “Is that them?”

“No, they're Prophytes, or big sisters. They always wear white on probate day. Cool, huh?” he asked, still squeezing my hand.

Sitting on his left side, I saw his dimple peeking through. “Yes, Deanté. Very cool.”

Out of the blue, the audience began to stir, and an earsplitting screech pierced the chatter of the crowd. After a moment, I realized that sound was coming from the ladies in white. I plugged my ears. “What are they doing?”

Deanté drew my hands from my ears. “That's their call. Every sorority and fraternity has one.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid.

He squeezed my hand again. “You had no way of knowing,” he said, flashing that dimple. “Look!”

He pointed to the stage, where two of the ladies in white walked toward the standing microphone. They were both average build with pixie haircuts, but one towered over the other.

“Welcome all to the coming-out ceremony of the finest line you've ever seen in your life!” All Prophytes rose to their feet and hollered at the two girls, encouraging them. “I'm Laquita, the DP of the Forty,” said the tall girl.

“And I'm Jamitria, the ADP,” said the shorter of the two.

Without my having to ask, Deanté whispered in my ear. “DP stands for dean of pledges. She's in charge of them while they're on line. ADP is assistant dean of pledges, and she stands in when the DP can't make it.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Quita? You think they're ready to meet our girls?” asked Jamitria.

“Nah, Jam. They couldn't be ready,” replied Laquita.

As if on cue, everyone in the audience stood to their feet, including myself and Deanté. “Are y'all ready for our girls?” Laquita asked the spectators. In response, the auditorium roared and yelled with excitement.

“If you're ready, make some noise!” said Jamitria.

Jamitria and Laquita stepped off the stage and the Prophytes began to chant.

You're my,

Gamma Pi,

I'm yours,

Gamma Pi.

As long as I live,

My heart I will give,

You know why,

My Gamma Pi.

You know why,

My Gamma Pi.

They repeated the mantra five times and let out a collective call. Then forty masked girls, ordered by height, marched onto the stage. They were dressed identically in pink cocktail dresses.

“Pink is their trademark,” whispered Deanté. “You see the tail-dog?”

“Is that like their mascot?”

Deanté chuckled. “No, tail-dog means the tallest one on the line. The one in the back, Andrea.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said.

Andrea marched with so much control that she stood out from the rest. “She's amazing.”

“Yeah, I know.” Deanté looked proudly at his big sister, and I thought about Alex. He hadn't told me about the letters because I didn't deserve to know. I didn't support him like Deanté supported Andrea. I relied on him to protect me and be my best friend when no one else would, but I didn't support him like that. The thought of my brother leaving me hurt—bad. I knew that I had absolutely no right to feel that way, but I couldn't help it. He was like the strawberry jelly on my sausage biscuit; it would just be wrong without him, speaking terms or otherwise.

“Hey.” Deanté shook at my arm. “You okay?”

I forced a smile. I didn't want to ruin this for him. “Yeah. Your sister is the best one up there!”

“Shhh, keep your voice down.” He grinned. “We're not supposed to know who she is until she takes the mask off.”

The show began with the reciting of the Greek alphabet. All forty Neos said the words so quickly that all I could make out was alpha at the beginning and omega at the end. Afterward they greeted the fraternities with skits and songs, saving the longest greeting for their brother fraternity, Gamma Phi.

“A lot of Gamma Pi girls date Gamma Phi boys,” Deanté said, staring at the section of guys wearing white-and-gold suits, vests, and bow ties. “That's what I'm going to be one day.”

In response to their extended greeting, Gamma Phi held two fingers in the air and recited a chant of their own, right from the audience.

We love our,

Our Gamma Pi,

We wife our,

Our Gamma Pi.

What is Gamma Phi,

Without Gamma Pi?

We love our lovely Gamma Pi.

Their deep voices in contrast to Gamma Pi's high-pitched song gave me chills.

“Look at that, Toya.” Deanté smiled. “Nobody's telling them how to act or who to be. But still they choose bow ties and suits. One day, Toya, one day.” His eyes were fixed on Gamma Phi.

“I can see why you'd want to be one of them,” I said to Deanté.