Next Semester (14 page)

With the rain still pouring down on us, less than three minutes into the jumping jacks, I felt the guy behind me tap me on my shoulder. I thought he’d tapped me by accident or something, so I kept right on going and didn’t think anything of it. A few seconds later, I felt a strong tug on my hood, and my neck snapped back, arms flailing. That’s when I heard it. The first sound was reminiscent of a burp. One of those disgustingly huge, post-Thanksgiving dinner, dessert and a six-pack burps. The next sound was eerily similar to the sound of a faucet shooting out water on full blast. The fact that the guy behind me had just earled in my hood was bad enough. But the worst part was that not all of it landed in my hood. It smelled worse than
spoiled milk and felt like warm oatmeal dripping down the side of my neck. I was frozen solid. I didn’t even want to move.

“Who told you to stop?” Dex asked, as he stood right in front of me. “Keep going!”

When I resumed, it got worse. I could actually feel the vomit dripping down my shoulder, sliding down my back and slithering down my ass crack. It was without question the single most disgusting thing I’d ever felt in my entire life. At least I thought it was. A few minutes later, right around the time the vomit had mixed in with my sweat and made it way down my thigh all the way to my ankle, someone creeped up from behind me and flipped the hood on my head. That’s when I stopped. The collection of rain and vomit settled into my scalp and oozed down my face from all angles. Before I could guard my face with my hands, it seeped into my ears and the corner of my eyes. Luckily I closed my mouth just in time, but the vomit still made its way to the crease between my lips. All I could do was wipe my mouth with my muddy sweatshirt and bow my head in disgrace.

“I think I’m done with y’all for now,” Dex said. “Try to get some sleep before class. Oh, and you might wanna think about taking a shower, too!”

The sun was just starting to come up as the four of us headed back to main campus wounded and limping, smelling like last month’s trash. The other two guys lived in the upperclassmen dorms near the library. Just before we split up, one of them asked, “So why didn’t you guys go to Popeye’s like he asked?”

“Long story,” I said. “He would’ve never known if Fresh hadn’t left the receipt in the bag.”

“Way to go, Fresh,” one of the guys said.

“My bad, y’all,” Fresh said, rubbing his shoulder. “I was trippin’.”

“And you were the only one who
didn’t
get thrown up on,” I said. “I shoulda took a bite out of that damn thing and stayed in the back.”

PROGRESS REPORT

The
funny thing about prepledging is, there comes a point when you’ve gone through too much to turn back. That’s the first phase. Then it segues into a mode where you feel there’s nothing worse the guys in the frat can think of to do to you. A unique dichotomy exists here—at the point when you feel weakest, you’re actually at your strongest. Then you come to the realization that the more the guys in the frat disrespect you, the more they actually gain respect for you for sticking it out. Your true intentions are tested on a daily basis, and the imposters in it for superficial reasons are weeded out. When the process started, I was one of the imposters. I was interested in Kappa Beta Psi only because I thought that Leslie would be more attracted to me if I became a member. But over the course of time, I learned that joining the frat was about so much more than
that. I had no idea the Kappas went out to low-income areas twice a month to help build houses for Habitat for Humanity. Since I’d been prepledging, they’d organized a canned food drive, mentored middle school kids through their Kappa League program and delivered sack lunches to the homeless. When I first got involved with prepledging, I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. Halfway through the semester, I was positive. I’d learned the entire Greek alphabet and a lot of basic history about the Greeks, with special attention to Kappa Beta Psi, of course. They didn’t share anything deep with us because we weren’t officially online as of yet. Most of the things we learned, I could’ve easily looked up on the Internet. But the fact that I was learning the info from them instead of looking it up made it all the more special. The only drawback was the time I was putting into it. My social life was virtually nonexistent. When I wasn’t in class, working on Kat’s campaign or studying, I was putting in work for Kappa Beta Psi. I’d grown accustomed to functioning while suffering from sleep deprivation. I was lucky to get a nap in here and there. Most of the time, “here and there” really meant “this class and that class.” At the beginning of the semester, Fresh and I made a pact to look out for one another in the classes we shared. Both of us intentionally sat in the back. I would sleep for the first half of the class, while he took notes. Then, he would wake me up, and I would take notes for the second half of class, while he got his nap on. Our system actually worked really well, for the most part. But on some days, things just didn’t go as planned.

One day in particular, just before spring break, I’d dozed off in Dr. J’s public policy class. I typically made it a point not to, but the night before I’d stayed up all night working on my ten-page paper for English class. I was passed out before Dr. J even called role. I was in the midst of catching
some good z’s when I heard something loud sound off on my desk. I popped up straight, trying to act as if I’d been awake the entire time, but it was no use. Dr. J was standing over me with a plastic ruler in his hand.

“Look, J.D., you know I don’t tolerate anybody falling asleep in my class,” he said. “Why do you and you friend Lamont want to test me today?”

“We don’t want to test you, Dr. J,” I said. “I apologize. We just had a long night, staying up working on our campaign and all.”

It’s always good to make professors feel like you make their class a priority. I thought I’d be able to slide on sympathy, but Dr. J wasn’t going for it.

“I find that hard to believe,” Dr. J said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed the two of you catching z’s in my class. This is just the first time I’ve addressed it.”

“It won’t happen again, Dr. J,” Fresh said. “I promise.”

“Not if you want an A in my class, it won’t,” he said. “I’ma give the two of you a second chance. But falling asleep in my class is an instant letter grade drop. Y’all know that.”

Dr. J walked back toward the front of the class, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I wouldn’t think I’d have to do this at this juncture in the semester, but let me take a moment to remind everyone in here that you do
not
have to be here. This is college, not high school. No professor at the University of Atlanta is going to call home and report that you were not in attendance. We are not babysitters. You are not children. If at any point, you feel you are too tired to stay awake in my class, by all means, leave and go get yourself some sleep. But dozing off during class time is disrespectful to me and a distraction to your classmates.”

The second Dr. J turned his back to the class, I jabbed Fresh in the shoulder.

“It was your turn to stay awake,” I whispered.

“I tried,” he said, shaking his head, wiping his eyes. “I’m tired as hell, fam.”

I couldn’t even be mad at Fresh. I was in the same boat. Miraculously, I was able to make it through the rest of the class without dozing off again. Slowly but surely, the most important relationships I had were going down the tubes. Dr. J was the only professor who I knew had my back for sure. I couldn’t afford to get on his bad side. And I was snoozing my way right toward it. As for my personal life, things couldn’t be worse. I hadn’t gotten any booty all semester. I hadn’t even gotten close. Not even a kiss. Nothing. And the one girl I was really feeling had been giving me the silent treatment for almost a week. Ever since I got wind that Dex was Leslie’s ex-boyfriend, and he obviously had access to her text messages, I stopped sending her texts. But I still called. Of course, I was careful to press *67 before I dialed her number, so my number would show up as blocked on her screen. I was glad when she Leslie finally answered my phone call and agreed to meet me in the library to talk. My intentions were two-fold. On one hand, I really wanted to see and talk to her in person. On the other hand, I needed her help on an important paper I had to write for my English class. I figured I could knock out two birds with one stone. Leslie sent me a text message and said she’d be running a little late, so I decided to hop on Facebook to kill some time. To my surprise, the first thing I saw when I logged on was an advertisement: Howard Harrell for University of Atlanta Student Body President. Who knew people spent money on Facebook to advertise for student government elections? It was quite clear Howard was going all in. We had a lot of catching up to do. The second thing I noticed was a status update from Timothy. According to his most recent post, he was now
officially “in a relationship with Amy Druzolowski.” I slammed my fist down on the table.

“This is some bullshit,” I murmured to myself.

Timothy and I weren’t the best of friends. But he was my roommate, and as bad as I hated to see him getting played, I couldn’t take the sight of him playing himself. And now, to make matters worse, he was doing it on Facebook, for all to see. He had to be stopped. As much as I knew it would hurt him, I had to break the news. At the same time, I had my own laundry list of relationship problems. Even though Leslie said her relationship with Dex was over, I assumed they were still involved to some degree. And I was sure they still shared feelings for each other. But the fact remained, they weren’t together anymore. So I figured, as long as Dex didn’t find out about it, I still had a chance. I knew I was playing with fire. Dating Leslie while prepledging Kappa Beta Psi was like walking a 70-story-high tightrope in the Windy City with no net. I was asking for problems. But when Leslie walked up to the desk where I was sitting, looking like a million bucks, I knew it was worth the risk. Every time I saw her, it was like the very first time. I became short on breath.

“Oh, hell no,” she said, looking over my shoulder as we hugged. “I know that’s not your English composition book. J.D., did you really ask me to come here so I could help you write a paper?”

“Nah,” I said, trying to play it off. “Of course not. Honestly, I just wanted to see you, sit down and talk for a minute.”

“Awww!” she said. “That’s sweet. Well, I can’t stay for long. What’s been up?”

Of course, our conversation led into how badly I needed help writing my paper. She took the bait, just like I thought
she would. We ended up working on the paper together for hours. I didn’t know it at that moment, but that one study session was really what brought us closer together. I’m not quite sure if it was my poor use of grammar or horrible sentence structure that turned her on, but by the end of the study session, it seemed Leslie was on me. Whatever time I had in-between classes and prepledging, I spent with her. We hit the mall together, went to the movies and sent text messages to each other all day, every day. She’d sneak into my room after hours and I’d sneak into hers between classes. I had no earthly idea why she felt I was worthy of her time. She was without question one of the baddest chicks on campus. By my estimation, I was everything she wasn’t looking for. I was a freshman with no car. I didn’t go to Lighthouse. I wasn’t Greek. And the only real popularity I had on campus was the fact that everybody assumed I had HIV. Whatever the case, Leslie was feelin’ me, despite my shortcomings. She had me wide open. It must have been written all over my face, because all of my homies could seem to tell she had my head gone.

“Can you please tell me why you’re always locking yourself down with one girl?” Fresh asked as I sat around the lunch table with the fellas. “I thought you would have learned your lesson about that last semester. You know these girls ain’t about nothin’! And you know damn well, we ain’t about nothin’! So why get involved in a serious relationship with any one chick on campus when the ratio of females to guys is like eight to one?”

“He’s got a good point there,” Fats said.

“Yeah, but have you seen J.D.’s girl, yo?” Dub-B asked. “She’s the truth!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fresh said. “She’s straight and all that, but damn, fam-o. You’re on love lockdown like Kanye West! Last semester it was Kat. This semester it’s Leslie. On some
the real, I think you need to expand your horizons, pimpin’. Be more like Fresh!”

“More like Fresh, huh?” I asked. “You’re speaking in third person now?”

“Yes, more like Fresh!” he said. “I got Rashida from Detroit on my team.”

“You talking ’bout light-skinned Rashida with the freckles and the big booty?” Dub-B asked.

“Yep,” Fresh said.

“She’s from Dallas, yo,” Dub-B said.

“Oh,” Fresh said. “Well, anyway, I got her. I got Tiffany from Houston…Sandra from L.A.”

“Actually, Tiffany is from L.A. and Sandra is from Houston,” Dub-B corrected.

“Damn,” Fresh said. “You got a good point there. You’re right. But the point I’m trying to make is, I got all of ’em wrapped around my pinky finger, dog. Ready to do my homework, write my papers and wash my dirty draws if I ask them to.”

“You don’t even know where the girls you talk to are from,” I said.

“Who cares where they’re from?” Fresh asked. “I can tell you where they’re going.”

“And where’s that?” Dub-B prodded.

“To
Pluto
if I tell ’em to!” Fresh said. “I’m having things my way like Burger King, pimp. That’s how I’m living!”

“You’re a funny guy, cuz,” Fats said. “Swearin’ you be pimpin’. You better watch your back, though. One of these days, dealing with all of those females is gonna catch up to you.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell this fool,” I said. “It wouldn’t be so bad if all of them didn’t think they were dating him.”

“Hey! I can’t help what they
think,
” Fresh said.

“We’ll see how long that excuse lasts,” Fats said. “Hold my spot down. I’m going back for seconds. Nice T-shirts, by the way.”

Fats was referring to the black tees Dub-B’s pops had made for us that read: Vote Kat on the front, Student Body President on the back.

“I can’t believe Fats is carrying a notebook this semester,” I said. “He must be really trying to graduate.”

Out of curiosity, I decided to peak inside Fats’s notebook to see what he’d written.

“What class is that for anyway?” Fresh asked as I flipped through the pages.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Why not?”

“There is
nothing
in it!” I said. “It’s blank!”

“Are you serious?” Fresh asked, snatching the notebook from me. “Hell nah, joe. How the hell Fats gon’ be carrying around a notebook that has nothing in it? That’s why he’s been here for seven years!”

“Who you talkin’ ’bout, cuz?” Fats asked, returning with a plate of soul food.

“You, fool!” Fresh said. “All the time you spent on this campus, you could be
Dr.
Fats by now. And you’re still walking around campus with a empty-ass notebook. You are hilarious.”

I liked Fresh because he never held any punches. He was the kind of friend who would tell you if you had a booger in your nose. You had to keep those kinds of friends around.

“Well, I’m graduating in a couple months,” Fats said, dousing his chicken with hot sauce. “You, my friend, will be lucky to graduate in four years. The way you chasing girls around campus, you might end up being here longer than me.”

“Yeah, right,” Fresh said.

All of us laughed.

“Laugh now,” Fats said. “We’ll see who’s laughing when election time comes around. I heard y’all fools are running against Howard Harrell.”

“Yeah,” Dub-B said. “And?”

“And it’s gonna take a whole lot more than those little T-shirts y’all got on to beat him!” Fats said. “Trust me. I’ve been on the yard for going on seven years now. I know. Howard is a beast when it comes to student government elections! Think about it, cuz. You don’t just win student body president three times in a row for nothing! He’s got it down to a science. Fund-raisers, posters, flyers, all that stuff! Y’all better be ready, ’cause I promise you, he’s gonna come with it.”

“Oh, we’re gonna be ready, yo,” Dub-B said confidently.

“I hear you talking, cuz,” Fats said. “How are y’all getting graded for that public policy class anyway?”

“The only way to get an A is to win the election,” I said.

I needed Kat to win the election more than anybody. Now that I needed a 3.0 to make the Kappa line, I knew I was going to need at least a few A’s to balance out some of the lesser grades I was sure to get. And that was becoming a distinct possibility now that Timothy had gone AWOL on me and missed our last few biology study sessions because he was hanging with his girl.