Next Semester (20 page)

THE BIG PAYBACK

Finals
were unrelenting. I found it hard to study. I kept having flashbacks of all the things I’d done while I was prepledging. The thought of not even being able to apply was sickening. And it really wasn’t getting any better with time as I hoped it would. I pressed on anyway. I figured I’d come too far to turn back, so I set my mind to still shoot for a 3.0 GPA. That way, even if I fell short, I’d still make the 2.5 that I needed to be able to return to U of A for my sophomore year. But even that wasn’t going to be easy. I needed help, but couldn’t find any to save my life. Kat was busy with her sorority business and the election. Timothy still wasn’t talking to me, and Leslie wasn’t returning my calls. Now that I was sure I didn’t have a shot at Kappa Beta Psi anymore, I figured if I could talk to her, I could explain things. But she wouldn’t even respond to my text
messages. I was distraught. I had nobody to look over my papers and nobody to let me look over their shoulder during the final exams. This time, I was going to have to buckle down and do it on my own.

I had two fifteen-page papers to write—one for English and one for African-American history, and two final exams to take. Somehow, after a couple consecutive all-nighters, and excessive use of Microsoft Word’s cut-and-paste tools, I managed to pull both of the papers together on my own. Although they were probably littered with grammatical errors, the fact that I completed both of them on time was enough to put a smile on my face. With Leslie’s help, I’d done so well in those classes earlier in the semester that even though my final essays were mediocre at best, I still managed to sneak out with a B in English and an A in African-American history.

Now, algebra was another story. Quite frankly, math bored me. Mostly because I never really understood the point of solving mathematical equations, when I would probably never have to use them again for the rest of my life. I figured, as long as I could count money, I was straight. And for that very reason, no matter how many times I showed up for algebra, I could never stay awake for the entire class. It was by God’s grace that I was able to squeeze by with a low C in that class.

When it came to biology, I knew it was a wrap for me. Timothy hadn’t shown up to tutor me for biology anymore. In fact, he hadn’t said more than two words to me since that night in club. I expected that. But I didn’t expect him to sit in the exact same seat he’d sat in all semester when we took our final exam. There were so many seats to choose from, I was almost sure he’d pick one clear on the other side of the classroom. I was fully prepared to eeny-meeny-miny-moe my way through the test and take as
many educated guesses as possible. But with Timothy sitting right in front of me filling out his Scantron with his answers in clear sight, I couldn’t help but cheat off him. I would have been stupid not to. When I turned in my test, I was certain I’d aced it. I left that class feeling like I was on top of the world. And that feeling stayed with me all day, until I checked my test score on the Internet later that night in our dorm computer lab. Dub-B and his girl were sitting beside me checking theirs.

“Zero?”
I screamed, slamming my fist down on the desk, viewing my score on his computer. “What the?”

“A
zero,
son?” he asked, looking over at my screen.

“Unless I’m looking at this wrong, it looks like I scored a zero on my biology final,” I said.

“That’s definitely a zero,” he said. “And that C next to it is your final grade in the class. If you would’ve just got a couple of the answers right on the final, you might’ve coulda got a B in the class. That’s hurts.”

“Who you tellin’?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat.

“I know it’s not funny,” he asked, chuckling, “but how did you manage to get a
zero
on the final? There were
one hundred
questions on the test! That’s like humanly impossible, yo. Stevie Wonder could’ve circled one right answer.”

“I know,” I said, looking at the screen in disbelief. “This must be some kind of mistake. What did you get?”

“I got a 76,” he said. “But you know science isn’t really my thing. Did you study?”

“Yeah, I studied,” I said. “But when I saw Timothy sit in his usual seat, one row in front of us, you already know I was getting my cheat on! That dude knows biology like the back of his hand. I copied his scantron answer for answer.”

“Wait a minute,” Jasmine said. “You’re talking about your roommate, Timothy, right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“What time did you take your final?” Jasmine asked.

“Eleven this morning,” I said. “I’m in the same class as Dub-B.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Hmmm…that’s strange. I wonder why Timothy took the final twice.”

“What you mean twice?” I asked.

“Well, I took my biology final at nine o’clock this morning and I saw Timothy taking his exam in my class,” Jasmine said. “Which was really weird because I’d never seen him in my class before.”

“Are you sure it was him?” I asked. “Why would anybody take two final exams for the same class, back-to-back?”

Before I could even finish my sentence, I knew exactly what had happened. I’d been set up. Cold. It seemed too good to be true because it was. And Timothy flew through the test like he’d already taken it because he had. He said he’d get me. And he got me in the worst way. He knew I needed to pass biology in order to keep grades up, so I could get off of academic probation. And he knew I’d copy off of his test if he let me. He threw the bait, and caught me hook, line and sinker. My own roommate stabbed me in the back.

I was staring at my screen, shaking my head in disbelief when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw who was calling. It was Dex. He’d never called before. The only time he’d ever contacted me was via text. At this point, I had no idea why he’d be calling me, but I decided to answer anyway.

“J.D.,” he said. “I’ve got Konceited and a couple of my other frat brothers here with me. And we got you on speakerphone.”

“Okay…” I said as I walked out of the crowded computer lab to the laundry room, where it was secluded and quiet.

“First of all, I want to let you know that it is highly irregular for me to even be reaching out to you at all,” Dex said. “I don’t call GDIs. Secondly, let me assure you that my frat does
not
need you in it. However, as a group, my frat brothers and I have come to the conclusion that we didn’t give you a fair shake. It has been brought to our attention that the guy who dropped the dime on you is also going against you in the student government election. And after doing our due diligence, we found that he unsuccessfully attempted to pledge Alpha last semester. In other words, we think he may have had multiple motives to hate on you. That being said, we would like to extend the opportunity for you to be on line next semester, under one condition of course.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You still have to meet our academic requirement, which is a 3.0 GPA this semester,” Dex said.

“No problem,” I said.

“Oh, you’re gonna have major problems if you don’t address me the way you know I’m supposed to be addressed,” Dex said.

“My bad,” I said. “No problem, sir.”

“That’s more like it,” Dex said. “Good luck with the election. We’re rolling with Kat.”

When I hung up the phone, I was overcome with emotions. I fought back tears. I was so excited that all of the hard work I’d put in prepledging wasn’t in vain. Even though Leslie was AWOL, Timothy hated on me and Lawry snitched, I still had a chance to make a 3.0 GPA. And if I did, I’d be able to pledge Kappa Beta Psi next semester. But there was only one way for that to happen. Kat had to win the election. That was the only way.

THE DEBATE

The
final debate was the most pivotal point in the election, especially for our team, since Kat missed the preliminary speeches. Thank God for Dub-B’s pops. He really came through for us when it was time to prep for the debate. Without his help, Kat didn’t stand a chance. Howard was a seasoned, polished politician. And Dub-B’s dad was our secret weapon. Dub-B’s pops knew everything there was to know about how to win a debate. After going over the potential debate questions on our conference call with him, I felt confident Kat had what it took to dethrone Howard Harrell.

As we prepared to leave the conference room in Club Woody and head down to the student center auditorium for the debate, I had second thoughts about going. After thinking about the way I’d hammed it up last time I was at the podium delivering the speech in Kat’s absence, I
questioned whether showing up would actually hurt Kat more than it would help. I was sitting there at the conference table in my suit and tie, mulling over the pros and cons in my head, when Fresh rescued me from my inhibitions. We’d spent so much time together, he knew how I was feeling without me ever even saying it. And he knew just what to say to get me up.

“C’mon, man,” he said, tapping me on the leg. “Lets go! Nobody’s asking you to speak this time…. Thank God!”

The two of us laughed about my podium meltdown all the way to the student center. I couldn’t believe how many students were filing in. The scene outside the student center looked like a clip from a desegregation rally during the civil rights era—except everyone was black, of course. Outside the doors, there was Kat’s large group of supporters, comprised mostly of Greeks, faced off with Howard’s. The groups stood across from each other holding signs supporting their candidate and trading chants back and forth.

“Don’t be a coward, vote for Howard!” one group shouted.

“Be a leader, vote Katrina!” the others responded.

I couldn’t help but laugh on the inside as I made my way through their makeshift gauntlet. I had no idea people got so into student government elections in college. The scene literally looked like one you’d see on an old rerun episode of
A Different World.
Inside the auditorium, the ruckus grew to a fevered pitch. You could almost cut the tension in the room with a knife. Our group was ushered into a small, makeshift greenroom backstage. Kat looked nervous as hell. It was the first time I’d seen her look unnerved since that day last semester when she sat in her room with a gun to her head contemplating suicide. Just looking at her, I could tell she was on the verge of a breakdown.

“I’m so nervous, you guys,” she admitted.

“It’s gonna be okay, girl,” Destiny said, patting Kat on the back of her hand for reassurance. “You’ll do fine. Didn’t you see all of those people outside cheering for you?”

Kat didn’t respond. Instead, she checked the time on her watch, then reached in her purse and brought out about four bottles of medicine. I watched as she effortlessly popped two prescription pills about the size of my thumb.

“What if they don’t accept me though, y’all?” Kat asked. “I mean with the whole HIV thing and D getting in trouble with the law. I just…I don’t know if I should go through with this.”

“Now you know we’ve come too far to turn back now,” Timothy said. “Your steps are ordered. Your destiny has been prearranged. It says that right in…”

“Romans eight and twenty-nine,” Kat said in unison with Timothy, finishing his sentence. “I know.”

“Well, act like it!” Timothy said.

“Yeah,” Dub-B said. “We’ve got a debate to win, ma!”

“Thanks, y’all,” Kat said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Just got the jitters, I guess.”

Even though Kat was saying she was cool, she still seemed rattled to me. And truthfully, I probably had more riding on her winning the election than she did. I knew I had to do something. In less than two minutes, Kat was going to be standing before the entire student body. And I needed to help her pull herself together before she went out there.

“You guys mind letting me and Kat have a moment to ourselves?” I asked. “Save me a seat. I’ll be out there in a sec.”

After everyone cleared the room, I cleared my throat. I pulled up a chair and looked Kat straight in the eye. I knew I didn’t have long to say what I had to say, so I got straight to the point. Although I already had my academic probation requirement in the bag, I decided to overdramatize the stakes a bit. I knew Kat performed well under pressure.

“Look,” I said, “between me and you, the only way my grade point average will be high enough for me to come back to U of A next year is if I get an A in public policy class. So if you don’t win this election, I’m out for good. And truthfully, I ain’t tryna go back to Oakland on a one-way ticket. The way my homies are getting killed in my hood…”

Just then there was a knock on the door and then it swung open. It was Dr. J.

“Hey, J.D.,” he said. “Kat, we’re gonna need you on stage in one minute. Good luck.”

When the door slammed behind him, Kat whipped her mirror out of her purse, then stood up to check her makeup one more time. I stood up and kept talking.

“The bottom line is I really need you to win,” I said. “This school needs you to win.”

Kat never responded. But by the look in her eye, I could tell, she was as ready as she’d ever be. On stage, the setup was simple. Two podiums with less than five feet between them. Kat standing firmly behind one in her navy blue, two-piece business suit, Howard cockily behind the other in a chocolate-colored three-piece, a plaid shirt, peach-colored tie and matching pocket square. Dr. J, the mediator for the debate, standing downstage left, cleared his throat before kicking it off.

“I’d like to welcome you all to the highly anticipated final debate between your final two candidates for student body president,” he said. “Without any further ado, I would like to introduce your first candidate, to my left. She hails from Athens, Georgia…”

Dr. J’s intro was abruptly overwhelmed by thunderous applause. He looked down at his note cards as if he wanted to continue, but paused, smiling for almost a full minute until the cheering died down. Kat remained stoic as long
as she could, but couldn’t refrain from flashing her pearly whites eventually.

“I’m sure your support for your candidates is flattering, but with respect to our time schedule, let’s hold all applause until the end. As I was saying, the candidate to my left is a junior, criminal justice major and member of Alpha Pi Alpha Sorority Incorporated.”

“Skeeeee-weeee!”
Kat’s sorority sisters, squealed, totally ignoring Dr. J’s plea.

“She has been on the dean’s list for the past three years, maintaining a three-point-eight grade point average. Ladies and gentleman, Katrina Turner!”

Again, the crowd erupted with cheers. This time, they didn’t stop, more than half of the crowd raising to their feet. Kat blushed, trying to keep her composure. After two failed attempts to get the crowd to simmer down, Dr. J just began talking over them.

“And on my right…”

Before he could eke out another word, Howard’s supporters rose to their feet, evoking what sounded like an even louder ovation. I felt like I was at a heavyweight title fight. I was just waiting for Dr. J to scream, “Let’s get ready to rumble!” With Howard’s lengthy list of accomplishments, I thought Dr. J would be introducing him all night. A few minutes into it, I felt like the touting would never end. Then finally, it did.

“He’s served University of Atlanta as class president the past three years in a row. Ladies and gentleman, Howard Harrell!”

Not to be outdone, Howard’s supporters—which included the university’s entire gay community—stood on their chairs, chanting, “Don’t be a coward, vote for Howard!” as loudly as they could. I was still amazed by it all. People were so into the election, it was almost corny.
The actual debate only lasted about thirty minutes, Kat and Howard trading philosophical blows like jabs and uppercuts. For the most part their views were the same. Both of them supported decreasing the price of tuition and student housing. Both promised to squeeze more money out of the administration for homecoming expenses—which ultimately meant better acts to perform at the concert. And after a recent rash of car burglaries, both stood firmly behind an increase on round-the-clock public safety officers around campus. But there were two questions in which Kat and Howard’s opinions couldn’t have been more opposite. And something told me, their responses could mean the difference between them winning and losing and, ultimately, my making it onto the Kappa line next semester.

“Recently, on campus, a group of gay men inducted themselves into MIAPA—Men Interested in Alpha Pi Alpha, a group imitating the sorority, Alpha Pi Alpha,” Dr. J said. “How do you feel this controversy has impacted the University of Atlanta?”

This had to be some kind of trick question,
I thought. This was nowhere on the list of potential issues that Dr. J said he may address in the debate. We hadn’t gone over this with Dub-B’s dad. It was a trap question. A curveball. He had to have known Kat was a member of APA and Howard was gay. I just hoped he wouldn’t ask Kat to answer first.

“Katrina,” he said. “The floor is yours.”

“Damn,” I cursed under my breath, taking a deep breath.

Kat didn’t answer right away. Instead, she wisely shuffled her papers and gathered her thoughts first. She glanced at her sorority sisters, all of them standing near the front, their arms folded, lips poked out, waiting on her to defend their honor. Then she glanced across the room toward the guys Dr. J was referring to, sitting in the front on Howard’s side, clad in their matching pink short-sleeved polos and khakis.

“Katrina, I’m gonna need for you to speak into the microphone,” Dr. J said, lightening the mood and evoking a few giggles from the crowd.

“I believe wholeheartedly in freedom of speech and freedom of expression,” Kat responded in a very businesslike manner. “But honestly, I think that the recent induction of gay men into this so-called sorority, MIAPA, is disgraceful to Alpha Pi Alpha Sorority, Incorporated, as well as the University of Atlanta as a whole.”

As I suspected, Kat’s line sisters joined the rest of the Greeks in applause. Meanwhile, Lawry and a crew of gay guys sitting near the front erupted. They booed and shouted obscenities obnoxiously loud. One guy even went as far as standing on his chair, turning around, dropping his pants and mooning Kat on stage.

“Ooooh!”
the crowd moaned.
“Aaaah!”

Dr. J quickly intervened.

“Excuse me!” he said in an authoritative tone. “This is a university, not a middle school. These candidates worked very hard to be up here, and if you can’t stand to listen to their opinions respectfully, you are welcome to leave. That goes for all of you!”

Before Dr. J could say anything about the mooning incident, campus security was forcefully ushering the guy out by his collar.

“Howard! Howard! Howard!” the guy shouted, pumping his fist as he left the auditorium against his will.

“As you were saying, Ms. Turner,” Dr. J said.

“As a member of Alpha Pi Alpha, I feel that our sorority has dedicated over one hundred years of service to build the upstanding reputation that we have,” she said. “And we have worked too hard to have a group of gay guys posing as women, come in and give our sorority and our university a black eye.”

After a mixed reaction from the crowd, seemingly split right down the middle, Dr. J intervened.

“And your thoughts on this Mr. Harrell?” he asked.

“Well, it seems
Miss Turner
has just contradicted herself,” Howard began. “How can you say you believe in freedom of expression, then in the same breath turn around and say you don’t believe in a group of college-educated men expressing themselves?”

Howard paused momentarily, smiling, then continued amid the chatter of the crowd.

“It’s just that kind of ignorance that is perpetuating the problem,” he said. “If anything, the disgrace to the university was the homophobic backlash from students and faculty around campus. I think the one thing that has become painfully clear is that this controversy is not so much about the sanctity of Alpha Pi Alpha, as Miss Turner would have you to believe, but moreso about homophobia.”

Again, a torn crowd responded, some cheering, others booing. I couldn’t have disagreed more with Howard’s views. But the confidence and intellect with which he spoke made him undeniably cunning and persuasive. I could see why he’d been voted in three consecutive terms. Before things got out of control, Dr. J stepped in one last time.

“All right now, let’s pipe down out there,” he said. “We are down to our last question. I would like to remind you all that the polls will be open from seven in the morning ’til five tomorrow, so be sure to come to the student center and vote. All you need to bring with you is your student ID.”

Dr. J took a sip of his bottled water, before continuing.

“Without any further ado,” he said, “I pose the final question of this evening’s student body presidential debate. What is your definition of success? Howard, the floor is yours.”

In classic conceited form, Howard regurgitated all the
same accomplishments Dr. J had highlighted in his intro. Not that all of the clubs he belonged to and community service awards he’d won were anything to scoff at. But all the same, he was tooting his own horn. And people—at least the ones who thought like me—were sick of it.

“Success is
not
throwing together a free concert at the last second in a last-ditch attempt to win votes,” Howard said, taking a not-so-subliminal shot at Kat’s Testing For Tickets Day. “Success is definitely
not
making it all the way to college to act like a hoodlum, like members of Katrina’s campaign team exhibited today. But I will tell you what success is. Success is an African-American man being able to make people overlook his sexuality and respect him for his character and work ethic. Success is his ability to achieve despite the societal hurdles that have been placed in front of him. So in essence, I would say that
I
am the definition of success.”