Next Semester (5 page)

“Nah, I don’t know about that one, joe,” Fresh said. “You lost me there.”

“Me, too, fam,” I said, a look of perplexity on my face. “Matching tattoos…piercings…You were definitely wildin’ all the way out on that one. Where they do that at?”

“It ain’t even that serious, shawty,” Lawry said. “I can take it out whenever. Plus, people barely ever even notice it.”

“Hey, I’m ’bout to see what they talkin’ ’bout over here
at this pizza table. Looks like they’re giving ’em away for free,” Fresh said.

“I’m with you, pimpin’,” I said. “I’ll holla you later, Lawry. Tongue ring or no tongue ring, I still want my copy of that Gangsta Grillz mixtape.”

“’Preciate that dollar, shawty,” Lawry said. “I’ma burn that for you as soon as I get back to the dorm.”

We hadn’t taken five steps before Fresh burst out in laughter.

“What’s up with your boy?” he asked, laughing hysterically. “I think he might have a couple of screws loose.”

“I can’t even call it,” I said, shaking my head.

“You think he might be switch-hitting?” Fresh asked.

“What you mean?”

“I mean, do you think he might have a little sugar in his tank? You know, fruity.”

“Do I think he’s gay?” I asked.

I paused for a moment, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Nah,” I said. “Hell nah. Not Lawry. I can tell a sweet dude from a mile away. I lived next door to that guy for a whole semester. If he was gay, I think I’d know.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Fresh said. “That tongue ring is suspect as hell, though.”

The smell of fresh pizza attracts college students like a moth to a flame. And everybody knows that the best way to get a college student’s attention is to attach the word
free
to anything. So the crowd of students hovering around the booth with the
Free Pizza
sign didn’t surprise me. When we finally made our way to the front of the booth I noticed that as with most things associated with the word
free,
there was a catch. In order to get your complimentary personal pan pizza, you had to fill out an application for a credit card. After I got accepted to college, my mom
warned me about traps like these. She told me never to write my social security number or sign my name on any piece of paper without the University of Atlanta seal on it—especially credit card companies. She said that those companies targeted students and viewed them as easy prey. Her entire speech replayed itself in my head as I held the clipboard in my hand, contemplating whether or not to fill it out. Fresh had completed his and was getting ready to sign when I backed out.

“I’m leery about this one,” I said, placing my blank application back on the table.

“Why you say that?” Fresh asked as he signed and dated his app.

“Yeah, it’s just an application,” the stubby white guy working behind the booth, wearing glasses, a hat with the credit card logo in bold letters and matching polo shirt said. “What’s the worst that can happen? Even if you are accepted, you can always turn it down. Hell, if I were you, I’d go for it, buddy. Get yourself a free pizza!”

“I’m not really that hungry,” I said, cutting my eyes and frowning my face up at the rep for butting in. “Besides, my mom told me about little people like him. I think she called them credit predators, or something like that.”

“Man, you got me feeling real paranoid all of a sudden,” Fresh said, still holding on to his clipboard, giving it some more thought. “If it was so bad, the university wouldn’t let them come out here. Besides, the card is accepted everywhere, so I know they’re legit. I mean, look around at all these people walking around with pizza boxes on the strip. Everybody is signing up!”

“If everybody was jumping off a bridge, would you do it?” I asked. “I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying,
I’m
not about to do it. Did you even read the fine print?”

“I mean…I skimmed over it,” Fresh said. “I read enough to know that I can be approved for up to ten G’s.”

“Damn!” I screamed. “For real? Ten thousand bucks is a lot of money.”

“Yep! Ten big ones!” the credit card rep said, sounding like a sneaky used-car salesman. “That card actually requires you to have a parent cosign for you. I have a cell phone if you need to make that call.”

“I sure could use that right about now,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

“Sure you could,” the rep continued. “You should really think twice about signing up, pal. I mean, hey, what’ve ya got to lose?”

“Everything!” I shouted. “Man, if you ruin your credit, you’re jacked up for life. Plus, my mom always said, if you can’t pay for something with cash, you probably don’t need to be buying it. So I’m straight.”

I never heard Fresh respond. By the time I’d finished my public service announcement, my feet had already begun moving away from the booth and straight toward Leslie—the Elman girl who’d shot me down the first time I tried to holler. I had a better feeling about my chances this time. When I’d met her before, I’d just gotten off a five-hour flight from Cali, so my clothes were wrinkled, my hair was matted and my breath may not have been the freshest. But today, I knew my breath was fresh and my gear was on point. My swag was complete. The closer I got, the more beautiful she appeared. Her short hairstyle was unique and fit her well. I don’t usually go after girls with short hair, but she was so fine, it didn’t matter. Plus, just looking at the grade of her hair, you could tell she probably had Indian in her family. In fact, with her distinct features and petite frame, she slightly resembled the actress Nia Long. She was a natural beauty.

But as gorgeous as she was, not even Leslie’s face could hold a candle to her body. She had the frame of a video vixen. Short in stature, but curvy like the letter
S.
She was rockin’ a white blouse and chocolate-colored wraparound skirt, leaving just enough of her thigh exposed to pique the imagination. I could tell her thighs were firm, just looking at ’em. I figured she was a former cheerleader. Either that, or definitely a track star in high school. And the ass…short yellow bus—retarded! So fat you could see it from the front. With the naked eye, one could easily assume that she’d paid for a Brazilian Butt-lift—booty implants. But I knew everything about her had to be authentic. That’s why I had to give it a second shot. As I intentionally walked directly in her path, impeding her progress, I just hoped she remembered me.

“Excuse me!” she shouted. “Do I know you?”

“As a matter of fact, you do,” I said, sounding as smooth as I possibly could. “The name is J.D.”

“And I know you from…?” she said slowly, wrinkles forming in her forehead insinuating she had no idea who the hell I was.

“I met you the other day in the parking lot near Marshall Hall,” I said.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked. “I remember being in that area, but I don’t remember meeting a J.D.”

“Well, that’s funny, because I distinctly remember meeting a Leslie,” I said. “A fine one who goes to Elman.”

She blushed, smiling from ear to ear. The cut I’d noticed on her lip the first time we met was all cleared up. But this time, there was a new blemish—a slight bruise above her left eye. One that she tried to cover up with eye shadow. It wasn’t major, but it was noticeable. She didn’t look like much of a boxer, but I wondered if she did some sparring in her spare time or something.

“That is my name,” she said. “Maybe we did meet. I apologize for not remembering, I’ve just been so busy registering for my classes, dealing with the people in the financial aid office and trying to get all of my textbooks, I haven’t even had time to think about much else.”

“It’s all good, sweetheart,” I said. “As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, when we met, I told you my name was James.”

“Oooooh,” she said. “Now I remember! Soooooo…you’re the guy all of the girls at Elman have been warned about?”

“All the girls at
Elman
have been warned about?” I asked, repeating her question with my face scrunched up, as if she’d spoken in a different language. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say I heard about you,” Leslie said, making a precarious facial gesture, as if she’d heard some kind of negative rumor.

My mind raced. I wondered what she’d heard, who’d told her, and if all the girls at Elman were really privy to the details of the highly publicized love triangle I was a part of last semester.

“Heard what?” I asked, sounding extremely insecure. “Good things or bad?”

“That’s not all that important right now,” Leslie said. “Look, I hate to be rude, but I really have to get going. It was nice to meet you, James. I mean, J.D. I mean…Heck, with all your aliases, I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Baby, you can call me whatever you want, whenever you want,” I said. “As long as I can call you, too.”

“Well, I think I will call you…a freshman!” she said, laughing. “A charming one, though. I must admit. Very charming. You are a freshman, right?”

“Second semester freshman.”

“Ha! That’s so funny.
Second semester
freshman. Aaaaw, that’s real cute,” she said.

“And what’s your classification?” I asked.

“I’m a sophomore. A
second semester
sophomore, to be exact,” she said, giggling.

“Real funny,” I said. “I like a girl with a sense of humor. Maybe we can exchange knock-knock jokes over the phone when I call you. You got a number I can reach you on?”

“Charming and persistent,” she said. “Two thumbs up! Well, I’ve gotta be honest. I’m kinda seeing somebody right now. And I don’t usually give my number out to guys around here. Especially guys who aren’t Lighthouse men.”

“What is it with you and Lighthouse men?”

“No offense, but the guys over at Lighthouse just seem to have their stuff together,” she said.

“Dang, that’s messed up,” I said. “So what you tryna say about brothas from U of A?”

“Well, I try not to stereotype people. But it just seems like guys of U of A like to play games. And that’s not me. You seem pretty cool, though. Plus, you’re kinda cute. Anybody ever tell you that you look like…umm…” she said, snapping her finger, deep in thought. “What’s his name? He was in
Dead Presidents, Love Jones
…umm…I know you know who I’m talking about.”

“Larenz Tate?” I asked, knowing good and well that’s who she was referring to.

“Yeah!” she said. “That’s his name! It was right on the tip of my tongue. Man, you two look just alike. I know you get that all the time.”

“Every now and then,” I said.

“Well, look
Larenz,
” she said, laughing. “We can be friends. Just hit me up on Facebook sometime.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “But Facebook is so impersonal. How ’bout I just call you?”

“How ’bout you hit me on Facebook first and we’ll go from there,” she said.

“I guess that’s cool,” I said, disheartened. “What’s your last name?”

“Find me without it,” she said, smiling.

“How am I gonna find you on Facebook, when I don’t even know your last name? There’s gotta be hundreds of girls named Leslie who go to Elman. It’ll take me forever to find your page.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see how bad you really want to talk to me, now won’t we?”

“And you said guys from U of A liked to play games,” I said sarcastically.

Leslie hadn’t even taken ten steps before some upperclassmen wearing a red and white fraternity jacket swooped her into his arms like he’d known her for years. I took note of his line name, Wallstreet, etched across the back of his jacket in huge white letters. I watched on helplessly as the two of them walked off together in the opposite direction, seemingly enjoying each other’s company. I’ve never wished I was anyone else in my entire life. But at that moment, on that day, I envied him. I wished I could be in his shoes. Even though Leslie had just played me to the left with the whole “look me up on Facebook” spill, I still felt like I could have her. And the fact that she was making it a challenge made her even more intriguing to me.

“Ain’t that the same girl who turned you down the other day?” Fresh asked, standing next to me holding a half-eaten box of pizza in one hand and a fresh slice in the other.

“Yeah, that’s her,” I said.

“See, look at her, walking off all playful with the dude in the Kappa jacket,” he said. “I’m tryna tell you. If you wanna pull a top-notch like her, you might wanna think about pledging Kappa.”

“Why do I feel like you’re tryna recruit me into a fraternity that
you’re
not even in?” I asked, laughing.

“Laugh now,” he said. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m on the next line coming out.”

“You ain’t finna be on nobody’s line, blood,” I said. “Everybody knows freshmen can’t pledge.”

“Neither can sophomores, juniors or seniors if they don’t get chosen to be on the line,” Fresh said. “That’s why I’ma start putting my work in this semester, so when sophomore year rolls around, I’ll be in the game.”

“What you mean, ‘putting work in’?” I asked.

“Never mind that,” Fresh said, his eyes still glued to Leslie’s fatty as it bounced down the strip. “Damn, she’s fine!”

“Who you tellin’?”

“That was the come up of the century! You got her number, right?”

“Kind of,” I said.

“What you mean, kind of? Either you got the digits or you didn’t. She gave you her dorm extension or something?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

“Well, what did she give you, her e-mail address?” he said sarcastically, laughing.

“She gave me her Facebook,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Her
what?
Did you just say she gave you her Facebook, G? That is hilarious!”

“At least I got something,” I said.

“Correction,” he said. “You got nothing. Man, anybody can look her up on Facebook.”

“Whatever, blood,” I said. “Anyways. What kind of pizza did you get?”

“Hawaiian.”

“How much did you get approved for?” I asked.

“Ten stacks!” Fresh said, proudly. “I had to gas my mom up a lil’ bit, though.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I just told her that the interest on the card was a lot less than the interest on a student loan, so I would use the card to get my books and pay my tuition for next semester,” he said.