Next Semester (7 page)

“C’mon, man,” Dex said, grabbing me by my arm, leading me down a narrow hallway, then down a flight of wooden stairs that creaked with every step.

“What’s down here?” I asked, nervously following him.

We were almost at the bottom step when I heard the door slam shut behind me. I had no idea anyone else was even in the house. That’s when I really got scared. The basement was extremely dark, too. One small lightbulb hung in the middle of the ceiling emitting a dim light. Although it was too dark to make out any faces, I could sense there were at least fifteen Kappas standing on one side of the room. On the opposite side, there were seven guys lined up, each of them crouched with their knees bent in a squatting position and their backs against the wall. They
were grimacing. Their knees were shaking. And all of them had their hands stretched out with their palms up.

“Go ahead and have a seat in the chair at the end of the wall,” Dex said.

“Chair?” I asked, slowly looking around the room.

“Yes,” he said, sighing deeply in exasperation. “The imaginary chair up against the wall. C’mon! Don’t play stupid. I ain’t got all night to be up in here with y’all!”

I took my spot on the wall right next to Fresh and assumed the position. Immediately, I knew why the other guys’ knees were shaking so vigorously. While sitting in an imaginary chair with your arms straight out looked easy to the naked eye, actually holding that position was hard as hell. In less than two minutes, I was trembling, too.

“So y’all wanna be Kappas?” Dex asked, pacing to and fro in front of us, his red-and-white cane in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. “What y’all know about Kappa?”

“Not a damn thing!” one of the guys standing behind him said.

“They just wanna twirl canes on the yard,” Dex said. “And look pretty like me.”

“They could never do that,” one said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dex said. “Maybe they wanna join Kappa Beta Psi because they heard we get all the girls on the yard. Maybe they think getting these letters will mean they’ll be able to get with any girl on the yard.”

Ya got me,
I thought, half-smirking when he said that.

“I can,” one of the guys said. “I don’t know about them, though. Right now, they just look like some sorry ass GDIs to me.”

“I think you’re right,” Dex said, laughing.

Dex stopped right in front of me, swirling his unopened bottle of water in my face. After sitting in the chair for about fifteen minutes, all of the liquor I drunk was seeping
out of my pores. Not only were my legs wobbly, but I was sweating profusely from my armpits and temple.

“I bet you J.D. knows what a GDI is, don’t you?”

“Nah.”

“Nah?”
one guy asked as if I’d disrespected him. Seconds later, some dark-skinned guy with a low haircut emerged from the shadows and ran up on me. He was at least six-five and couldn’t have weighed less than 250 pounds. He was huge.

“Nah?”
he repeated, banging his large hand against the wall right next to my head. Instinctively, I flinched.

“This nigga is flinching and all that,” he said, laughing. “And I ain’t even touched you.”

He paused.

“Yet,” he said, under his breath, snickering. The rest of the guys standing behind him started cracking up laughing. My stomach wrenched.

“Maybe he’s just nervous,” Dex said.

“From now on, any time any member of Kappa Beta Psi asks you anything, you address him as ‘sir.’ You understand me?”

“Yes,” I said.

The huge guy slapped his hands together one inch away from my lips.

“Oh, so you’re just gonna be an ole disrespectful ass nigga?” he asked. “I told myself I wasn’t gonna put my hands on anybody tonight, and this fool is about to make me…”

“Fall back, Khaos,” Dex said.

“I just asked him if he understood and he didn’t even answer that right,” he said. “Where did you find this guy?”

“Stand up and get yourself some water,” he said, pulling me up by my elbow. “Here you go.”

I thought he’d never ask. I unscrewed the top and guzzled half the bottle. I stopped when I heard some of the
other guys grunting in agony, smacking their lips. I was so thirsty I hadn’t even noticed I’d left them out to dry.

“Feel better?” Dex asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“How do you think watching you guzzle that water made the other guys on the wall feel?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Aaaaaah!” one of the guys said.

“That’s fucked up, dog!” another shouted.

“What you mean, you don’t know?” another asked.

“Do you know what a GDI is, J.D.?” Dex asked.

“No, sir,” I said.

“I bet one of these guys knows,” Dex said. “Y’all stand up.”

“Whew!” the guys sounded off together in a sigh of relief, slowly returning to an upright position.

“I planned on sharing half of my bottle of water with y’all, but since you’re thirsty friend drank your ration, this is all I have left for the five of you to share,” Dex said as he poured a few drops of water into the bottle cap, and gave it to Fresh. “Take a sip and pass it down.”

All of the Kappas standing behind Dex burst out in hysterical laughter. Meanwhile all of the guys I was on the wall with were looking at me like I’d snitched on them and they’d just been sentenced to life in prison.

“Now, which one of you sweaty, stinky underclassmen can tell J.D. what a GDI is?” Dex asked.

Fresh raised his hand. Dex acknowledged him.

“GDI stands for
gatdamn individual,
sir,” Fresh said.

“A gatdamn individual is right,” Dex said. “And would any of you GDIs be able to define the word
individual?
”

There was a brief moment of silence as each of us looked around at one another to see if anyone had an answer.

“Didn’t think so,” Dex said. “An
individual
is one
person existing as a distinct entity. And indivisible whole. An individual thinks about himself and himself only, with no regard to altruism. The kind of guy who can drink water in front of a group of thirsty guys without thinking to offer them a sip. A GDI is selfish. And y’all are GDIs because y’all don’t know the true meaning of brotherhood. And that’s what the men of Kappa Beta Psi fraternity are all about. Brotherhood.”

Silence returned.

“And you say you want to be join Kappa Beta Psi,” Dex continued. “Well, over the next twelve weeks, you will have an opportunity to prove to us and yourself just how bad you want it. I can tell you right now, it won’t be easy. You will sacrifice your sleep, free time and freedom, for a chance to make our line next semester. The only thing I can promise you is that if you make it through this semester of prepledging, and maintain a 3.0 GPA this semester…”

“
Three
point GPA?” I accidently murmured.

“Yes, three-point-zero GPA,” Dex continued. “I can guarantee that you will be on our fall line. If these requirements are more than you are capable of achieving, I implore you to gather your things and leave now.”

Bolting came to mind. Coming away with a 2.67 last semester was a milestone in my academic career. And I didn’t have anything to worry about except for keeping my grades up. So securing a B average while prepledging didn’t sound like a lofty goal. It sounded impossible. But maybe it was just what I needed. Maybe higher expectations would force me to rise to the occasion. Maybe a new set of friends—upstanding upperclassmen with good grades and nice cars—would do me some good, like my mom said. When I thought about the upside, I decided to stay put.

“Since it seems you guys have decided to stick around, I guess I can let you go home for the night,” Dex said.

Thank God,
I thought, taking a deep breath of relief. It was going on six in the morning, and I figured I could still sneak a quick nap in before my nine o’clock class.

“After you guys clean up the mess upstairs,” Dex said.

The eight of us let out a collective groan of disgruntlement.

“Where is Konceited?” Dex asked.

“He left with some chick,” one of the guys said.

“Nah, he left with two,” another corrected. “The Italian stallion left with him, too!”

“Oh, forreal?” Dex asked. “She’s a fine lil’ brizzle, too! Aight, well, since Konceited ain’t here, y’all boys follow Khaos. He’ll show you where to find the vacuum, trash bags, broom, mop bucket, Windex and toilet cleaner so you can get started.”

Even though I was pissed off about having to clean up the house, I couldn’t help but wonder if the girl they referred to as the Italian stallion was the same girl Timothy was dating.
Couldn’t be,
I thought. It was probably just a coincidence. At least, I hoped it was.

CLASS

I
was out on my feet by the time we left the Kappa house. The sun was up and people were walking to class. Thankfully, my first class didn’t start until nine, so I had a few minutes to freshen up. I wasn’t even in my room five minutes before Lawry came knocking. As usual, he wanted to borrow something. This time it was my iron, ironing board and mouthwash. I was exhausted, tired as hell and moving like a zombie. My legs were so sore from sitting in that damn imaginary chair, I could barely walk.

“You look like hell, shawty,” Lawry said. “Must’ve had a long night.”

“Basically,” I said, being intentionally short.

“What is that I keep smelling in here?” Lawry asked, sniffing as he frowned up his face.

“It’s probably your breath,” I said.

“Smells like garlic up in here,” he said, still sniffing.

“Then it’s
definitely
your breath,” I said, walking over to my closet to pick out something to wear.

“Why you limping around like that?” he asked. “You must’ve been tryna do that damn stanky leg in the club!”

“Something like that,” I said.

“I see you’re still wearing the same outfit you wore to the foam party,” he prodded. “What time did you get back?”

I wanted to tell him I couldn’t walk because I was getting hazed all night and I’d just gotten back five minutes ago, but Lawry was nosy, and I’d been sworn to secrecy.

“I got back around three,” I said, lying. “I was so hammered, I wound up passing out on my bed before I could get out of my clothes.”

The last thing Dex told us before we left the Kappa house was to make sure nobody found out that we were involved in any prepledging activities. He said if word got back to anybody in the frat that one of us was talking, our entire process would be over and we’d have just as much a chance to make the line as the other hundreds of guys who showed up with their applications in the fall. Fresh was right. If there’s one thing I’d learned about going Greek in the last 24 hours, it was that the selection process was everything but fair. But after busting my ass cleaning the Kappa house last night, I’d taken the first step to solidifying my spot on the fall line.

“Around three, huh?” Lawry asked, still snooping. “That’s funny, ’cause I was walking to the gym this morning, and I could have sworn I seen you leaving the Kappa house.”

“Ssssshhhhh!”
I hissed, placing my finger over my mouth. “Man, that wasn’t me, homie.”

“If it wasn’t you, what you shushing me for?” he asked, smiling. “You know I was on line with the Alphas just last semester. You can’t run that G on me, shawty.”

“Okay, okay, all right,” I said. “Look, man, I’m doing a little prepledging or whatever, but it’s nothing serious. Whatever you do, don’t say nothing to nobody about this.”

“C’mon, now,” he said. “I know what it is. You know I ain’t gon’ say nothin’.”

“
Nobody,
Lawry!” I repeated.

“Your secret is safe with me, shawty,” he said. “I ain’t seen nothing.”

I paid for last night on the first day of class. I could hardly keep my eyes open. Thank God, my first class was an easy find. The stroll from Marshall Hall to Washington Hall was a familiar trek for me because that’s where I took Dr. Johnson’s first-year seminar course last semester. I took solace in the fact that this public policy course would be an easy A, according to Fats’s inside information. Let him tell it, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the pregnant professor cancelled the first class of the semester so she could review her sonogram at the doctor’s office. I hoped to see that note on the door as I turned the corner. But to my angst, it was propped wide open. There was no professor in sight. I hadn’t even taken my notebook out of my book bag before the murmuring commenced.

“I think it’s safe to say the professor ain’t coming,” one impatient girl wearing a head scarf said. “Let’s get outta here before she gets here. It ain’t our fault she’s late.”

“Don’t be silly,” Timothy said, checking his digital stopwatch. “It’s only been six and a half minutes since class was supposed to start. I’m sure she’s on her way.”

“I’m with you, shorty,” Dub-B said. “Somebody start up a roll so we can leave it on her desk before we dip.”

“I got some paper,” Fresh said, pulling his binder out of his bag. “I’ll start it up.”

I was sitting at my desk dozing off. Not just any dozing off, either. The embarrassing kind. The half-falling-over-
out-of-my-desk, half-snoring, popping-up-like everything-is-all right kind. Similar to the way you see someone fading out in church. I awoke from my temporary state of unconsciousness to the sound of people around me laughing and snickering.

“Yo, are you all right, papi?” a Latina girl sitting beside me asked, laughing. “It looks like you might need some more sleep.”

“Nah, it looks like he was going too hard at that foam party last night, yo,” Dub-B said.

“He’ll be aight,” Fresh said, patting me on the back extra hard to wake me up.

Just as Fresh removed the cap from his pen, the last person I expected to see come through the door waltzed in. The moment she stepped in the room, I got my second wind. It was as if she’d taken center stage to perform a monologue in
The Color Purple
on Broadway. The spotlight was on Katrina and all eyes were on her. Seemingly unfazed by the attention, Katrina walked to her seat with her head high. I would be lying if I said she didn’t look as attractive as she did the first time I saw her. In fact, she wasn’t a penny short of a dime. Her hair was just as bouncy and full as I’d ever seen it, pressed to the
T,
as if she was going to a nightclub instead of a morning class. Much like everyone else’s, my eyes scanned for imperfection, but found none. Even with no makeup on her face, Katrina looked like a doll. Her naturally long eyelashes, light brown eyes and pouty lips made it hard for me to stare at her for more than ten seconds without getting an erection. Not to mention her perky C-cups poking out from under her pink-and-green APA line jacket or her butt cheeks shaking like maracas with her every step. HIV positive or not, there was no denying Kat’s beauty. It kinda made me wonder how many other cute girls parading around campus were infected.

“Yeah, that’s her, girl,” one girl sitting behind me whispered to another. “Mmm-hmm.”

I was so focused on Kat, I didn’t even notice that the guy sitting in front of me had passed back the sign-in sheet, until the girl sitting beside me tapped my shoulder.

“Are you gonna sign that or what?” she asked. “I ain’t tryna be in here waiting on this professor all day.”

“The campus manual of guidelines and procedures actually indicates that a professor has up to ten minutes to be late to class before we are free to go,” Timothy said.

“Well, if she ain’t here by the time that list makes it around to me, I’m gone,” the girl said. “As high as tuition is at this school, the teachers need to show up ten minutes
early!
”

“I know that’s right!” someone in the back seconded.

No sooner had I turned to pass the sign-in sheet back, Dr. Johnson came strolling through the door, his black leather Gucci briefcase in tow. He carried himself with a certain confidence that I admired, walking with his back and shoulders straight, dreds draping beyond his shoulders. Standing well over six feet and built like a professional bodybuilder, Dr. Johnson was a hulking figure who commanded respect without opening his mouth. And when he did, he spoke and conducted himself in a manner that exuded a self-assuredness that I envied. Even if you didn’t like him, you had to respect him. Dr. J was a no-nonsense type of guy. He was as demanding and shrewd as he was fair. There was no way public policy class was going to be an easy A if he was teaching it. I hoped he was just subbing for the day.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, perching on the desk. “My name is Dr. Oliver Johnson, but you can call me Dr. J. As long as your name is on the roll sheet that I will have by next week and you are financially enrolled, I will be your professor for public policy this semester.”

“Ain’t this about a blip,” I mumbled under my breath.

I noticed a few other students slump into their seats at the news.

“I see someone has already taken the initiative to start up a roll,” he said with a chuckle. “I just know you all weren’t planning on trying to pull the old ‘let’s sign the roll sheet before the teacher shows so we can leave early’ move. So whoever’s idea it was to get that started, I offer my sincerest thanks. I’d appreciate it if you all could continue to pass that sign-in sheet around for me, so I know who showed up today. I see some familiar faces and a few new ones. I’d like to take this time to welcome you all. As I’m sure you can tell by now, I am not Professor Tessa Mitchell—the instructor whose name should appear on most of your schedules. She has decided to take this semester off for maternity leave. So that, my scholars, leaves you with me. For those of you who have taken one of my courses in the past, you know my philosophy. It’s plain and simple. Everybody in my class starts of with an A plus.
Everybody.
As a student, it’s your job to keep that grade by coming to class on time, doing your homework, studying for exams and doing well on them. As your professor, I can promise you one thing. I won’t grade you. But over the course of this semester, you will grade yourself.”

As if on cue, in walked a fashion-forward, light-skinned guy wearing oversize Fendi aviator shades, matching ascot, button-up shirt, a pair of extremely snug Rockin’ Republic jeans and a pair of Ferragamo loafers. He strolled in as if he hadn’t a care in the world, careful to switch his hips with every step, lightly brushing the bangs he’d so neatly pressed away from his forehead, before taking his seat.

“So glad that you could join us today,
sir,
” Dr. J said. “If you didn’t know, class started fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’m aware of that,” the student retorted.

“Well, why is it that you are so late today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Unless you plan on picking me up from my apartment complex before class for the rest of the semester, I mind,” he snapped.

“Well, also be mindful that your attendance makes up ten percent of your overall grade in this class. So due to the fact that I will absolutely not be picking you up from anywhere at any time, it’s imperative that you get to this class on time if your grade is of any importance to you. In fact, it’s important that you all practice being punctual. In the real world, tardiness is not acceptable and I won’t make any exceptions here. My mentor always told me, half an hour too soon is better than half a minute too late.”

“But Dr. J, you were late to class today yourself,” one girl sitting in the front row noted.

“Valid point,” he said. “Next time you have one to make in my classroom, be sure to raise your hand first so I can call on you. Point taken, though. The fact of the matter is, I didn’t find out I would be filling in for Professor Mitchell until this morning. That being said, I apologize for my tardiness. Those of you who know me can attest to the fact that I won’t be making a habit of it.”

As Dr. J walked around the class passing the course syllabus out to each student, getting a feel for the new faces and personally greeting the familiar ones, I braced myself for what was sure to be a longer, much more arduous semester than I’d planned for. I just knew Dr. J had something up his sleeve. It was inevitable.

“Mr. Dawson,” he said, hulking over my desk in a gray cardigan sweater and checkered dress shirt. “Man, it’s great to see you back! How was your break?”

“It was cool,” I said.

“I’m looking forward to big things from you this semester,” he said, looking me in the eye as he handed me a copy of the course description. “Don’t let me down.”

After passing out the packets, careful to make sure everyone had a copy, Dr. J returned to the front of the class, picked up a marker and went to the board.

“Does everyone have a copy of the course syllabus?” he asked.

Everyone nodded in unison.

“Good. Have you had a chance to review it carefully?” he asked.

Confusion riddled the faces of nearly everyone in the class, each of us looking around at one another to see if anyone knew where he was coming from. I had no idea, but I sensed a curveball coming. Timothy hesitantly raised his hand.

“Yes, sir,” Dr. J said.

“Well, Dr. Johnson, I was just wondering what you meant by that, seeing that we just received our course descriptions less than five minutes ago,” Timothy said. “I’ve skimmed through the syllabus, but haven’t had time to review it in its entirety.”

“Yet another valid point. Thank you for raising your hand before making it. Well, as Mr…. What’s your name, son?”

“McGruden. Timothy McGruden.”

“As Mr. McGruden has noted, none of you have had time to review the syllabus. And none of you will need to. As a matter of fact, everybody grab the packet I distributed to you and hold it above your head.”

Here it comes,
I thought as I hoisted mine high.

“Now, rip it in half,” he said.

The bewildered facial expressions returned. No one, including myself could fathom why Dr. J would take the time to pass out something he just wanted us to rip up.

“I’m serious!” he insisted. “Rip it up!”

“You don’t have to tell me again,” Fresh said, tearing his in half.

Everyone else followed suit.

“That syllabus outlined the items Professor Mitchell saw fit to focus on this semester in terms of government affairs. Her way of doing this is absolutely fine and by the book. It’s just not my preference. I am interested in taking a more practical approach to ensuring you all learn the inner workings of bureaucracy—the good, the bad and the ugly.”

The windup.

“How many of you all have already signed up to participate in the upcoming student body election?” he asked.

Of the thirty or so students in the class, only one hand was raised. It belonged to Howard Harrell—University of Atlanta’s version of Barack Obama. Howard was a man of the people. Class president for the past three years, he was a shoe-in for student body president and everybody knew it. Revered for his near-perfect GPA, notorious for wearing a suit and tie at all times and heralded for his ability to effectively convey the thoughts and ideologies of the student body to the administration, in essence, Howard Harrell was the man. A man many suspected to be on the DL, but the man, nonetheless. In fact, in the last election, he ran unopposed. No one dared contest Howard Harrell.