Upgrade U (7 page)

With you I fall so fast …
I hope it lasts …

—A
SHLEE
S
IMPSON
, “P
IECES
O
F
M
E”

J
ust when I thought I’d already strolled through hell, I walked into my creative writing class, ten minutes late.

The professor’s name was Dr. Banks, and from the look she shot me I could tell that this woman didn’t play. She handed me, and a few other students who crept in behind me, a class syllabus.

“Let me make this clear to you all,” she said as she walked around the classroom. “This is not high school. This is Stiles University. And while you may be your parents’ babies, you are young men and young ladies to me. I expect you to arrive to class on time.” She pulled the rim of her glasses down the bridge of her nose and it seemed her eyes landed on me.

“After today if you are more than five minutes late, then I will not allow you in my class. If you miss your homework, I will not remind you that it is due; your falling grade will teach you. And you are to have your books”—
she looked at my bare desk—“the next time we see each other.

“Also, I will not accept any notes from your parents. Please keep all pets away from your homework, sleep at night”—she tapped on a dozing student’s desk—“and not in my class. I am here to teach you, and together we will enjoy the love of creating literary art. Hopefully, when you leave my class you will have learned something that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your lives.” She looked around the class, and if I’m not mistaken I think she cracked a smile … well, at least a small grin.

“Now let’s get started.” She clapped her hands together. “The first expression of writing we will explore is writing fiction….”

O … M … G … why couldn’t we start with poetry? I don’t know anything about writing fiction.

“Does anyone know that there is more to fiction writing than first and third person?”

No, and I never really cared. I write poems—that’s why I took this class … along with needing—what I thought would be—an easy elective.

The professor looked around the room, and seeing that no one chimed in, she continued on, “There’s second person, third person total omniscient, third person limited omniscient, stream of consciousness….”

This was so not my day. I didn’t mind learning about writing fiction; it’s just that it would’ve been easier to start with poems. I swore nothing was going my way this day, and just when I thought things couldn’t get worse the professor said, “If you will refer to your syllabus you will see that your first assignment will be a short story.”

Jesus, please …

* * *

Three classes back to back, all the professors pretty much gave the same freshman speech about us not being babies but being high school graduates. They all had the same policy about lateness and at least one of them made sure that we understood that they already had what we wanted to get. Blah … blah … blah …

I hated that I wasn’t as excited about my classes as I really wanted to be…. I mean, it was no secret that I loved school. Heck, I worked hard to get here, but I was soooo embarrassed about not having my books that it kept me from enjoying my classes.

And it wasn’t like I was lazy and simply needed to go to the bookstore. My mom didn’t have the money for my books … and that was a hard pill to swallow.

The sagging economy seemed to affect everyone, even my middle-class family. We never had money woes and my mother worked two jobs to make sure we never felt a pinch. I always had a part-time job. But now I was broke, and totally dependent on somebody else. Thank goodness my meal plan was included in my scholarship or I would be on the corner with a sign that read HELP A SISTAH OUT, PLEASE.

I was so glad to be back in my dorm room. I tossed my backpack on my desk, kicked my heels off—which after my hustle from class to class around this humungous campus I would not be wearing anymore during the day … unless I was on a date. I pulled my hair back into a single shoulder-length ponytail and lay out like a snow angel across my bed.

I closed my eyes and the very moment I prayed for sleep there was a knock on my door.

Please … oh please … do not let this be Courtney….

I laid on my bed a few minutes longer contemplating if I really wanted to open the door, but before I could decide the knocks beat against the door in succession.

Despite the short distance I took my time walking to the door, and when I opened it, all I could do was smile, because suddenly my bad day had floated away.

Josiah leaned against the door frame, gave me a sexy smile, and said, “Yo, somebody told me that this hot and fly girl named Seven lived here, and that I needed to come check her because she had a big day today.”

“Oh, really?” I blushed. “I’m Seven and I’ve had a horrible day.”

“Really?” Josiah said, and pulled me by the belt loop to his chest. “What happened?”

I recounted for him what happened today, and then I said, “And my creative writing professor. OMG, yo, that lady was something else.”

“Yeah, some professors are like that. But it’s cool.” He kissed me. “You’re smart. You’ll get through it, and when all else fails and this is all said and done, you’re going to get further in life simply by being Josiah Whitaker’s girl anyway.”

“Excuse you.” I chuckled in disbelief. “Feeling yourself, maybe?”

“Nah, just a little confidence.” He kissed me passionately.

A few minutes in our kiss, “All right, all right,” poured from behind us. “Enough of that.” It was Shae and Big Country.

I wiped my lip gloss from Josiah’s lips and said, “Don’t hate.”

Shae laughed as we all entered the room. Big Country and Josiah exchanged dap and we sat coupled up on me and Shae’s respective beds.

“Yo, this is hot,” Big Country said. “Ya smell me?”

“What, boo?” Shae asked him, while stroking his cheek.

I promise you this bearilla here looked more like Rick Ross than Rick Ross did himself. I was tempted to ask Big Country if he could rap, but I didn’t want Shae to get offended; so instead I said, “What’s hot, Melvin?”

“Us, being here like this,” he said. “You know, like old times.”

“Yeah.” I chuckled. “This is sorta like old times.”

“Uhmm hmm,” Big Country agreed, “and now that we’ve gotten a little older and you not as sensitive, shawtie”—he looked at me—“I can tell you, man, you used to get on my nerves real bad.”

What did he say? Who is he talking to? Me?
“You better get your boyfriend, Shae. That’s exactly why we used to beat y’all in every game we played and took all ya lil money.”

“Hollah!” Shae slapped me a high five.

“Nah.” Josiah smirked. “Ain’t no hollah. You’ve never beaten me.”

“Shawtie, stop lying,” Big Country said.

“You, are crazy.” I laughed. “Shae, would you tell ‘em?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “We pretty much had y’all shook.”

“And when was this?” Josiah asked.

“Arizona’s,” Shae said. “Ringing any bells? We whipped y’all—”

“Azzes!” I started hunching my shoulders and doing a dance.

“We let y’all win,” Josiah said.

"Oh yeah?” I arched my brow. “Puhlease, you know you’re making things up, me and Shae could beat you two in anything.”

“Not in hoops.” Josiah gave a sly smile.

“No, ‘cause you’re ten feet tall,” I spat.

“Hmph,” Shae said, hyped, as she stood up. “I believe I can take him.”

“Shae,” I said, tight-lipped, “didn’t we already have this conversation about you not growing anymore?”

“True.” She sat back down.

“Just give it up,” Big Country said. “We’re the kings. We can beat y’all in just about everything.”

“Oh really?” Shae twisted her lips. “Well, name something besides ball and I betchu we’ll take you.”

“Bowling,” Josiah said.

“Oh please!” Shae stood up and slapped me a high five. “We will bury y’all!”

Josiah and Big Country looked at us for a moment, and then they fell out laughing. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Seven.” Josiah snickered.

“You can’t hurt me,” I said, “ ‘cause I’ma get the last laugh in the end.”

“Fa’sho',” Shae said.

“Well then, why don’t we be about it,” Big Country challenged.

“A’ight,” Shae agreed. “Twenty bills.”

“Pause.” I looked at Shae like she was crazy. “I don’t have no money, girl,” I whispered.

“Me either, but this is called a short-term investment, a gamble on something that has a high probability to pay us and the only risk we take is time.” She arched her brow. “I learned that today in Accounting 101.”

I smiled and looked at Josiah. “Forty bills.”

“That’s my girl,” Shae mumbled.

Josiah stood up and snickered. “Let’s go knock them down real quick, Big Country, and take all their lil money.”

“Let’s,” Big Country said as we walked out the door. “Seems they need to learn once more who’s the boss.”

"You know y’all cheated, right?” Big Country said, as we left the bowling alley and walked the few short blocks to campus. Shae and I were heartbeats away from missing the 2
A.M.
freshman curfew we had during the week; but the fact that we each returned twenty dollars richer was pretty much worth the risk of the RA slapping us with a violation ticket.

Shae and I each waved the twenty-dollar bills the boys had lost in their faces.

“We didn’t cheat,” I said. “So don’t even think you’re getting your money back.” I tucked it in my bra.

“If I wanted it back,” Josiah said, as his phone—which had been ringing pretty much all night—now rang again, “I’d go in there and get it.”

“Whatever.” I gave a playful smirk. “And who keeps calling you, like they spotted you on the milk carton or something? Geez.”

He walked up close to me and said, “Why? Are you jealous?” He slid his hands in the back pocket of my jeans.

“Do I have a reason to be jealous?” I hoped like heck my voice sounded as if I were telling a joke, although I was serious as cancer.

“Never.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “You know you’re number one.”

“And who’s higher than number one?”

"No one,” he said as we started to kiss passionately. And just as the stars and the moons aligned and sweet darkness settled upon us, Big Country said, “Y’all wanna hook that up at the Super 8 or something?”

I gave Josiah one last peck on the lips, and he said, “Good night.”

“Good night?” I whispered against his lips. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question, Seven?”

“Who keeps calling you?”

“Seven.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “You have to stop sweatin’ me. I don’t know who was calling me, since we’ve been together not once have I picked up my phone. And I haven’t picked it up because when I’m chillin’ with you I don’t care. Which is what I want you to do: stop caring, focus on me. There’re a million girls out here, but you’re the only one that I know is for me. All these other chicks are on it because of basketball and what they know I’ll have when I join the NBA. But I’m not thinking about that. I’m thinking about you, and me, and us. A’ight?” he said softly.

Maybe he has a point.
“A’ight,” I said as my heart skipped beats.

“Straight, now give it to me,” he said and I slid my arms around his neck and kissed him again. “Now, good night,” he said, giving me a few last pecks.

“Good night.”

“All right, Big Country.” Josiah stepped out of our embrace. “I’ll catch up with you.” He walked backwards out to the courtyard, blew me a kiss, and winked his eye at me. “I love you,” he mouthed as he faded into the night.

I swear I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand on the
bottom step of my dorm and bask in the beauty of love … a feeling that I desperately wish I could explain, but I couldn’t. All I could do was feel it….

“All right, shawtie, gon'-get now,” Big Country snapped at me, disrupting me from gettin’ my glee on. “Cut me and my Cornbread some space, smell me?”

“What?” I frowned.

“Let me put it like this—skip yo behind inside.”

“Excuse you.” I frowned. “And good night to you too.”

“Good night, shawtie,” he said as if I couldn’t leave soon enough.

The doors closed behind me and I heard him say to Shae, “Now plant one on me and I want a real sloppy one with extra gravy.”

Every time I look up
He be sliding through in
the F-150 pickup …

—C
IARA
, “O
OH
B
ABY”

T
he crisp amber of the late Louisiana afternoon hovered over us as heavy sun showers blew drops of rain into our faces. We fought to stay dry beneath the glass awning, where we stood for the last hour waiting for the trolley. Our backs were against the cold storefront window while a neon pink sign blinked CLOSED above our heads.

We’d just left Trina’s A Cut Above the Rest, which at first glance looked to be a hot-pink-painted hole in the wall. But it wasn’t. It was the hair hot spot, where we spent our last few dollars—not to mention our entire day—getting my hair done in sexy coils of bouncing curls, Khya’s bob laid, Shae’s natural waves hooked up, and Courtney’s finger waves redone.

I promise you, it was the pits trying to protect our freshly done dos from the elements. Let me say that again,
the pits.

Josiah called this morning and told me he had a roman-
tic date planned for us and I needed to be at his apartment by six o’clock so the dinner he cooked wouldn’t be cold.

Follow me here, my baby cooked for me….

Well, now I had a problem because it was already 5
P.M.,
and not only did I have a twenty-minute ride back to campus, I still had to freshen up and get dressed. And where was the trolley …? I don’t know. And what made matters worse is that on the weekend this thing ran like a turtle and we had absolutely no money for a cab.

“Breaking news!” Khya yelled and snapped her fingers—as rain sprinkled into our faces.

“What?” we all said simultaneously as the plastic bags we held over our hair rattled in the wet wind.

Khya blew a bubble and popped it. “I met a cutie.”

“Who, Jesus?” Courtney snapped. “ ‘Cause you have ran through every other cutie on campus.”

“Seriously,” I said, never thinking I’d ever agree with Courtney.

“Who is it this time, Khya?” Shae asked.

Khya popped her gloss-covered lips. “Devin, Josiah’s roommate. We saw each other in the caf the other day and ole boy insisted on having my number. I knew my natural effect would work and I wouldn’t have to sprinkle no gris-gris on him.” She snapped her fingers, did a Beyoncé drop, popped back up, and gave a Miss America wave. “I’d like to thank the academy of swagger….”

Courtney twisted his lips to the side. “Two snaps up and a fruit loop—”

Two snaps and a what?

“With that one-track-mind cutie,” Courtney continued, “I’m sure it has less to do with your swagger and more to do with your Serena Williams–like booty. ‘Cause I’m sure he’s trying to make it his duty to get up on that.”

Khya paused. “Oh, snap, Courtney, I didn’t know you could rhyme. You should be a rapper, you would kill it.”

WTF?
“That didn’t rhyme.” I frowned.

“Shut up, Seven,” Courtney barked. “It did rhyme and here you profess to write poetry.” He turned to Khya, and said as if he was highly impressed, “You really think I could be a rapper?” He stared into space. “That would be so hot. I’ve always wanted to be MC Rainbow.” He stood silently in his spot, and then suddenly he started doing the running man. “I’m MC Rainbow in the place to be and if you catch me on Thursdays my name is Court-ta-nee….”

What’da …
I looked at Shae and we laughed so hard that we each held our stomachs, opened our mouths, and nothing came out. Tears slid from our eyes, and I thought for sure I was going to pass out.

“Oh, y’all thought that was funny?” Courtney said, his feelings obviously hurt. “Would you like it if I laughed at you?” He pointed to me and Shae. “You better be lucky my mother taught me not to attack Jerry’s kids.”

“Okay … okay …” Shae did her best to stop laughing. “Courtney,” Shae stammered as she wiped her eyes, “we’re sorry.”

“Yeah,” I sniffed as I collected myself together. “Yeah, we are. Now let’s get back on track—” I wiped my eyes. “Back to Devin. Khya, it’s just something about him. I don’t know if he’s the cutie for you. When we were on second line he was too busy staring at your hips and D cups.”

“And if he’s staring at your breasts longer than your face,” Shae said, “then he’s clearly saying to himself, ‘I’m ‘bout to hit that.'”

“Hmm, Shae.” Khya rubbed her hand across her chin. “You went real deep with that one. Is that where you think I went wrong with Jamil?”

"Stop the recording right there.” Courtney wagged his finger. “We are not going there. Follow me here: Jamil ran off and married Precious; we have to let that go.”

“Nobody asked you, Courtney,” Khya snapped. “And why would you say something like that to me, when I’m the only one who didn’t laugh at you being some running-man played MC Rainbow? Did I tell you that your rhyme was like 1995, they don’t spit bubble gum anymore? Noooooo, I was considerate. I let you have your moment, and what you do for me? Take out your gun and blow away my dreams. You wrong for that, Rainbow.”

“Running man?” Courtney said in disbelief. “Played? And bubble gum? I don’t believe you said that, Khya. And you know I’m sensitive—”

“Umm hmm, whatever, and for your information Jamil didn’t marry Shaka-Locka.” She paused. “But wait a minute—” She stared off into space. “I did see he’d changed his relationship status the other day to ‘it’s complicated.’ What da hell does that mean? Oh hell nawl.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Let me call this mofo right now—”

“Put that phone away!” Shae screamed. “It don’t matter. Let it go, girl. Puhlease let it go.”

“You’re right.” Khya took deep breaths and threw one-two jabs in the air. “It don’ madder. I ain’t fidda let Jamil bother me. Do I look bothered, yat?” She asked and answered her own question. “Not. Ya heardz me? I got this.”

“Khya,” Shae said, “what you need is a man like my baby. Big Country is a real gentleman.” She blushed.

“Yeah, right.” I twisted my lips. “A gentleman who whispers to you about how he wants to sop you up like gravy and suck you off the ends of his cornbread.”

"Dead,” Courtney spat. “That visual just killed Courtney.”

Khya batted her lashes. “Ignore them, Shae, because that is
sooooo
romantic.”

“Ill.” I gagged. “Both of y’all are sick.”

“Don’t hate, Seven,” Khya said. “And anyway, Devin is different from most guys.”

I paused and thought back over the last few weeks. “You say that every time. Everyone you meet is different. The dude you met the first night on campus was different—”

“And he was,” Khya said. “A different kind of jerk. Did I tell you he told me I reminded him of his third baby mama—? Third …” she said slowly, “ … baby … mama!”

“Third?” Shae said in disbelief.

“Third,” Khya confirmed. “Not first, not second, but third baby mama.”

“Oh damn,” Shae said. “But what about the one you met the first day of classes—you said he was different too.”

“He was.” Khya nodded. “A different kinda broke. Did I tell you I saw him the other night rocking the corner with a tore-up collection cup? He wasn’t playing an instrument, he wasn’t singing. Nothing. Just straight-up begging.”

“What did you do?” I asked in disbelief.

“I gave him a job application and told him he needed to go and hook that up.”

“Oh … kay.” Courtney chimed in. “Well … ummm … what about the cutie you met last week on Thursday?”

“Say this with me: cra’ay’zee. Like Jay-Z, but cra’ay’zee.”

“Oh that’s a mess,” I said as I spotted our long-lost trolley creeping up the block. We stepped out from under the awning as the trolley headed up the street toward us. I
took my fare from my purse and said, “So, Khya, what makes Devin so different?”

“He has one out of three chances to be picked as a first-round draft pick if he were to enter this year; he just signed with an agent … Oh yeah, and umm, he’s cute. Yeah,” she said as if she were agreeing with herself. “And he’s, umm, nice. He said good morning to me. And, ummm, yeah, I just like him.”

“And for all the right reasons too—” I stopped midsentence, I had to. Really … I did … because suddenly and without warning the world came to an end. And we’d been drowned, from our freshly done dos to our manicured feet with a heavy wave of rainwater, courtesy of an onyx and kitted-up F-150 pickup that skirted around the trolley, splashed water from the street to the sidewalk, and rocked our world.

It was like … like … a hurricane breeze had come over us. Scratch that, how about a tornado—yeah, that was it, a tornado had just hog spit on us and now we were buried in the drippings.

WTF?!

Instantly every … last … one of my curls melted. My hair slicked over my forehead and stuck to the sides of my face like black glue. Khya’s bob had gone flat, Shae’s natural waves had transformed into an afro. And Courtney, well, his finger waves made a loud crunch sound, and as if his hair were breaking free it shot straight up in the air, causing him to fall to the ground and scream, “Dead! Courtney’s dead!”

The plastic bags that had only moments ago protected our hair were blown into the street. My clothes were stuck
to me and I felt like I’d just bumped—and yes, I mean bumped—into the ocean.

Oh hell to da no!

And just when I thought we’d made it through the worst of things the trolley we’d been waiting on for over an hour closed its doors and rode past us.

I only have one word to say: stunned.

The kitted-up culprit reversed its way down the street and made a screeching sound as it halted in front of us and splashed even more water onto the sidewalk. “Yo,” the driver said as he got out of his truck and slammed the door, “my fault, Lovely.”

The driver looked me over and his eyes smiled, at least until he peeped Khya and Shae, who were clearly in space, and Courtney who laid on the ground screaming about his roots. “I didn’t have the money for a touch-up!” he cried.

“Damn, lil mas,”—he paused and looked at Courtney—“And you, I’m really sorry about this. I promise you I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

I placed my hands on my soaking wet hips, crooked my neck to the left, and just when I was prepared to spaz, he boldly swept my hair from my forehead. “Seriously, beautiful”—he gazed into my eyes—“my fault. I shouldn’t have cut in front of the bus like that.”

For-real, for-real, I had every intention on being a pissed, raving lunatic, but instead I found myself spent … all because he was well … fine—hmm, let’s make that beautiful—nah, that’s not doing him justice either.

Let’s try pretty—but then again … I wasn’t sure what label to place on whoever he was; and though I tried to keep my eyes still, so that I could focus on being swollen,
I couldn’t and my eyes roamed all over lil daddy like an oil spill.

His looks were so sweet that he put Reggie Bush to sleep. He was a grown-man-type fine. NFL player, Terrell Owens, but younger and with smoother almond-butter skin, deeper plunging dimples, a sexier cleft chin, marble brown eyes, and a smile that demanded your attention. Yeah, trust me, it was like that.

He wore a fitted and white V-neck tee that clung to his defined muscles and showcased a few of his tattoos; dirty-wash True Religion jeans; a G-Shock wristwatch; and a pair of Louis Vuitton sneakers on his feet.

And honey, his sexy New Orleans accent made me feel privileged to be south of the Mason-Dixon line.
Hollah!

“Yo, Love, for real,” he said, “I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”

“Oh, it’s okay, lil tender,” Khya said, snapping out of one daze and into another. “I happen to like the wet and slick-down look.”

“Well, I don’t!” I spat as my wet hair slung water all over the place. “Do you understand what I had to go through to get my hair done? And did you see my clothes?”

“My roots!” Courtney yelled before I could go on. “My roots!”

“I’ll pay for your hair to get redone. All of you.” The cutie pulled out his wallet as his sexy voice radiated with apologies.

But at this moment I could care less. I was so heated there was no way I could process anything he had to say. “No, what you need to pay for are driving lessons! ‘Cause what you just did to our hair is straight out of control. If I was Tiger Woods’s wife, trust me, it would be on!”

"I sooo sorry, ma. I got you.” He gave me a sexy half-a grin. “Forgive me.”

“Forgive you? I have a date tonight and you have ruined it!”

“Skip it then—we can go chill somewhere else.”

I blinked. “You think this is a game? You out here using your car like a weapon—”

“It’s okay,” Khya said. “I like a lil violence.”

“My roots!” Courtney screamed. “My roots!”

“I really don’t believe this.” I shook my head.

“Look,” cutie said, “I’ve said I was sorry like a thousand times. And I am. Let me at least offer y’all a ride back to Stiles U. I don’t mind. It’s the least I could do.”

“Ride back to Stiles U? I don’t know you!”

“There’s only one way to get to know somebody, Seven,” Khya said, tight-lipped.

“Be quiet.” I looked at ole boy suspiciously and said, “And how did you know where we were going?”

“I saw you in the bookstore the other day,” he said.

I stood, shocked. “What? So you running all over town stalking me and when you couldn’t get my attention you douse us with water? Is that your pick-up line?”

“All you had to do was ask me for my number,” Khya said. “I’m not that hard to please. You didn’t have to mess up my hair.”

He chuckled. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t care what it was,” I snapped. “I still don’t know you.”

“Zaire.” He smiled and I was pissed off even more that his smile made him even cuter.

“Look,” Shae said, “bump all that. Yeah you cute and all, but I got a man, so impress me with my forty-five dollars.”
She held her hand out. “Twenty-five for the style and fifteen for the inconvenience.”

Zaire pulled the money from his wallet and handed it to Shae. He looked at Khya. “What do I owe you?”

“Dinner, Red Fish Grill—”

“I wish you would go to a Red Fish Grill with him.” I squinted. “You know what?” I said as another trolley pulled up and I held my hand out for it to stop. “You can skip yo lil bootleg behind on, driving like you’re drunk or something. Don’t think you being sexy compensates for you ruining my hair. Oh hell no. And you can keep your money, your phone number, and whatever else is behind that smile, ‘cause Seven McKnight is not beat!”