Aggravated and still half-asleep, I scrambled to find some sweats. Meanwhile, it was still raining cats and dogs outside. I wondered why the hell anyone would want to meet outside in that. When I left, Timmy was still snoring like a bear.
“Let’s go!” Fresh said, jogging down the hallway.
The baseball diamond was located next to the football field, clear on the other side of campus. I could do nothing more than shake my head and sour my facial expression as I darted out into the rain. Before I got one block away from Marshall Hall, I was soaked. By the time Fresh and I reached the baseball diamond, we were drenched and out of breath. It was raining so hard, there were puddles inside my socks. I could feel the water in between my toes with every step. This time, there were only four Kappas—Dex and three others. And from our original group of eight, we were now down to four. Standing on a muddy baseball field in the pouring rain at four-something in the morning, I couldn’t say I blamed the quitters.
“All of y’all line up against the damn fence!” Dex shouted.
By the tone of his voice, I could tell he was upset. Once again, I was last in line, right behind Fresh.
“I don’t feel like being out here in the rain no more than any of y’all do,” Dex said. “But you little GDIs are already out of line! And tonight, I’ma teach y’all a lesson about disrespecting the brothas of K-B-Psi! Earlier, I sent one of y’all a message and told you to bring me some chicken. Popeye’s chicken.”
My stomach began doing backflips and I became woozy. I knew where he was going with this.
“Shit,” Fresh mumbled.
“But somebody thought it would be a good idea to go somewhere else to get the chicken for cheaper instead,” Dex continued, walking straight toward Fresh and holding a receipt in his hand. “Now, I’m a business finance major with a 3.8 GPA. But it damn sure doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell the difference between Popeye’s and Church’s! Especially when you leave the receipt in the bag! Who would do some dumb shit like that?”
Dex walked up and down the line, holding the receipt in front of each of our faces. I thought Fresh would’ve at least had enough common sense to take the receipt out of the damn bag. Guess not.
“It was probably the same fool who likes to send sweet little text messages and all that,” one of the Kappas said.
“I don’t think he’s here this morning,” Dex said. “I think he quit.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he should have,” one of the other Kappas said, laughing.
“Is J.D. here?” Dex asked.
I had a good mind to just act like I didn’t hear him. For a moment, I just stood there with my hands at my sides looking straight forward, pretending as if he hadn’t said a thing at all.
“I knew that dude was a punk,” one of the Kappas said.
“I told you he didn’t come back,” Dex said.
“I’m right here, sir,” I said, reluctantly raising my hand.
“Aaa-haaaa!” Dex said, walking up in my face and standing toe-to-toe with me. “So you did come back? From what I hear, you like to send little late-night text messages to other people’s girls.”
The only girl I’d sent anything to was Leslie. I had no idea how the hell Dex found out about it, of all people.
“Don’t get too close to him,” one of the Kappas said. “I heard he got the package.”
“AIDS?” Dex asked.
“That’s what I heard,” the Kappa said. “You know he was messing around with Katrina last semester.”
“Downtown D’s Katrina?” Dex asked. “The APA?”
“Yep,” the Kappa said. “I heard he’s the reason both of ’em got it.”
“No, I’m not!” I said. “People need to quit spreading lies about me. I’ve been tested and I ain’t got no damn HIV!”
“Ain’t nobody asked you what you had, ya little GDI!” Dex said. “I know you were responsible for messing up the chicken order. And I know if you speak out of line one more time or ever use profanity directed at any of the bruhs, you’re finished. Now, you done made me so mad, all of y’all are gonna pay for it. Line up at home plate!”
As I was standing there, last in line, my mind raced as I dreaded what they were going to do to us. What ensued was one of the most embarrassing, heinous things I’ve ever had to do. In the pouring rain, on the muddy field, we had to run full-speed around the bases and slide face-first into each one. Each time I slid, mud would spout up into my face, eyes and mouth. After the first five times around the bases, diving in the dirt felt like diving onto concrete. Every slide felt like a belly flop off of a high-dive in a swimming pool. I could feel the skin tearing around my elbows, forearms and stomach. A few times, it knocked the wind out of me. We had to complete 30 laps. That’s 120 total face-first slides into the bases. I don’t know how we got through it, but we did. It must’ve taken us an hour to complete. Afterward, I was so exhausted, I could barely stand on my own two feet. I was dizzy, panting and dying of thirst. That’s when another Kappa came jogging up from across the field. It was Konceited. He was carrying a Gatorade bottle.
“Damn, where you been at, bruh?” Dex asked him. “We were sitting around the frat house, waiting for you.”
“My bad,” Konceited said. “I got caught up with that damn Italian stallion!”
“Again?” one of the Kappas asked.
“I can’t stay away, bruh,” Konceited said. “She’s a beast!”
“You talking about the one who’s dating that lame-ass Alpha nigga T-Mac, right?” Dex asked.
“Yeah, that’s her,” Konceited confirmed.
“Hope you’re strapping up,” one of the other Kappas said. “I know a couple of the bruhs over at G-State and Tech who hit that. She’s a Greek groupie.”
“C’mon now, bruh,” Konceited said. “You know I stay strapped like car seats. It’s not like I’m tryna wife her up.”
Damn, I thought, shaking my head slightly. I knew it. Timothy was getting played by a freak. I knew I had to tell him. I’d have to figure out how later.
“Later for all that,” Dex said, taking the Gatorade bottle from Konceited. “Everybody line up again. Take your hoods off, cock your heads back, and open your mouths. After all of that running, I know y’all gotta be thirsty.”
Thank God, I thought, still breathing heavily, gasping for air. Lord knows, I needed a sip. Dex started at the front of the line and worked his way back, filling each of our mouths to the brim. By the time I swallowed it was too late. What I thought was Gatorade turned out to be one hundred percent prune juice.
“How did that taste, fellas?” Dex asked, laughing.
The older Kappas were cracking up as I gagged.
“Got plenty more here, if you need another sip,” Dex continued. “I’m sure you guys have worked up quite an appetite, with all that running and all. So I’m gonna give you this piece of caramel to share. I want you to take the biggest bite you can, and pass it back. If you take a small bite, you will eat all of it. If you spit out any of it, you are done. Don’t ever think about coming back.”
With that, Dex proceeded to hand what looked like an extremely small candy apple to the first guy in line. By the time it made it back to me, I could tell it was anything but that. When Fresh turned around to hand it to me, even though it was raining and his mouth was shut, I could smell a strong aroma on his breath that damn sure wasn’t cultivated by Granny Smith. I was, however, face-to-face with a half-eaten piece of garlic that had been dipped in caramel. Dex took one step closer to me and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Eat!” he screamed.
I held it in front of my face, my hand shaking and lip quivering. Just the smell of the fresh garlic made my stomach quiver. As bad as I wanted to force it in my mouth, like the rest of the guys had, I couldn’t bring my hand to do it.
“Okay, I see we still have an individual on our hands,” Dex said. “He’s better than the rest of y’all. He doesn’t wanna eat with y’all. Don’t worry abou
t it, homie. Don’t eat it. You’re different. You’re special, so you should be in the front of the line. C’mon.”
Dex grabbed me by my elbow and led me to the front of the line.
“Since you don’t wanna take one little bite out of the apple, you can stand here and watch your buddies eat the entire thing.”
As I watched the guys vigorously shaking their heads back and forth, letting me know they couldn’t stomach another bite, I decided I couldn’t leave them hanging like that. I had to take one for the team.
“I’ll take a bite, man,” I said.
“Man?” Dex asked. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You can’t seem to stop messing up.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I meant to say, I’ll take a bite, sir.”
“You are sorry,” Dex agreed, snatching the apple out of my hands. “If you think your little freshman ass can take a girl from a man of Kappa Beta Psi, you got another thing coming. Get your sorry ass down and give me one hundred push-ups while your friends finish off the apple.”
The way he kept bringing up that text message situation outta nowhere, I was starting to think maybe Dex was Leslie’s ex. It seemed like he had a personal vendetta out against me. I was struggling with push-up number 68 when Dex pulled me up to my feet by the back of my collar and shoved me in the front of the line. I felt bad for letting the fellas down. They looked at me like they wanted to jump me. Each of them looked nauseous. That prune juice alone had my stomach boiling. We stood in a single file line and I was in the very front.
“Now, for some jumping jacks,” Dex said. “If you feel the urge to throw up, which you probably will, you make sure to throw up in the guy’s hood in front of you. If I see one drop spill on the ground, you’re finished. You will never be a man of Kappa Beta Psi. Ready, go!”
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.”
TEN
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.
Next Semester Page 14