Next Semester

by Cecil R. Cross

  “This is some bullshit,” I murmured to myself.

  Timothy and I weren’t the best of friends. But he was my roommate, and as bad as I hated to see him getting played, I couldn’t take the sight of him playing himself. And now, to make matters worse, he was doing it on Facebook, for all to see. He had to be stopped. As much as I knew it would hurt him, I had to break the news. At the same time, I had my own laundry list of relationship problems. Even though Leslie said her relationship with Dex was over, I assumed they were still involved to some degree. And I was sure they still shared feelings for each other. But the fact remained, they weren’t together anymore. So I figured, as long as Dex didn’t find out about it, I still had a chance. I knew I was playing with fire. Dating Leslie while prepledging Kappa Beta Psi was like walking a 70-story-high tightrope in the Windy City with no net. I was asking for problems. But when Leslie walked up to the desk where I was sitting, looking like a million bucks, I knew it was worth the risk. Every time I saw her, it was like the very first time. I became short on breath.

  “Oh, hell no,” she said, looking over my shoulder as we hugged. “I know that’s not your English composition book. J.D., did you really ask me to come here so I could help you write a paper?”

  “Nah,” I said, trying to play it off. “Of course not. Honestly, I just wanted to see you, sit down and talk for a minute.”

  “Awww!” she said. “That’s sweet. Well, I can’t stay for long. What’s been up?”

  Of course, our conversation led into how badly I needed help writing my paper. She took the bait, just like I thought she would. We ended up working on the paper together for hours. I didn’t know it at that moment, but that one study session was really what brought us closer together. I’m not quite sure if it was my poor use of grammar or horrible sentence structure that turned her on, but by the end of the study session, it seemed Leslie was on me. Whatever time I had in-between classes and prepledging, I spent with her. We hit the mall together, went to the movies and sent text messages to each other all day, every day. She’d sneak into my room after hours and I’d sneak into hers between classes. I had no earthly idea why she felt I was worthy of her time. She was without question one of the baddest chicks on campus. By my estimation, I was everything she wasn’t looking for. I was a freshman with no car. I didn’t go to Lighthouse. I wasn’t Greek. And the only real popularity I had on campus was the fact that everybody assumed I had HIV. Whatever the case, Leslie was feelin’ me, despite my shortcomings. She had me wide open. It must have been written all over my face, because all of my homies could seem to tell she had my head gone.

  “Can you please tell me why you’re always locking yourself down with one girl?” Fresh asked as I sat around the lunch table with the fellas. “I thought you would have learned your lesson about that last semester. You know these girls ain’t about nothin’! And you know damn well, we ain’t about nothin’! So why get involved in a serious relationship with any one chick on campus when the ratio of females to guys is like eight to one?”

  “He’s got a good point there,” Fats said.

  “Yeah, but have you seen J.D.’s girl, yo?” Dub-B asked. “She’s the truth!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Fresh said. “She’s straight and all that, but damn, fam-o. You’re on love lockdown like Kanye West! Last semester it was Kat. This semester it’s Leslie. On some the real, I think you need to expand your horizons, pimpin’. Be more like Fresh!”

  “More like Fresh, huh?” I asked. “You’re speaking in third person now?”

  “Yes, more like Fresh!” he said. “I got Rashida from Detroit on my team.”

  “You talking ’bout light-skinned Rashida with the freckles and the big booty?” Dub-B asked.

  “Yep,” Fresh said.

  “She’s from Dallas, yo,” Dub-B said.

  “Oh,” Fresh said. “Well, anyway, I got her. I got Tiffany from Houston…Sandra from L.A.”

  “Actually, Tiffany is from L.A. and Sandra is from Houston,” Dub-B corrected.

  “Damn,” Fresh said. “You got a good point there. You’re right. But the point I’m trying to make is, I got all of ’em wrapped around my pinky finger, dog. Ready to do my homework, write my papers and wash my dirty draws if I ask them to.”

  “You don’t even know where the girls you talk to are from,” I said.

  “Who cares where they’re from?” Fresh asked. “I can tell you where they’re going.”

  “And where’s that?” Dub-B prodded.

  “To Pluto if I tell ’em to!” Fresh said. “I’m having things my way like Burger King, pimp. That’s how I’m living!”

  “You’re a funny guy, cuz,” Fats said. “Swearin’ you be pimpin’. You better watch your back, though. One of these days, dealing with all of those females is gonna catch up to you.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell this fool,” I said. “It wouldn’t be so bad if all of them didn’t think they were dating him.”

  “Hey! I can’t help what they think,” Fresh said.

  “We’ll see how long that excuse lasts,” Fats said. “Hold my spot down. I’m going back for seconds. Nice T-shirts, by the way.”

  Fats was referring to the black tees Dub-B’s pops had made for us that read: Vote Kat on the front, Student Body President on the back.

  “I can’t believe Fats is carrying a notebook this semester,” I said. “He must be really trying to graduate.”

  Out of curiosity, I decided to peak inside Fats’s notebook to see what he’d written.

  “What class is that for anyway?” Fresh asked as I flipped through the pages.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “There is nothing in it!” I said. “It’s blank!”

  “Are you serious?” Fresh asked, snatching the notebook from me. “Hell nah, joe. How the hell Fats gon’ be carrying around a notebook that has nothing in it? That’s why he’s been here for seven years!”

  “Who you talkin’ ’bout, cuz?” Fats asked, returning with a plate of soul food.

  “You, fool!” Fresh said. “All the time you spent on this campus, you could be Dr. Fats by now. And you’re still walking around campus with a empty-ass notebook. You are hilarious.”

  I liked Fresh because he never held any punches. He was the kind of friend who would tell you if you had a booger in your nose. You had to keep those kinds of friends around.

  “Well, I’m graduating in a couple months,” Fats said, dousing his chicken with hot sauce. “You, my friend, will be lucky to graduate in four years. The way you chasing girls around campus, you might end up being here longer than me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Fresh said.

  All of us laughed.

  “Laugh now,” Fats said. “We’ll see who’s laughing when election time comes around. I heard y’all fools are running against Howard Harrell.”

  “Yeah,” Dub-B said. “And?”

  “And it’s gonna take a whole lot more than those little T-shirts y’all got on to beat him!” Fats said. “Trust me. I’ve been on the yard for going on seven years now. I know. Howard is a beast when it comes to student government elections! Think about it, cuz. You don’t just win student body president three times in a row for nothing! He’s got it down to a science. Fund-raisers, posters, flyers, all that stuff! Y’all better be ready, ’cause I promise you, he’s gonna come with it.”

  “Oh, we’re gonna be ready, yo,” Dub-B said confidently.

  “I hear you talking, cuz,” Fats said. “How are y’all getting graded for that public policy class anyway?”

  “The only way to get an A is to win the election,” I said.

  I needed Kat to win the election more than anybody. Now that I needed a 3.0 to make the Kappa line, I knew I was going to need at least a few A’s to balance out some of the lesser grades I was sure to get. And that was becoming a distinct possibility now that Timothy had gone AWOL on me and missed our last few biology study sessions because
he was hanging with his girl.

  “Aaawww!” Fats sounded off. “Man, that’s ugly, cuz. I hope none of y’all are depending on getting an A up in there.”

  ELEVEN

  NO SHOW

  Every Tuesday at six o’clock for two months straight, our group met in the conference room in Club Woody to work on Kat’s campaign. Timothy had uncharacteristically missed the last couple meetings because he was “sick.” I knew “lovesick” was more like it. Kat, on the other hand, really was sick most of the times we met—coughing, sneezing, nose running, nauseated. I assumed it was probably just her body reacting to all of the drugs she was taking. Even still, Kat was always the first one at the meeting. Dub-B and I were usually always the last to show. With basketball practice and games, he always had a legitimate excuse. Since nobody was supposed to know I was prepledging, I never had a valid excuse. Every time I’d come in ten or fifteen minutes late, Kat would bark out the same complaint.

  “To be early is to be on time,” she’d recite. “To be on time is to be late. And to be late is unacceptable!”

  This time, it was almost half past the hour when I rolled up in the meeting, late as usual. I figured I would have to hear Kat’s mouth and deal with the others murmuring about me being the slacker of the group. Mentally, I was prepared for it. I was not, however, prepared for Kat and Fresh to be missing in action. Neither of them were in attendance. Immediately, I noticed a worried expression on the faces of my other group members.

  “Have you seen Katrina or Fresh around?” Dub-B asked.

  “Nah,” I said.

  “Timothy?”

  “Not since class earlier,” I said. “Why?”

  “None of them are here,” Destiny said in a panicked tone.

  The fact that Fresh and Timothy were MIA didn’t bother me nearly as much as Kat’s disappearing act. Fresh was expendable. Timothy was becoming progressively unreliable the more he fell for his girlfriend. But we needed Kat. She was the one running for office. We couldn’t do anything without her. Kat sure picked a hell of a day to go missing, I thought, as I called her cell for a third time.

  In less than thirty minutes, each candidate for student body president was to give their speech for the primary election. As a group, last week we’d agreed to meet at our usual time and location to listen to Kat deliver her speech and give her a few last-second pointers before she hit the stage. Apparently, Kat had other plans that none of us knew about.

  “What happened?” Destiny asked, a look of concern on her face.

  “Straight to voice mail,” I said, frustrated. “Again.”

  “Do you think we should head down to the student center?” Dub-B asked. “Maybe she forgot about the meeting and she’s already there.”

  “Maybe he’s right, y’all,” I said.

  “Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Destiny asked. “Kat would never forget about a meeting this important. That girl is the most organized person I’ve ever met. Her not answering is starting to scare me. Dub, you try calling her from your phone.”

  After yet another failed attempt to connect with Kat, we decided to take matters into our own hands. Quickly, we drafted a speech detailing all of Kat’s accomplishments and where she stood on the issues. Just as we were putting the finishing touches on the conclusion, Destiny’s phone rang. It was Katrina.

  “Put her on speakerphone,” Destiny said. “Hey, girl. Where in the world are you?”

  “You don’t wanna know,” Kat said in a muffled voice. “I came to the mall to pick up the big poster we had designed at the art supply store.”

  “And?” Dub-B asked.

  “And when I came outside, all of my tires were flat,” she said. “All of ’em!”

  “Who are you with?” I asked.

  “Well, Fresh rode with me out here,” she said.

  “Hell nah!” I said. “That explains things. I think I know exactly what happened.”

  I wasn’t certain, but something told me Tiffany had something to do with Kat’s flat tires. Then again, any one of Fresh’s women could’ve been to blame.

  “Well, are you going to be able to make it back before the speeches start?” Destiny asked, nervously pacing back and forth. “I’m on scholarship. I can’t afford a bad grade in this class.”

  “You?” I asked under my breath.

  “And you can’t afford to miss this speech, ma!” Dub-B continued.

  “I know,” Kat said, sniffling as if she was crying. “I don’t know why this had to happen right now!”

  “I can come pick you guys up,” Dub-B said. “You’re at Lenox?”

  “I already called one of my line sisters to come pick us up about twenty minutes ago,” Kat said, pouting. “She said she’s stuck in traffic, and it’s deadlocked. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it, y’all.”

  “Damn!” I said, my heart beating faster. “What are we gonna do?”

  “If I don’t make it, I want J.D. to deliver the speech,” Kat said.

  “J.D.?” I asked. “Why me?”

  “What do you mean, why you?” Kat asked. “Your mom basically wrote the doggone thing for me! You know it better than anyone else in the group. Plus, I know that you need to pass the class, so I’m sure you’ll give it your all.”

  Judging by the looks on the faces of Destiny and Dub-B, neither of them thought Kat’s idea was a very bright one. But this was Kat’s campaign, and although they may have disagreed, none of them spoke up in opposition. There wasn’t a bone in my body that wanted to deliver the speech in Kat’s place. But she had a valid point. I needed to pass the class. About as unsure of myself as everyone standing around me was, I hesitantly agreed.

  “I got you,” I said without a lick of confidence.

  “Girl, please try to make it back,” Destiny pleaded. “Please! If not, we’ll figure it out.”

  Ten minutes before the speeches were to commence, I’d come to the conclusion that Kat wasn’t going to be in attendance and I would have to put the fate of our group on my shoulders. Of the five candidates running for student body president, only two would be voted onto the final ballot. As an incumbent, and three-time president, Howard Harrell was a shoe-in for one of the spots based on his experience alone. The other spot was up for grabs. The way my grades were shaping up in my other classes, I figured I need at least an A in Dr. J’s class in order to ensure a 3.0 GPA. The only way I’d even had a shot was if Kat’s name appeared on that final ballot alongside Howard’s. And now, by an ironic twist of fate, whether it did or didn’t was solely my responsibility.

  As we walked down the strip heading toward the Student Center, the closer we got, the more nervous I became. The speeches were open to the entire student body. And judging by the crowd filing up the steps toward the auditorium, you would’ve thought Barack Obama himself was giving a speech. Just before I was ushered backstage by an administrator, I took a peek at the crowd. There wasn’t an empty seat in the house.

  “Ain’t this about nothing,” I whispered to myself as I took my seat backstage in the room of presidential hopefuls.

  I was the fourth candidate slated to take the stage. Just as the third—Tangy Fuller, an airhead junior who thought she’d win on her good looks alone but really didn’t stand a chance—was wrapping up her speech, Howard rose from his seat on the couch and approached me. At the time, I was nibbling on my thumbnail, half-mouthing my speech to myself one last time.

  “So your girl Katrina is a no-show, huh?” Howard asked before taking a sip of water.

  I’d never said two words to Howard in my life—and would have been content going to my grave without doing so. But I knew he was just trying to psyche me out. Before I had a chance to answer, Howard answered for me.

  “Figures,” he continued. “After I take the stage it’ll be like she never showed up anyway.”

  If his intention was to rattle me, it worked. I was already nervous as hell. Howard’s comment damn near put me over the edge. When I heard the crowd applaudin
g for Tangy, I knew I was up next. My heart was racing like I was being chased by a stray red-nose pit bull. Like a shark smelling fresh blood, Howard could sense my anxiety.

  “At this time, I would like to introduce the fourth candidate for student body president,” the host said. “A junior criminal justice major from Athens, Georgia—Katrina Turner!”

  Katrina Turner? I specifically told the host that I was speaking on behalf of Katrina, I thought, as my hands trembled so vigorously the speech fell to the floor.

  “Katrina,” one of the backstage helpers yelped, “you’re on!”

  “I’m J.D.,” I said, bending over to scoop the speech up.

  “Oh, yeah,” the girl said. “Sorry about that. Well, you’re on, J.B. Hurry up!”

  “Good luck, Katrina,” Howard said, bursting out in laughter.

  As I strutted out to the podium, trying my best not to look into the crowd, I could hear the whispers in the crowd.

  “That ain’t no damn Katrina,” someone said.

  “Who the hell is he?” one guy in the back yelled.

  “Where’s Kat?” one of her sorority sisters in the front row asked another.

  My knees wobbled uncontrollably as I stood behind the podium. I tried to gain my composure by grabbing a hold of it, but my unsteady hands only caused the wooden structure to shudder, making my inexperience more obvious. As hard as I tried not to stare into the audience, it was impossible. I couldn’t help noticing Dex and a few of the other Kappas standing near the front, off to the side, watching intently. I saw Dr. J, too. He was standing closer to the front of the stage, his bow tie protruding from his V-necked sweater. Somehow, my group members managed to get a seat front and center in the second row, sandwiched between the Alphas and APAs.