Next Semester

by Cecil R. Cross

  Just then there was a knock on the door and then it swung open. It was Dr. J.

  “Hey, J.D.,” he said. “Kat, we’re gonna need you on stage in one minute. Good luck.”

  When the door slammed behind him, Kat whipped her mirror out of her purse, then stood up to check her makeup one more time. I stood up and kept talking.

  “The bottom line is I really need you to win,” I said. “This school needs you to win.”

  Kat never responded. But by the look in her eye, I could tell, she was as ready as she’d ever be. On stage, the setup was simple. Two podiums with less than five feet between them. Kat standing firmly behind one in her navy blue, two-piece business suit, Howard cockily behind the other in a chocolate-colored three-piece, a plaid shirt, peach-colored tie and matching pocket square. Dr. J, the mediator for the debate, standing downstage left, cleared his throat before kicking it off.

  “I’d like to welcome you all to the highly anticipated final debate between your final two candidates for student body president,” he said. “Without any further ado, I would like to introduce your first candidate, to my left. She hails from Athens, Georgia…”

  Dr. J’s intro was abruptly overwhelmed by thunderous applause. He looked down at his note cards as if he wanted to continue, but paused, smiling for almost a full minute until the cheering died down. Kat remained stoic as long as she could, but couldn’t refrain from flashing her pearly whites eventually.

  “I’m sure your support for your candidates is flattering, but with respect to our time schedule, let’s hold all applause until the end. As I was saying, the candidate to my left is a junior, criminal justice major and member of Alpha Pi Alpha Sorority Incorporated.”

  “Skeeeee-weeee!” Kat’s sorority sisters, squealed, totally ignoring Dr. J’s plea.

  “She has been on the dean’s list for the past three years, maintaining a three-point-eight grade point average. Ladies and gentleman, Katrina Turner!”

  Again, the crowd erupted with cheers. This time, they didn’t stop, more than half of the crowd raising to their feet. Kat blushed, trying to keep her composure. After two failed attempts to get the crowd to simmer down, Dr. J just began talking over them.

  “And on my right…”

  Before he could eke out another word, Howard’s supporters rose to their feet, evoking what sounded like an even louder ovation. I felt like I was at a heavyweight title fight. I was just waiting for Dr. J to scream, “Let’s get ready to rumble!” With Howard’s lengthy list of accomplishments, I thought Dr. J would be introducing him all night. A few minutes into it, I felt like the touting would never end. Then finally, it did.

  “He’s served University of Atlanta as class president the past three years in a row. Ladies and gentleman, Howard Harrell!”

  Not to be outdone, Howard’s supporters—which included the university’s entire gay community—stood on their chairs, chanting, “Don’t be a coward, vote for Howard!” as loudly as they could. I was still amazed by it all. People were so into the election, it was almost corny. The actual debate only lasted about thirty minutes, Kat and Howard trading philosophical blows like jabs and uppercuts. For the most part their views were the same. Both of them supported decreasing the price of tuition and student housing. Both promised to squeeze more money out of the administration for homecoming expenses—which ultimately meant better acts to perform at the concert. And after a recent rash of car burglaries, both stood firmly behind an increase on round-the-clock public safety officers around campus. But there were two questions in which Kat and Howard’s opinions couldn’t have been more opposite. And something told me, their responses could mean the difference between them winning and losing and, ultimately, my making it onto the Kappa line next semester.

  “Recently, on campus, a group of gay men inducted themselves into MIAPA—Men Interested in Alpha Pi Alpha, a group imitating the sorority, Alpha Pi Alpha,” Dr. J said. “How do you feel this controversy has impacted the University of Atlanta?”

  This had to be some kind of trick question, I thought. This was nowhere on the list of potential issues that Dr. J said he may address in the debate. We hadn’t gone over this with Dub-B’s dad. It was a trap question. A curveball. He had to have known Kat was a member of APA and Howard was gay. I just hoped he wouldn’t ask Kat to answer first.

  “Katrina,” he said. “The floor is yours.”

  “Damn,” I cursed under my breath, taking a deep breath.

  Kat didn’t answer right away. Instead, she wisely shuffled her papers and gathered her thoughts first. She glanced at her sorority sisters, all of them standing near the front, their arms folded, lips poked out, waiting on her to defend their honor. Then she glanced across the room toward the guys Dr. J was referring to, sitting in the front on Howard’s side, clad in their matching pink short-sleeved polos and khakis.

  “Katrina, I’m gonna need for you to speak into the microphone,” Dr. J said, lightening the mood and evoking a few giggles from the crowd.

  “I believe wholeheartedly in freedom of speech and freedom of expression,” Kat responded in a very businesslike manner. “But honestly, I think that the recent induction of gay men into this so-called sorority, MIAPA, is disgraceful to Alpha Pi Alpha Sorority, Incorporated, as well as the University of Atlanta as a whole.”

  As I suspected, Kat’s line sisters joined the rest of the Greeks in applause. Meanwhile, Lawry and a crew of gay guys sitting near the front erupted. They booed and shouted obscenities obnoxiously loud. One guy even went as far as standing on his chair, turning around, dropping his pants and mooning Kat on stage.

  “Ooooh!” the crowd moaned. “Aaaah!”

  Dr. J quickly intervened.

  “Excuse me!” he said in an authoritative tone. “This is a university, not a middle school. These candidates worked very hard to be up here, and if you can’t stand to listen to their opinions respectfully, you are welcome to leave. That goes for all of you!”

  Before Dr. J could say anything about the mooning incident, campus security was forcefully ushering the guy out by his collar.

  “Howard! Howard! Howard!” the guy shouted, pumping his fist as he left the auditorium against his will.

  “As you were saying, Ms. Turner,” Dr. J said.

  “As a member of Alpha Pi Alpha, I feel that our sorority has dedicated over one hundred years of service to build the upstanding reputation that we have,” she said. “And we have worked too hard to have a group of gay guys posing as women, come in and give our sorority and our university a black eye.”

  After a mixed reaction from the crowd, seemingly split right down the middle, Dr. J intervened.

  “And your thoughts on this Mr. Harrell?” he asked.

  “Well, it seems Miss Turner has just contradicted herself,” Howard began. “How can you say you believe in freedom of expression, then in the same breath turn around and say you don’t believe in a group of college-educated men expressing themselves?”

  Howard paused momentarily, smiling, then continued amid the chatter of the crowd.

  “It’s just that kind of ignorance that is perpetuating the problem,” he said. “If anything, the disgrace to the university was the homophobic backlash from students and faculty around campus. I think the one thing that has become painfully clear is that this controversy is not so much about the sanctity of Alpha Pi Alpha, as Miss Turner would have you to believe, but moreso about homophobia.”

  Again, a torn crowd responded, some cheering, others booing. I couldn’t have disagreed more with Howard’s views. But the confidence and intellect with which he spoke made him undeniably cunning and persuasive. I could see why he’d been voted in three consecutive terms. Before things got out of control, Dr. J stepped in one last time.

  “All right now, let’s pipe down out there,” he said. “We are down to our last question. I would like to remind you all that the polls will be open from seven in the morning ’til five tomorrow, so be sure to come to the student center a
nd vote. All you need to bring with you is your student ID.”

  Dr. J took a sip of his bottled water, before continuing.

  “Without any further ado,” he said, “I pose the final question of this evening’s student body presidential debate. What is your definition of success? Howard, the floor is yours.”

  In classic conceited form, Howard regurgitated all the same accomplishments Dr. J had highlighted in his intro. Not that all of the clubs he belonged to and community service awards he’d won were anything to scoff at. But all the same, he was tooting his own horn. And people—at least the ones who thought like me—were sick of it.

  “Success is not throwing together a free concert at the last second in a last-ditch attempt to win votes,” Howard said, taking a not-so-subliminal shot at Kat’s Testing For Tickets Day. “Success is definitely not making it all the way to college to act like a hoodlum, like members of Katrina’s campaign team exhibited today. But I will tell you what success is. Success is an African-American man being able to make people overlook his sexuality and respect him for his character and work ethic. Success is his ability to achieve despite the societal hurdles that have been placed in front of him. So in essence, I would say that I am the definition of success.”

  Howard’s supporters gave him a standing ovation, some even blowing party horns in a premature celebration.

  “Can you believe this fool?” Fresh asked, nudging my arm with his elbow.

  I was so nervous about how Kat would answer, I couldn’t respond. My eyes were glued to the stage.

  “I’ve taken fifteen pills today,” Kat said. “I took fifteen yesterday. Fifteen the day before that. And tomorrow, I will take fifteen more. For those of you who haven’t heard by now, I am HIV positive. Now I could tell you about all of the awards I’ve won, all the internships I’ve completed at Fortune 500 companies or brag about the community service I’ve done, and you may think I’m successful. But when I got my test results back last semester, I felt like a failure. I felt like I’d let down everyone—my parents, my friends and myself. But the day I decided that I wouldn’t let anything—not even HIV—stop me from pursuing my goals, was the day I became successful.”

  I fought back tears, but couldn’t help bringing my hands together to join in the applause with the rest of Kat’s supporters. I thought she was finished. But I was wrong.

  “You see,” she continued, “success isn’t what you’ve become, but rather what you have gone through to get to where you are. So contrary to Mr. Harrell’s opinion, success isn’t a person. Success is a story. And you can help me make the next chapter of mine a successful one by voting me student body president tomorrow.”

  This time, nearly every student in the entire auditorium rose to their feet and put their hands together. Everyone except for Howard’s most loyal followers, who remained seated, stone-faced and with their arms folded. Even Dr. J had to turn away from the crowd momentarily to conceal his emotion. And the look on Howard’s face was one I will never forget. It was one of uncertainty. He’d always looked so confident and sure of himself. But at that very moment, I believe Howard came to grips with the fact that after three years of dominating the student government election, he may have finally met his match. And judging by the look on his face, if he’d had a white towel in his pocket, he may have thrown it in right then and there.

  SEVENTEEN

  VERDICT

  We’d finally reached the point of no return with Kat’s bid for student body president. It took endorsements from a rapper to erase the damage I’d single-handedly done to Kat’s campaign. And now, she had a legitimate shot to win. But Kat was still stressed out about how the election would turn out. To ease her angst, Destiny thought it would be good to throw a preparty for her in her dorm room a few hours before the results were announced. Nothing too major. Just a little get together for our group and close friends. Everybody showed except for Timothy. Kat said he had some Alpha meeting to attend or something. And to my surprise, neither did Fresh. But Fats came through, probably because he heard there would be food and drinks.

  “This is what y’all call food and drinks, cuz?” he asked, standing over the table of party favors.

  Highlighted by music, cards, cupcakes, hot dogs, barbeque baked beans, chips and fruit punch, the event turned out to be very PG-13, as I’d expected. I was just waiting for somebody to suggest we play musical chairs. But it was calming, nonetheless. Especially for me. As hard as I tried not to show it, I was at my wit’s end. The fate of my future resting in the hands of voters at a damn student government election. As much as I loved Oakland, I didn’t want to go back. Not to stay, at least. Over the one year I’d been away in college, I’d changed. The problem is, Oakland was exactly the same. The same guys hanging on the same blocks, trying to holler at the same girls, smoking the same weed, going to the same parties that always get shot up the same way. And I was tired of it. I’d been exposed to more, and I liked it. Of course, I could do without the homework. But even the whole routine of going to class without my mom shaking me out of my sleep in the morning and studying for exams prior to the night before the test had grown on me. Other than my mom and sister, there was nothing for me in Oakland. Nothing but trouble. On the other hand, if I got to come back to U of A and pledge Kappa Beta Psi, I knew that I would be exposed to a group of guys my mom would be proud I called friends. Guys who valued things like high GPAs and community service. Guys who pulled all of the tightest females on campus, not only because of their looks, but also because of their intellect. Waiting on the election results to be announced was nerve racking, to say the least. I had everything riding on the results. My life as I knew it was hanging in the balance.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Destiny said, running her hand along my back as we sat on the couch. “Kat told me about your situation. Trust me. She’s gonna win and you will be just fine.”

  “You can tell I’m stressing?” I asked.

  “Yes!” she said. “You dang near haven’t said a word to anybody since we’ve been here. That’s not like you.”

  I would’ve responded, but something on the bottom of the TV screen caught my eye and diverted my attention. It appeared on the ticker tape seconds before ESPN’s anchor Stuart Scott made the announcement. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d seen it. I wasn’t gonna say anything about it, but Fats apparently couldn’t hold it in.

  “Hey, y’all turn the music down real quick,” he said.

  I tried to give him the eye, signaling for him not to mention it, but couldn’t get his attention.

  “Y’all might wanna see this,” Fats said, grabbing the TV remote and turning up the volume.

  “Just moments ago, University of Atlanta’s Heisman quarterback, Deiondre ‘Downtown D’ Harris, who in December was notified by NFL commissioner that he would have to withdraw his name from the NFL draft because he was HIV positive, learned more disturbing news today when a federal judge found him guilty of drug trafficking and sentenced him to sixty months in prison,” Stuart said. “Sadly, Deiondre was projected as a top five pick in the upcoming NFL draft. More on this later on SportsCenter.”

  Kat immediately broke down in tears. Her back pressed against the wall, she slid down it slowly with her face in her hands until her butt hit the floor. She sat there with her head buried between her legs boo-hooing like she was at her mother’s funeral.

  “Thanks a lot, Fats,” Destiny whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “What?” he asked in a mumble, shrugging his shoulders, totally oblivious to his folly. “C’mon, now. It’s not like she wasn’t going to find out sooner or later. I didn’t know she was still feeling him like that.”

  At first, her reaction struck me as odd, too. Earlier this semester, Kat had all but sworn to me she was completely over Downtown D. But after I considered the history the two of them shared, not to mention the thirty plus million dollars he was supposedly guaranteed to have in his wallet this time next year, I felt her
pain. Her line sisters crouched around her in support. They ushered her into the back room, where they stayed for about fifteen minutes. I don’t know what they said to her, but when Kat returned, she looked as good as new money. After Destiny gathered us together for a quick prayer, it was time to report to the student center to hear the results.

  While walking there, I don’t who was more nervous, me or Kat.

  “Hey, why wasn’t Fresh at the party?” Destiny asked. “You talk to him today?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I don’t know what’s up with him. I don’t even know if he knew about the party. I tried to call him earlier, but his phone was cut off. When is the last time you seen him?”

  “I haven’t seen him since the debate,” she said.

  “I saw him in the library studying for finals the other day,” Fats said. “He was in bad shape.”

  “What you mean?” I asked.

  “I guess from charging ten thousand dollars worth of shit on that credit card and not having the money to pay it back,” Fats said. “That’s why his phone is cut off now!”

  “I can’t believe that boy blew ten Gs,” I said. “Ten! He can’t be mad at nobody but himself. I told him. At the end of the day, it’s just a credit card though, he can pay it back over time.”

  “That’s the thing,” Fats said. “The card he got had a twenty-six percent interest rate on it and that fool didn’t read the fine print before he signed up.”

  “Hell nah!” I said. “Whew! Now, that’s ugly!”

  “But peep,” Fats said. “That ain’t the worst part. You know his mom cosigned for it, so he could use the money to pay his tuition next semester, right?”

  “Damn!” I said, throwing my hands up. “I had forgot all about that. She sure did. I can’t believe that fool just blew his tuition money like that. What was he thinking?”