Next Semester

by Cecil R. Cross

  “Apparently, he wasn’t,” Destiny said, as we approached the student center entrance.

  The hype surrounding the election was unbelievable. Not only were there hundreds of students converging on the student center doors from every angle, but the marching band was outside playing as we walked up. Photographers from the newspaper and yearbook staff were on hand to capture it all. Win, lose or draw, it was a spectacle to behold. A scene I could never forget.

  “Can you believe this, cuz?” Fats asked. “I’ve been here for seven years and I ain’t never seen people on the yard get so into a student government election.”

  “I didn’t know you were getting your masters this year,” Destiny said.

  “I’m not,” Fats confirmed. “I’m on the seven-year plan.”

  “I didn’t know there was one,” Destiny said, laughing.

  “The funny thing is, neither did I,” Fats said with a chuckle. “Time flies when you’re having fun. I’m graduating next week, though. Believe that!”

  “Finally,” I said.

  “Hey, better late than never, homie,” he said.

  The moment Kat stepped foot in the student center, the applause kicked up and people cheered. Even though I thought it was kind of lame, especially with us standing right in the front, I joined right in. There was entirely too much at stake for me not to. It wasn’t long before Howard made his grand entrance, his cohorts leading the way in their “Vote Howard” T-shirts. I couldn’t help but notice that the ovation for Howard was slightly more boisterous and rowdy than Kat’s. He stood on the opposite side of the platform near Lawry and the MIAPAs, who held up signs in support. I felt my phone go off in my pocket. Of course, it was my mom sending me a text message. It read Did we win?

  I was too nervous to even return her text. I decided to wait until the results were in to even hit her back. It was so packed, I hadn’t even noticed Timothy had snaked his way through the crowd. He was standing a few feet behind us with the rest of the Alphas. We made eye contact but exchanged no pleasantries. Considering everything, I couldn’t even be mad at Timothy for what he’d done. Hell, if it wasn’t for him helping me with my homework for biology, my grades would have never been high enough for me to afford to get a zero and still make a passing grade in the first place. And the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that I didn’t have no business relying on his scantron to get me through the biology final, either. As much as I hated to admit it, I was in the wrong. Deep down inside, I knew Timothy was a good guy. I hoped we’d have a chance to talk before he left for the summer.

  “Before I announce the winner of this year’s student body president election, I would like to say that I have been very impressed by the way in which both the candidates and the voters have taken ownership of this election,” Dr. J said. “Judging by today’s turnout, this is definitely the most highly anticipated student government election I have ever been involved in.”

  The chants started low and increased in pitch every go round, drowning Dr. J’s intro completely out. The louder it got, the more my stomach churned.

  “Howard! Howard! Howard!” folks chanted.

  Not to be shown up, Kat’s supporters responded.

  “Kat! Kat! Kat!” they shouted, fists pumping.

  “And now, without any further ado…” Dr. J said as I closed my eyes and clasped my hands.

  “Please, God,” I pleaded under my breath. “Let her win.”

  “It is my pleasure to introduce the winner, and new student body president,” he said, hoisting the envelope high.

  I pooted.

  “Katrina Turner!”

  I’ve had my fare share of glorious moments in my life. Winning the little league football championship, hearing my name called at my high school graduation and getting accepted to college among the most memorable. But Dr. J announcing Kat as the new student body president topped them all. Being ridiculed for the entire semester by everyone who assumed I had the package, bombing on the speech in the prelims, being physically degraded and mentally abused during the prepledging process, having my reputation smeared throughout the campaign and being told by nearly everyone that we didn’t stand a chance challenging the omnipotent Howard Harrell all made the victory that much sweeter. As Kat stood on stage, tears streaming from her eyes, grinning from ear to ear, Dub-B and Jasmine shared a kiss, Timothy slapped fives with his frat brothers and Destiny jumped up and down clapping with her sorors. I could do nothing more than throw my head back and raise my hands high above my shoulders in jubilee. Then I eased my phone out of my pocket, scrolled to the message my mom had sent me, hit Eeply and typed Yes!

  EIGHTEEN

  EXIT WOUNDS

  It was hard to enjoy Kat’s victory. I’d waited all semester for this moment to bask in the joy of knowing I’d passed my other classes, I’d been officially absolved from academic probation, my grades were good enough to pledge Kappa Beta Psi and, most importantly, my GPA was high enough for me to return to the University of Atlanta next year. But there would be no celebration for me. For one, my phone call with Leslie really put a damper on things. I’m still not sure what made her finally call me back. I assumed it was because the school year was over and she knew I’d be going back to Cali for the summer. But after spending five minutes on the phone with her, it was clear she didn’t want to move forward with our relationship.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you finished with a 3.0,” she said. “That’s a tremendous accomplishment. I know your mom is proud of you.”

  “Yeah,” I said, disappointed that the conversation had taken such a generic turn.

  “Look, J.D.,” she said, “I’ve heard everything you said about Lawry hating on you and all. And truthfully, I still don’t know who to believe. All I know is that you are leaving for Cali in a few minutes, and I’ll be out here for the summer. And I’m not too good with long-distance relationships, so I say the two of us just go our separate ways for now. Then when you come back in the fall, if it’s meant for us to be together, I’m sure we’ll hook up again.”

  What could I say to that? It seemed she already had her mind made up. And truthfully, as much as I liked Leslie, the fact that she’d left me stranded with no tutor during finals really didn’t sit well with me. Plus, I figured if I was going to actually be on line pledging Kappa Beta Psi next semester, seeing her didn’t really bode well for my well-being. I was probably better off leaving her alone. At least until after I officially became a Kappa. Then, it’d be free game.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying my best not to sound disgruntled. “You’re probably right. That’s probably the best play to run. I guess I’ll see you when I make it back.”

  “Sounds good,” she said.

  At least Leslie and I didn’t end our relationship on bad terms, I thought as I stuffed the last of my clothes into my suitcase. It certainly felt better to have some closure than none at all. I was glad she’d called.

  I knew my Uncle Leroy would be pulling up any minute to take me to the airport, so I checked around my room to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind. That’s when I heard my door open. I thought it was Timothy coming in to take his things out, but it was Fresh. I could tell by his facial expression that he was in a rather somber mood. But after the conversation I’d just had, I wasn’t really in the spirit to cheer anyone else up. Fresh didn’t say a word. He just came in and sat on the edge of my bed with his head down, holding a piece of paper in his hand. At first, I thought he was upset about a girl or something. But by his body language alone, it didn’t take long for me to tell he had bigger problems.

  “What’s wrong, blood?” I asked.

  “Man, joe,” he said, exhaling deeply as he crashed backward onto my bed. “I really messed up this time, G.”

  “What you mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t even wanna go home, folk,” Fresh said. “You think your uncle will let me stay at his crib for the summer?”

  “I highly doubt that,” I said
as I pressed my knee down on my suitcase, trying to compress the clothes I’d stuffed inside, so I could zip it up. “Come on, now. Whatever it is, it can’t be that serious.”

  “How you figure?” Fresh asked. “How am I s’posed to explain what I did? How am I s’posed to tell my parents I blew ten thousand dollars?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It is that bad.”

  I wanted to say “I told you so,” but I figured now was no time to be condescending. Not with of one my best friends sitting on my bed, breaking down after coming to the realization his college days were over. I could tell by Fresh’s voice he was on the verge of crying.

  “And just think,” he said, “this whole semester we’ve been worried about whether or not you would be coming back. Now I’m the one who’s gonna have to sit next year out.”

  “Can’t you return some of the stuff you bought back and get reimbursed?”

  “I mean, I could try,” he said. “But I doubt I’m gonna be able to get eighty-six hundred dollars worth of it back. I’ll need at least that much to pay tuition.”

  “Have you thought about hitting up Tiffany or one of your other breezies to see if they’ll loan you some dough?” I asked.

  “Man, them girls are broke, G,” Fresh said. “They’re in college like us. Shit, that’s probably what was keeping them around. The fact that I was spending my bread. I ain’t heard from Tiffany since I went off on her after that incident at Lenox. I heard she’s dating some dude at Lighthouse now.”

  “Damn,” I said. “Well, you could get a summer job, apply for some scholarships, ask some family members if they…”

  “J.D., I’m not coming back, man,” Fresh said, sniffling, his head bowed toward the floor. “What part-time job you know gonna pay me that kinda money, man? I mean, I could apply for some scholarships or whatever, but you know my grades ain’t even up to par like that. And my family…they ain’t got no bread like that. I’m like you—the first one in my family to go off to college. And I blew it! Bottom line, I doofed myself, G. Straight up. I don’t even know what I was thinking. I spent all that money and I ain’t got nothin’ to show for it. I’m bogus as hell for that. My momma gon’ whoop my ass when she finds out.”

  You had to empathize with the guy. He was pouring his heart out right there in my bedroom and there wasn’t much I could say to rectify the situation. Fresh had been my best friend on campus since I arrived at U of A last semester. We studied together, partied together, even prepledged together. The thought of him not coming back had never crossed my mind. No matter how much he loved the Bulls, White Sox and the Bears and bragged about how much fun he had growing up in Chicago, I knew he didn’t want to go back home to stay. After going to college in Atlanta for a year, nobody did. I felt his pain. The same thing that awaited me back home awaited him—violence. I knew as well as he did, college was the way out. But Fresh’s ticket home was one-way. Even though he’d dug his own ditch, seeing my friend break down like that made me tear up. I searched for the right words to say, but came up with nothing. That’s when Timothy came in. More silence followed. It was an awkward moment, seeing him gather his luggage that was already packed up and head toward the door. He was apparently content leaving without saying a thing to me, but I had to say something.

  “Look, we need to talk, Timothy,” I said just before he got to the door.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “First of all, us not talking to each other is really childish,” I said. “We’ve been friends and roommates since we got here.”

  “We’ve been roommates,” he said. “A friend would tell you if he knows your girl is cheating on you.”

  “Look, I apologize for not telling you sooner, blood,” I said. “That was my bad. You were just so sprung off the girl, I could never find the right time to tell you. Every time I was about to, you’d say something about how much you loved her or how good she looked or how smart she was.”

  “Well, I accept your apology,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine.

  “Don’t you want to apologize for something too, brotha?” I asked while shaking his hand.

  “Apologize for what?” he asked.

  “For letting me copy off of your biology final,” I said.

  Before I could even finish the sentence, I felt funny even saying it. Fresh snickered.

  “How do you sound?” Timothy asked. “I’m supposed to apologize for you copying off of my test? I don’t think so, J.D. That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “You didn’t have to set me up like that, though,” I said. “That was hella wrong, blood. You could’ve told me you were filling in all the wrong answers.”

  “And you could’ve told me Amy was creeping behind my back,” he said, laughing. “I got played and so did you. So I guess we’re even.”

  I didn’t even have a good comeback for that one. I decided to just bury the hatchet on that note.

  “I guess so,” I said, shaking up with him one more time and giving him a half hug.

  “Well, I’m out,” Timothy said. “You guys be safe this summer. Keep God first. Stay out of trouble. And I’ll see y’all next semester.”

  When Timothy extended his hand toward Fresh, he bowed his head in shame and broke down crying like a baby.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with Fresh?” Timothy asked.

  “He’s just upset about some things,” I said, checking under my bed to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind.

  “I’m not coming back next year,” Fresh said in between sobs.

  “You can’t say that for sure, blood,” I said, trying to stay positive.

  “Yes, I can,” Fresh said.

  “Why’s that?” Timothy asked.

  “I don’t got the money,” Fresh said.

  “If you really want to come back, you can get the money,” Timothy said.

  “How the hell am I supposed to come up with eight thousand dollars over the summer with no job? That’s impossible.”

  “False,” Timothy said, sitting down beside Fresh. “All things are possible to those who believe. All things. If it’s in God’s plan for you to be in school here, you’ll be back.”

  “Yeah, but how…”

  “How you’re going to come up with the cash is irrelevant at this point,” Timothy said, cutting him off. “First, you have to believe that God can provide it for you. He would never withhold a good thing from you.”

  “That’s real,” Fresh said. “I might need you to put in a prayer for your boy.”

  “I can pray for you,” Timothy said. “But I can’t believe for you. Do I think you can pull together enough money to pay tuition on your own this summer? Probably not. But as long as you believe God can do it for you, anything is possible. Anything. Just remember that.”

  I was a firm believer that Timothy was wasting his money in college. With his mastery of the Bible and ability to apply its principles to everyday life, I was certain he was destined to be a great preacher. At times, I was in awe just listening to him. You had to respect it.

  “How are your grades anyway?” Timothy asked.

  “l got like a three-point-four,” Fresh said.

  “Gee whiz!” Timothy said. “With those kind of grades, you’ll be eligible for plenty of scholarships. My mom is the director of financial aid for minority students at UGA. That’s all she does all day is help students get scholarships. I’ll talk to her for you and ask her to e-mail some of them to you. With grades like yours, she can get you ten thousand dollars worth in no time!”

  “Really?” Fresh asked, popping up with a smile on his face and hope in his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, G. You serious?”

  “If you don’t believe me, you can talk to her yourself,” Timothy said. “Both of my parents are outside waiting on me right now. I don’t think I have your e-mail address anyway. Come on.”

  “Thank you, Jesus!” Fresh shouted. “Let’s go!”

  “See you next semester, J.D.,” Timothy said. “Be sa
fe out there this summer.”

  A few minutes later, I grabbed my things and met my uncle outside in the parking lot. Staring at Marshall Hall through the rearview mirror as we pulled off, I got a little emotional as I thought about all of the good times and bad I’d had my freshman year. I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh when I thought about us getting hammered at the foam party and how scared I was walking into the basement at the Kappa house the first night we started prepledging. When we passed by the baseball diamond, memories of us running full speed and diving face-first into the bases in the rain flooded my mind. The look on Fresh’s face when he turned around to give me that damn garlic was priceless. We were following behind a Neon with a rainbow-colored MIAPA bumper sticker. Instantly, I thought about how Lawry—the last guy on campus I would have ever suspected gay—had done a complete 180 since I’d met him, redefining the term “undercover brotha” right in front of my eyes and sacrificing our friendship in the process. As we drove by the basketball court, I thought about Dub-B. I wondered what would’ve happened if he wouldn’t have ended up in our group, and we wouldn’t have had his father’s help planning Kat’s campaign. Would she have still won or would I be going back to Oakland for good because I didn’t make good enough grades to get off of academic probation?

  When we pulled up at the light near the student center, I saw two students waiting to use the ATM. I wondered if they were inadvertently plunging themselves into debt, swiping with reckless abandon as Fresh had. Driving by the strip, I noticed all of Howard’s posters had been torn down. In fact, only one remained. One that read Vote for Kat. I thought it symbolic. After all of the smoke around her cleared, Downtown D was incarcerated, Howard Harrell was overthrown and Kat was the last one standing. I thought, if Kat—a safe-sex advocate turned HIV patient—could be elected student body president, maybe all that jazz Timothy was talking about anything being possible through God was really true. After all, in a few months I’d be coming back to campus for my sophomore year. And I, of all people, would be pledging a fraternity. This time last year, I didn’t even think I’d be getting into college at all. One thing’s for sure. Although it still seemed far off, after completing my first year of college, keeping the promise I’d made to my friend T-Spoon before he was murdered now seemed attainable. I was that much closer to finishing what I’d started. One step closer to graduating from college.