The Scammer(11)
“My ears were free, sis. They locked up my body but they could never take over my mind.”
He shuts her down softly, a light feather tap.
“Yo, let me ask y’all a question,” he says. “Do you really know how the music industry works?”
He begins breaking down the major players of labels, the producers, the tour managers, the marketing teams. . . . He refers to them on a first-name basis, all while cooking us sautéed veggies with red potatoes. Loren begins taking notes on her phone, hanging on his every word. He speaks with such passion, authority, and vision. If our professors talked with this amount of knowledge, we’d never leave their classrooms.
“The thing you gotta remember is . . . music breathes life into people. It has a heartbeat. You gotta take it seriously when you create it. But before I go into all that . . . let me take a look at my patient here.”
Devonte crosses the room and kneels beside Loren. She lets out a bashful laugh.
“Oh! I’m good,” Loren insists, trying to shoo him away. “Don’t worry about me.”
Devonte cocks his head to the side, his gaze on her firm and intense. “I bet it’s frustrating, not being in full control of your body the way you want.”
Loren’s mouth drops. I don’t think she’s ever admitted that to anyone.
He smiles, brushes a few braids out of her face. “How are you feeling now, love?”
Loren takes a moment, eyelids fluttering as if she’s doing a full-body scan.
“Actually, much better.” She peers into her cup. “What is this stuff?”
Devonte chuckles. “A little of this, a little of that. I studied under a bushman doctor in Cuba.”
Kammy frowns. “Cuba? Thought we weren’t allowed to go there.”
“I have my ways and my connections. Some of the best doctors in the world are in Cuba. One of the many reasons this country tries to keep us from going there. Our healthcare here is shit. And expensive.”
“Facts,” Loren mumbles, taking another sip from her mug.
I nod, as an alert buzzes on my phone. News headline: Protests erupt in DC following release of deadly police body cam footage.
“‘It’s a very tense situation out here between DC police officers and protesters. As you can see, we have officers in riot gear. . . .’”
* * *
The next morning, the smell of fresh biscuits fills the air. We stayed up past three a.m. with Devonte, talking about music and life, until we slowly drifted into our rooms and fell asleep. I figured maybe Kammy decided to make breakfast. But when I step out of my room, I find Devonte pulling a tray out of our tiny stove.
“Grand rising, Queen,” he says in a soft voice. “Made some breakfast. You slept good?”
I blink back in surprise. “Uh, yeah. You?”
“Any night outside the chains they had me in is a gift.”
Suddenly self-conscious, I rush into the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face, and compose my thoughts. When I step out, he’s there, waiting with a plate.
“For you.” He hands me the plate, thumb grazing my knuckles, and I flinch.
“Thanks,” I murmur just as Loren and Kammy come out of their rooms.
“What! Breakfast!” Loren exclaims.
“First meal of the day is the most important one,” he says, his smile glowing. “You know breakfast stands for breaking your fast. What you put in your body helps knowledge absorb in the mind. Beyoncé and Jay-Z are all about that shit.”
Loren almost drops her plate. “Wait, you know Beyoncé and Jay-Z?”
“Who do you think helped with that On the Run tour?”
“Wow,” she gasps, astounded.
“What’s the green stuff?” Kammy asks, poking it with a fork.
“That’s callaloo with saltfish. You need nutrients in your body. Summer Walker put me on to that.”
He continues on, name-dropping celebrities we’ve all heard of. So caught up in his stories we lose track of time and go running for the elevator to class.
“Okay, this is gonna be a crazy question,” Vanessa says on the way down to the lobby.
“I’m all for crazy,” Loren says, applying her lip gloss.
“Y’all mind if Devonte stays with us for a few days? I haven’t seen him in so long and I really miss him!”
Kammy beams. “What, of course he can stay!”
“Duh! I mean, he’s your brother!” Loren adds.
The girls look at me and I smile wider. “Yeah. The more the merrier and all that, right?”
“Right!” they say in unison and burst into laughter.
Who in their right mind would say no to her?
* * *
My parents had a very specific agenda for me:
Parker Academy for first through twelfth. A’s the only acceptable grade.
Gymnastics, ballet, Jack and Jill, Honors Society, debate team, Junior Law Club.
My hair was to be straight at all times. Clothes neat, clean, proper.
No boys. Unless they were from a good (read: white) family.
Major: political science. Yale or Stanford, with a straight track to Yale Law School.
Work at Dad’s law firm until I’m cold in the ground.