The Scammer(19)

He rubs his chin as if thinking.

“When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“Besides a princess, I wanted to be a writer. I’ve settled on being a lawyer.”

“Hmm. Settled?” He tries the word out, feeling it on his tongue. “Law school does not seem for the weak. Why not writing?”

“Law school ensures a career and money.”

“And you think your writing wouldn’t?”

I shrug. “It’s just a hobby.”

“Hmm.” It was just a sound but it carried heavy judgment.

I cross my arms. “You know how hard it is to be a writer. It’s like a rap career. A one-in-a-million chance!”

I hear myself echo the same reason my parents gave me when I told them I wanted to be a writer. Now away, out of their orbit, and up from under their thumbs, it’s strange to think how my dreams didn’t align with their vision for me. How I had no say in my future.

Kevin had no say in his dreams either.

I realize I’m daydreaming and turn to Devonte, watching me silently with a sly smile, his deep dimples holding all of his thoughts and nefarious plans.

“I think you’d be an amazing writer,” he says. “Maybe you can write my life story.”

I laugh. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot! It would be a duology.”

“Okay. Maybe not my whole life. But the last few years. While I was in prison. It’s a horror story, really.”

I dare myself to ask the questions I’ve been thinking since laying eyes on him.

“Why did you steal those credit cards?”

Devonte lets some silence pass, then smiles at me. “You’ve met me. You’ve heard about my life. About the people I know. Does it look like I need to steal credit cards? I could buy a condo tomorrow if I wanted to. In cash. I was framed, sis. Like most Black men.”

I nod. “I see.”

“What people don’t know is that private corporations run prisons for profit. It’s part of the prison industrial complex. The more beds they fill, more money in their pockets. You know why they really wanted me? ’Cause they wanted to shut me up. I was spitting too much knowledge in the streets. I was putting people on to the game.”

“Oh,” I mumble.

“Do you want to know what prison’s like?”

I nod.

“They serve cold slop for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The water tastes like rusted metal. The conditions are just . . . inhumane. Dogs are treated better than humans. You know what they also do with prisoners? They harvest organs. For wealthy people. Think about it, have you ever seen a really sick rich person? No.”

I give him a skeptical look. “That can’t be real. That has to be illegal.”

“Sis, I knew a brother in there, doing life, who had both of his kidneys taken. Most evil things men do are illegal but they’re never punished for it.”

I stare at our feet, shadows dancing on the concrete, resisting the urge to tight rope on the curb.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that.”

He doesn’t say anything and we continue our walk in loaded silence. But as we approach the doors to the Rock, he stops in his tracks.

“Jordyn? Can I ask you a question?”

Bracing myself, I turn to face him. “Yes?”

I never noticed how intense his stare can feel on the skin. Searing yet not an uncomfortable burn.

“Who. Are. You?”

My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, relaxing his stance. “I feel like I can’t see you, can’t connect with you. Like you’re holding back on your true self. So, I’m wondering . . . who are you, really?”

Pulse racing, I lower my eyes. “Um. No one special. Just a girl.”

“Words have power, sis. You’re not just a girl. You’re a woman, a Black queen.”

My head gives a little nod, conceding to his point.

“What’s stopping you from loosening up,” he asks, “losing control, being free?”

I chuckle. “What? I am free. I’m here!” And that’s true. I made the decision to go to Frazier all on my own. There’s no one here breathing down my neck every second.

He taps his temple. “You’re here, but your mind is trapped back wherever you came from. Mental freedom is the only way to true liberation. You still are under the control of your parents, the invisible leech of expectations holding you back. You were expected to be perfect, weren’t you? Straight A-ing your way straight to college. I bet your parents already told you what you were going to be before you learned how to walk. I’d love to meet the real Jordyn, if she’s brave enough to come out and join us.”

He smiles and enters the lobby of our dorm, dapping up the security guard on the way to the elevators. As if he’s a student who really lives there, which doesn’t bother me.

What bothers me is how he seems to see right through my act.





Five




The scents of rosemary, garlic, lemon, and thyme fill our suite. Welcome guests after a few weeks of living off ramen noodles and Cap’n Crunch.

Devonte is stirring some type of concoction in a pot on the stove. I watch his motions, a slow lyrical dance, tossing in ingredients, taste testing in the small dent of his palm. He’s made our tiny kitchen feel like a five-star restaurant. I wonder what his apartment is like. He’s mentioned it a few times, but I haven’t seen him stray away from our dorm for more than a few hours.