The Scammer(20)

“You know you don’t have to cook for us,” Kammy says, placing bowls out on the counter. “You’re our guest. We should be cooking for you!”

He smiles, dimples deepening. “I’m never too cool to not step up and add value to wherever I’m at. You ladies don’t have a man in the house. A lot of feminine energy. You need a stabilizer. Someone to provide and protect. Women, especially young women, weren’t made to develop in this world alone.”

Kammy agrees, nodding eagerly.

Tonight, there was a student mixer at the Malcolm Center, but all we wanted to do was hang out in our spot with Devonte. You can’t help but be drawn to his serene strength, his soothing presence, like a palm tree by the beach soaking in the sun, facing the breeze or hurricane winds just the same.

“Thing you gotta remember is, you’re not just females, you are queens. Original mothers of this civilization. Society has spent a lot of time and money trying to erase that from your ancestral DNA. You genetically are the first living being.”

“Well, that’s actually Adam,” Kammy corrects him with a nervous laugh. “It’s in the Bible. Women came from his rib. Genesis.”

Devonte looks amused. “The Bible, huh? So you fell for those magic tricks too?”

Kammy’s smile falls. “Magic tricks? No.”

“Bible is nothing but a book of magic tricks, a distraction from the real war that’s going on. A war between men and gods.”

Kammy chuckles. “Okay, now you talkin’ crazy. The Bible stands for Basic. Instructions. Before. Leaving. Earth.”

Kammy’s whole family goes to church every Sunday. She’s the epitome of a church girl.

“Alright, let me ask y’all something,” Devonte says. “Who taught you the Bible? Who taught you to fear God? Who taught you to forgive?”

“Well . . . white people,” Vanessa says, hesitantly, avoiding Kammy’s gaze.

I glance at Loren, who remains silent, staring at Devonte.

“See, Christianity is how slave masters controlled our enslaved ancestors,” he says. “Kept us from our roots. Christianity is merely a tool used by the whites to keep you blind to your true heritage. It’s a form of mental slavery. Christianity serves its own interests, not God’s interests. You’re smarter than that, Kamara. You just gotta open up them pretty eyes.”

I smile, leaving Kammy to defend her religion, and walk into my room, looking for my sweatshirt. But as I dig through my dresser drawers, I notice how stuff seems to be out of order. I glance at the closet, the door ajar.

My bag zippers are open, pockets turned inside out. Someone has been digging around in here.

In the living room, I hear the girls giggle.



* * *




It’s a soggy Monday morning. The kind where umbrellas do nothing to protect your hair from the surrounding elements. I tie my mane up in a tight bun. Once the week is over, I’ll have to ask Kammy to help me straighten it again. She has amazing flat iron skills. She probably could open up her own salon. As we file out of the suite, waving bye to Devonte in our kitchen, I notice Kammy is unusually quiet. By the time we pile into the elevator, I see a single tear stream down her face.

“Kammy? What’s wrong?”

“I called Micah last night,” she sniffs.

The moment she mentions her boyfriend’s name we gather around her like a cocoon.

“What happened? What he do?” Loren asks, fluffing Kammy’s hair.

“Did you break up with him?” Vanessa asks, and seems too happy at the prospect.

“No. I tried to talk to him about, you know, church being the white man’s religion, and he got all upset. Do you think I’m being stupid?”

“No!” I say, fixing one of her curls. “Not at all. You’re just being curious. You have the right to ask questions.”

Kammy blinks up, patting her eyes dry.

“It’s just . . . I’ve been following the word all my life and now . . . I don’t know. I just feel lost. All this new stuff, new people, new food. Maybe I’m homesick. They say that happens.”

Vanessa takes a deep breath and rubs Kammy’s arms.

“Listen, don’t read too deep into Devonte, okay? He just . . . telling you what he’s researched. You can still go on, marry Micah, and live happily ever after just like you planned. Nothing wrong with that.”

Loren hesitates to agree, glancing from Vanessa back to Kammy.

“And if you’re still confused,” Vanessa goes on, “just talk to Devonte about it. I’m sure he’ll clear stuff up. He can be passionate but he’s cool. Right?”

“Yeah,” Loren adds.

Vanessa straightens, her smile gleaming in the low elevator light.

“Speaking of Devonte . . . do y’all mind if Devonte stays with us for like a bit longer?”

I hold in a breath. It’s already been two weeks. It’s not that he’s worn out his welcome. It’s just that he is . . . intense. The suite feels warmer with him in it and not in a good way. He radiates on a nuclear level.

Loren avoids eye contact.

Principle number one: Don’t criticize, condemn, or complain.

“He did save our lives,” Vanessa quips. “We kinda owe him.”

Kammy bites her lip. “Oh. Uh . . .”