The Scammer(22)

I shoulder my bag, gripping the strap. “Oh, yeah? That’s . . . weird.”

He measures my response, eyes trailing my every move as I flutter about, snatching up clothes, remaking my bed. Grateful I didn’t leave my laptop alone.

“So, Vanessa tells me you joined student government.”

My back stiffens. I don’t remember telling her that. “Yes. It’s looks good on my résumé.”

He raises an eyebrow. “For the job you don’t really want?”

I don’t have an answer for that. My balance is off with him in the middle of my room, a space too small for his larger-than-life presence. His scent suffocates my senses. He’s too close. I open the window, hoping to let a breeze in.

He reaches over and touches my wrist, his fingers warm and slightly moist.

“You know, Jordyn, I really care about you,” he says, softly. “You’re different than the other girls. And I want to make sure you’re making the right decisions about your life. I want to help you, just like I’m helping Loren and brother Kareem. But the only way we can work together is if I know the truth about who you really are.”

I gulp, wondering how far I can stretch my act. “The truth?”

He nods. “I want to read your work.”

The room squeezes tight. I’ve never let someone read my writing before. But saying no to him doesn’t feel like an option. The moment is a monumental turning point I can’t mess up if I’m to earn his trust. In a daze, I hand him my journal.

Devonte sits on my bed and delicately flips the pages of my journal like one would handle a biblical scroll.

I sit on my desk, trying not to hover in anticipation. But I can’t help it. My restless legs hit against the bed frame as I twiddle my thumbs.

Finally, he flips the journal closed, handing it over, and gives me a quaint smile.

“It’s good.”

I blink. “Good?” It feels like a subtle criticism. A backhanded compliment.

“Yeah. It’s good,” he says, nonchalantly, as if he just finished reading a fast-food menu. That’s it! After everything . . . that’s all he has to say??

I clench the journal, my nails digging into the leather cover.

Don’t tell me it’s good, I want to scream. Tell me it’s missing teeth. Or tell me it’s a masterpiece. You owe me that! You owe me at least one of your beautiful lies!

He shrugs. “I just . . . think you can do so much more with your voice. Write something real.”

“Real?”

He stands, towering over me.

“You and I, we’re gonna write a book. And we’ll publish it.”

Cold, crisp air hits my lungs. “You want me . . . to write your life story?”

“I said the story is good. But your writing . . . your writing is breathtaking. You shouldn’t be wasting your time on law when you’re the next Toni Morrison. I think it was meant to be that I came here. That we met. Do you believe in coincidences? ’Cause I think this was fate. That I met you at this crossroads, not just in your life but in mine. I don’t think I could take the steps needed without you.”

He smiles and slowly floats out of the room, leaving me in awe, thoughts muddled and clashing with pure rage, and yet I can’t help but wonder . . .

Is it possible that he really sees . . . the real me?





Six




Kammy, Loren, and I giggle over the lone mirror in the bathroom with the terrible lighting, doing our makeup and hair, while Vanessa tries on various outfits in her room.

“Ugh! I have nothing to wear!” Vanessa pouts over the music. “I knew I should’ve went to the mall this week.”

“My nails look a mess,” I say, swiping extra coats of mascara over my lashes.

“I’ll do them tomorrow before the game!” Vanessa yells from the other room. “Don’t worry about it.”

I glance at Kammy, grinning, and she lets out a laugh.

“Yes girl, I’ll do your hair on Sunday!”

“After you all finish helping me take out these braids,” Loren warns. “With three people, it’ll take maybe two hours tops. We can watch Love Island!”

For some reason, tonight feels special, like we’re back to our regularly scheduled program. Probably because Devonte has been gone all afternoon and it’s homecoming. Legendary parties are happening all around the city and the whole dorm is buzzing. The mini concert on the Quad was like a fashion show. Tomorrow is the big game and Loren was able to score us some tickets. But tonight, we’re heading to the Kappa party at their frat house.

Nick will be there. As much as I say I don’t want to think about him, I definitely don’t want to make a fool out of myself. Again.

I can’t stop smiling as we doll ourselves up, like a girls’ night straight out of the movies, what I’ve watched on hundreds of social media posts with brutal envy. Only a few short months ago I didn’t have any of this. The love, the friendship . . . it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

Music plays out of Vanessa’s room, mugs are set up for shots. Everyone is in the best mood . . . until we hear the front door open.

Devonte strolls in, standing in the middle of the room. He takes us in one by one, his face expressionless.

“Where are you going?” he says, his voice no louder than usual but still filling us with dread.