The Scammer(25)

“’Cause I’ve been infusing your food with nutrients that act as a shield against it,” Devonte says.

Loren’s face is sweaty, palms clammy. I think she’s sick but won’t admit it. I’m too sluggish to help her.

“I want to go back in,” she says in a shaky voice. “I don’t want to be out here.”

Devonte moves us toward the door. “I keep telling you, we are in the middle of biological warfare. That’s what I was protecting you from this weekend. Trying to keep you safe. See how they wait until this weekend, homecoming weekend, where thousands of brothers and sisters would be, to drop that shit, spray us like bugs.”

Vanessa grabs Kammy’s arm, rushing back inside, but moving in slow motion.

In the distance, I hear the crowd at the stadium cheer. Devonte hears it too, head motioning toward the sound. The effects of the tea still lingering, his smile seems to be splitting his face open like a melon.

This isn’t right, something inside me says. This isn’t you.

But I ignore it. I have to. Because Vanessa promised to do my nails. And Kammy my hair. And Loren eats with me in the café so I’m not alone. And Devonte needed us all to be a family.

How addicting it is to be a part of something that’s more than you.





Seven




The turkey and cheese sandwich sitting on my tray in the Malcolm Center looks disgusting. Last week, it was my favorite lunch. Now, the sight of the white roll makes me queasy. I shouldn’t be surprised. My mom always said carbs are the devil. She put me on a keto diet in the sixth grade. It took years to be able to nibble on a bagel without guilt.

You’re not fat, JoJo!

I toss the sandwich and walk outside to get some fresh air.

“Jordyn!” Kerry waves me down. “Hey girl! What’s up? Didn’t see you at homecoming.”

“Oh! I . . . came down with a bad cold. Couldn’t even get out of bed.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. It still feels as if all the blood has been drained from my body and pumped back in slowly.

“Damnnn. You missed everything. It was our first homecoming. They had all these artists on the Quad. And the band went IN during the halftime show!”

I shrug with a laugh. “Well! Maybe next year!”

“Aight. See you later. Tell Loren to hit me up! She left me on read.”

“Oh, I think her phone was broke. But I’ll tell her.”

“And is Vanessa’s brother still in town? He’s kinda creepy.”

I let out a weak laugh. “Yeah. But he’s not too bad.”

Kerry shrugs, walking toward the Fine Arts building.

I drop my fake smile, too exhausted to keep it up. While everyone else was out partying, Devonte had us doing practice drills in our suite. Sit-ups, push-ups, planks. Kammy started crying. Loren threw up. I slipped her a granola bar, worried about her blood sugar. But I do feel stronger. For a change, the walk up the hill to campus is a breeze.

Last night, when we finished our exercises, Devonte and I retired to my room, so I could transcribe his philosophies on life. It’s amazing the way he leaned into my knowledge of memoirs and biographies. I could really see myself writing an entire novel, imagining my name on the cover, next to Devonte’s, of course. I outlined several chapters before he came up with the brilliant idea of creating pamphlets to pass out, subsequently testing my writing prowess on other people. Practice makes perfect and I’m down for the challenge!

We didn’t finish brainstorming until close to four a.m. I could barely keep my eyes open in my ten o’clock class.

I stand at the top of the hill, looking at the Rock in the distance, and take a deep sigh. There’s no way I can make it through this day without a nap.



* * *




Devonte asked us to stop locking the suite door, so he can have twenty-four-seven access to come and go as he pleases. I didn’t mind, since I only lock my room door. With a yawn, I slug down the hall, twist the handle and bust in, ready to kick off my shoes and crash for a few hours.

“Oh!” Kammy yelps, jumping out of Devonte’s arms on the sofa.

Devonte’s . . . arms?

The scene replays over and over. My feet can’t move from the spot by the door. Devonte looks at me, his arm draped over the back of the sofa, unbothered and unfazed while Kammy yanks down her shirt.

“Uh . . . hey girl,” Kammy says, a quiver in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“I mean, so early,” she says with a sheepish smile, playing with her hair. “Don’t you have class right now?”

Devonte stares at me, holding in a laugh, as if amused by Kammy’s humiliation. In fact, it feels like he wanted me to see.

“Yeah,” I mumble and shuffle quickly into my room.



* * *




My pen bleeds through the page of my journal. I can’t take my eyes off the spot, the ink spreading away from the tip into swirling tentacles. As many times as I try to tell myself I was seeing things, I remember a new detail from the scene—his missing shirt, her hanging bra strap, his smug smile. . . .

Loren hit me up about going to the café a while ago, but I can’t possibly stomach food. Not after what I saw. I’m still trying to erase the image of Kammy and Devonte out of my mind but there’s a pulse in my ear. All Kammy talks about is her boyfriend. Their connection felt cemented. She couldn’t possibly . . .